Photo Credit: Sony Pictures/HBO

The anti-hero was born in The Sopranos patriarch, Tony Soprano. A husband and father trying to put food on the table and money in the bank (or duffle bags in the attic) to support his family. A man who just happened to be a mob boss. We found ourselves rooting for the character who used to be the bad guy. Sure, he's a thief and a killer, but come on, it's tough raising a family nowadays. Marching behind Tony down television’s main street was a parade of villains we couldn’t help but cheer for.

There was Frank Underwood and his wife Claire in House of Cards. There wasn’t anything they wouldn’t do to attain and keep power. Their deceit was over the top, but watching someone topple and trample politicians and powerbrokers is fun. Vic Mackey may have been a crooked cop in The Shield, but he still put away or buried the bad guys. Ozark gave us Marty Byrd, another man just trying to raise a family who believed drug cartels are just as deserving of creative accounting as greedy corporations. Patty Hewes in Damages was just a woman trying to make it as a lawyer, putting it to all those men who had been putting it to women for ages. Then there are the Duttons, Yellowstone’s ranching family. They are doing whatever it takes to protect their land and livelihood while simultaneously trying to keep some good old-fashioned wild west values alive. Like roping, riding, and the occasional backstabbing business deal seasoned with a murder or two. 

In August, we said goodbye to the plain vanilla frosting Cinnabon manager, Gene Takavic, aka shyster supreme Saul Goodman, aka tortured sibling, cooky conman, struggling lawyer Jimmy McGill, in the series finale of Better Call Saul. A character gifted to everyone by the crowned prince of anti-heroes, Walter White. Breaking Bad’s cancer-stricken chemistry teacher turned meth kitchen executive chef. 

I loved Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman. I couldn’t help but fall for a regular guy looking for a break, weighed down by an overbearing brother, struggling to get inside a system that locked him outside. He was someone I could have a drink with—a bottle of beer in his hometown of Chicago or a tequila shooter in his adopted Albuquerque. 

These folks aren't real and only exist in the world behind our screens. Unfortunately, our love for anti-heroes has crossed from fiction to reality. We've allowed real-life anti-heroes in business and politics to attain positions of power and influence. We ignore evidence of their rule-breaking and moral and ethical failings because they’re taking on the individuals and institutions we feel powerless to take on ourselves. We turn a blind eye, hoping we might benefit from their actions. 

In the fictional world, anti-heroes eventually pay the price before they destroy everyone and everything around them. Their creators bring us to a point where we sometimes demand it ourselves. Sure, I loved Saul. Until I didn't. A crack in our kinship after his brother's death became a total break when another body hit the floor midway through the final season. It was the same for Walter White and me. I sympathized with him at the end of Breaking Bad’s first season. By the time the final episode of the series aired, I was yelling out loud, demanding his comeuppance, like a football fan screaming over a missed call. 

Because, regardless of how much we've enjoyed their antics and gotten some guilty pleasure from seeing them stick it to those who need sticking, they're villains. And villains should be held accountable. Even if their victims aren't real. But the victims of our non-fiction anti-heroes are real—the people, principles, and progress of a proud nation.   

It’s time we demanded the same accountability for our real-life anti-heroes as the creators of our fictional anti-heroes deliver to theirs. Before they destroy everything and everyone. And it’s time to lock anti-heroes behind the screen in their world. We need some real heroes in ours.