Keep in mind that today, somewhere in America (by which I mean a small-to-midsized town in the Southeast), in a paint store, pawn shop, or maybe a bowling alley, a young man in his early 20's is flipping through all of the Idol buzz on his cellphone... when he gets home tonight, he'll tune up his guitar, unbutton his shirt (to reveal a dirty white T-shirt), and get back to practicing. He's got places to be, you see.
In a few weeks, he'll be in Charlotte, most likely. He'll be waiting outside Bank of America Stadium for his number... he'll wait through the cattle call... he'll do those silly routines in the stands... and all the while, he'll be thinking "It's me. It has to be me. I'm the next American WGWG".
And he will be. He'll audition for a production assistant barely older than he is, flirt with her a little, and get put through to the judges callbacks in the fall.
We know the rest of the story. We've seen it for the last five years.
He's out there. We haven't met him yet, but we know he's there, and we're ready (nay, eager!) to wrap the arms of Worster Nation around him.
Whoever you are, sir, we await you. We'll see you soon.