OK, so contrary to what I’d said earlier, I guess there’ll be one final Stoker-related post …

Two things happened in the hours after the Stoker banquet to remind me of what truly matters.

First, immediately following my loss to Gary Braunbeck, I received the following e-mail on my BlackBerry from my parents in Florida. They’d somehow managed to figure out how to watch the live web cast, and so sent me these words of commiseration:

We managed to stay up and watch the awards. We love you and you’ll always be a winner to us.

Later, after I returned from post-banquet partying, I was chatting with Irene, who had gone back to the room once the ceremony was over, and I noticed a small box on my pillow.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“I figured that whatever happened,” she said, “you still deserve to go home with a trophy.”

Inside the box was this strange little robotic creature, my own private Stoker trophy.

These two moments put the entire night in perspective. Sure, I’d like one of those trophies someday, but parents and a wife like that are much harder to come by.