I am his polar opposite. The matter to his antimatter. The whatever-Superman-is-made-of to his Krypronite. Either the yin to his yang or the other way around (I can never remember which is the positive one and which the negative one).
He’s old, I’m young(er). He’s short, I’m tall. He’s fat, I’m fit.
His uniform is an immaculately tailored suit with a freshly-pressed shirt and a tie that matches his handkerchief. I’m in jeans, tee-shirt and sneakers, a hoodie when it’s cold and nothing I ever iron.
He likes to get around in a luxury car provided by a sponsor of his show. I like to get around on an electric skateboard I helped crowdfund on Kickstarter.
He’s somewhere to the right of Genghis Khan, I’m a considerable distance to the left. Genghis and the Horde would have to ride a few days to get to me, without any pillaging.
He gets paid to anger or scare people into doing what they’re told so the world remains the same.
I get paid to inspire people, motivate them, and help them try to change everything.
Finally, for a brief period when I was on a different show but the same radio station doing DVD reviews on a Friday night, he found out, and apparently was so threatened by my proximity he made everybody at the station refer to me as “Al” instead of “Alan” on air so no listeners thought he’d had a Road To Damascus moment and suddenly become a decent human being.
Which I already am.