Stop me if you’ve seen this one. A committee of august personages convenes, with much pomp and circumstance, to choose the best of their lot. Time-honored rituals are observed. Fancy outfits are donned. The ogling public is kept at bay. The contenders, some representing progress, others tradition, jockey for supporters, though outright campaigning is frowned upon—and negative campaigning is taboo, although it happens in whispers. Unflattering rumors swirl, and the contestants are made to atone for their past sins. Secret ballots are cast and counted, in an arcane tallying system, and a victor is announced, to great fanfare.
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