I walked by the Boston Marathon in Back Bay one year, late one April afternoon. It was hours after the first few elite runners had crossed the finish line and medals had been conferred. The crowds along Boylston Street had dispersed by then, but several runners were still coming down the street, considerable distance between each participant.

The race — one of the most difficult marathon courses in the world with 26 miles or 42.195 km to cover and includes winding hilly terrain — was long over, but those of us on the sidewalk on either side of the street, including outdoor diners at restaurants lining that stretch of Boylston who turned periodically in their seats as they ate and chatted, politely regarded the panting stragglers, bearing witness to their accomplished feat as they half-limped toward the finish line.

As I was crossing the road right where the race ended, the sole figure of a middle-aged white woman, short and stout and flushed red in the face, appeared in the middle of Boylston Street. Almost simultaneously, another woman of similar description who’d been waiting in front of a restaurant near the bright blue FINISH emblazoned on the road began shouting encouragingly at the lady runner while striding, like an enthusiastic coach, alongside her on the sidelines.

“You can do it, Annie! You’re almost there! Let’s go, Annie!” I don’t remember the name the lady had shouted, so let’s just say it was Annie.

The diners turned in their seats, passersby slowed their walk and suddenly there was collective cheering and clapping in the air once again. Everyone watched as Annie lurched forward determinedly, the agony in her face palpable. Strangers shouted and whooped in a chorus of support as she stared straight ahead, as though having tuned everything else out.

It’s the most you can do as onlookers, most of whom would never participate in the endurance sport of long-distance running themselves. It’s not a team sport. You’re on your own on that mental and physical journey from start to finish, the grueling route, starting in the town of Hopkinton and ending in Boston, to be adhered to without deviation.

Cheating, taking shortcuts, or not running the full course gets you disqualified, naturally, as Rosie Ruiz was back in 1980. She had claimed false victory at the Boston Marathon that year and had her medal revoked after an investigation by marathon officials found that she had only run the last half mile of the race.

Ruiz served prison time for financial fraud some years later, and throughout her life up until her death, never owned up to cheating at the Boston Marathon.

In a tight race for power in Malaysian politics starting with GE15, political parties have made it into a spectator sport. A coalition running on dubious promises and a far-fetched manifesto cheats, takes shortcuts, and runs the route more than halfway before calling in backup to help them cross the finish line.

It’s unable to win on its own, so gets a piggyback ride from a losing party, one that’s already plagued with allegations of misconduct and infamy but insists on winning, so both can give the other what they want.

One that the coalition of reformists had condemned and melodramatically called for the people to reject…before they found themselves staggering helplessly about 100 meters from the finish line.

One that the vast majority of Malays had voted to remove from power.

Almost there, but not quite.

The race and the races have revealed the divide among the spectators. Folks on one side of the street aren’t that interested in the rules of the game, or the conduct of the competitors. They’re interested in the false sense of winning and being false winners at the expense of principles and dignity.

Annie, out of breath and at the point of near collapse, crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon alone that late April afternoon with dignity, the respect of onlookers, and bragging rights.

PKR, DAP, and BN strolled through the finish line arm in arm with none of those things.