We couldn’t let the audience find out that the horse was incontinent.

Or that he was even there.

The reveal would be a surprise for Act 3 of my comedy TV show, Almost Live!

Act 3 is roughly 20 minutes into the show.

Which means we had to keep both ends of the horse quiet for 20 minutes. Because otherwise the sharper members of the studio audience would think,

“That sounds/smells like a horse. I’ll bet money they’re gonna bring a horse out here sometime during the show.”

Kinda kills the joke.

Act 3 was going to feature a sketch in which Joel McHale—before he became a big national TV star—would play William Wallace (from Braveheart) and rail on about “Our FREEDOM!”

This was kind of a recurring bit for us, and this time, I thought it would be funny and cool if he rode out on horseback.

Way to go, Bill.

So I called a horse guy.

And that afternoon, he brought a horse to the studio.

I use the term “horse” loosely.

I mean, yes, technically it was a horse. But in a week—two weeks tops—this horse would be coming out of a bottle labeled “Elmer’s.” If you know what I’m saying.

And, like many aging animals (great-grandparents, perhaps), this horse did not have 100% control over its bowels. That became apparent within minutes.
(Side note: It really sucked to be an “Almost Live!” intern that day.)

[Flash forward to Act 3.]

Somehow, it worked. The horse stayed quiet, his intestines stayed quiet, and Joel made a fabulous entrance as the Uniter of Scotland.

So why am I telling you this?

You: “Yes, Bill—good lord, why are you telling us this?!”

Because innovation is a lot like that day with the horse.

From the audience’s (read: client’s) view, it looks polished and intentional.
Behind the curtain? Chaos, cleanup, and crossed fingers.

But that’s how breakthroughs happen: you take risks, make a mess, and trust the process long enough to reach Act 3.

Even if it smells a little questionable during rehearsal.