Jake Brennan

By this point, nearly everyone had written off George Jones.

Tammy Wynette, Peanut Montgomery, his family, his record label, his fans.

It seemed like there was only one person who still believed in George Jones, and that was his producer, Billy Shirell.

Billy had seen George at his worst, arguing back and forth in the voices of D-Doodle and the old man in the middle of the recording sessions.

Billy could hear the damage that cocaine had done to George's vocal cords, but Billy knew one song, one song could change everything.

For years, Billy Shirell had perfected the art of finding songs that played off of George and Tammy's real-life relationship.

Now that relationship was over, and Billy had once again found the perfect song.

A finale for a love gone wrong.

The kind of song only George Jones could sing.

If he could just get him sober and in the studio for 3 minutes and 15 seconds.

Even if no one else, not even George Jones, believed it, Billy Shirell knew that this was the song that could put George Jones back on top.

We'll be right back after this word, word, word.

A Vivaldi concerto swelled to life, filling the room with the sounds of violins, music sweet enough to soothe even the most savage beast.

The melody kept rising to a thundering climax when suddenly a needle scratched across the record and the music suddenly cut out.

George Jones shot straight up off the couch.

He yelled and started swinging wildly at anything within arm's reach.

Fortunately, he only made contact with a few empty mic stands, which crashed harmlessly to the floor.

He looked across the room and saw his producer, Billy Shirell, holding the needle above the record that was still spinning on the turntable.

Billy gave George a look that said it was time to get to work, time to finish this piece of shit song.

George glared at Billy for waking him up.