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Jerry Seinfeld provided the sternest defense of his old friend. Speaking at NBC’s press tour about his new reality show, The Marriage Ref, Jerry defended Jay’s ten p.m. show as a good idea, worth trying, one that was simply ahead of its time. But he also poked holes in Conan’s defense of his own ratings and how they were damaged by weak lead-ins from Jay. “I don’t think anyone’s preventing people from watching Conan,” Seinfeld said. “Once they give you the cameras, it’s on you.” He added, “Conan had a chance to destroy everybody. Go ahead! You’re out there. You’ve got to hit the ball. They can’t hit the ball for you. They can only give you the bat.”

The commentary back and forth—mostly nasty and mostly directed at Jay—disturbed the NBC executives, who were already getting antsy over the lack of communication from the Conan side. To them, this smacked of Team Conan trying to get a message out there that was intended not to enhance their own position, or even to challenge NBC on its decision, but purely to trash Jay. Certainly that was Zucker’s view. That Monday he picked up anti-Jay threads in the media that he believed could be traced right back to Gavin Polone. This would not do.

That same Monday Conan paid a visit to the writers’ room, one of the places he felt most comfortable, surrounded by like minds. He talked briefly about how wretched he felt over this Hobson’s choice he faced. He took his own poll of the room, adding the option that NBC hadn’t given him—at least not officially: Accept the move to post-midnight, or take a hike. This vote was almost unanimous: Tell NBC to shove it.

Conan thanked them, using a line he would dredge up again later: “I think they cured me of my addiction to The Tonight Show.”

At that evening’s taping Conan walked onstage to thunderous applause that he finally had to stop by saying, “You keep that up, and this monologue won’t start until 12:05.” He had a passel of jokes related to the news on everyone’s mind: “This weekend a 6.5 earthquake hit California. The earthquake was so powerful it knocked Jay Leno’s show from 10 to 11:35.” (Over in Burbank, Jay was firing away as well: “I take pride in one thing. I leave NBC prime time the same way I found it—a complete disaster.”)

After he wrapped that night, Conan dragged himself back upstairs to the conference room next to Ross’s office, where his brain trust had reconvened, this time accompanied by the formidable Patty Glaser.

Conan had found himself more and more beaten down as the days passed. He had learned of Zucker’s blast directed at Rosen, including the threat to keep him from working again. Sure, it was just business, but Conan still found himself shocked by what was transpiring. He had put in almost twenty years at NBC, devoting himself body and soul to the network and its needs, and now he was being told—in effect—that soon they would be posting his picture on NBC’s properties with orders to give him the bum’s rush if he ever showed his face. He recalled how, when Late Night had finally burst through and all the heat it generated was pumping cash into the basement at 30 Rock, NBC came and asked him what kind of gift they could give him—probably expecting he’d say a Porsche or a yacht. Instead, he had asked if NBC happened to have a vintage microphone hanging around somewhere; he would like to have something like that. They managed to dig one up, an old-fashioned mic with the letters ʺRCAʺ on it. He had been thrilled and treasured it. Now, suddenly, that was another memento headed for a scrap heap somewhere as this long marriage threatened to be blown to pieces.

It struck Conan that Jay had played it well, in his passive-aggressive way, and wound up winning again. And maybe, in contrast, he himself had simply played it all wrong.

In the conference room, Glaser, accompanied by an associate, sat at one end of the big table with a Bluetooth pinned to one ear. The lawyers, Rosen, Polone, and Ross were all discussing the contract dilemma—how it might all come down to what had