Sorry, guys, but I think you are all over-intellectualizing this concept.

There is only one Great Loser, whose losses, though tragic, never succeed in dimming his dauntless spirit or sabotaging his complex planning. Somehow, his horrific disasters in connection with the elaborate mechanisms he devises, never administer the coup de grace to his endless scheming. His nobility, and the fervor with which we cheer his efforts, are enhanced by the disdain which we feel for his taunting, effete, hollow-eyed adversary. He is Ahab, Buster Keaton, and Don Quixote rolled into one existential personage. His struggle is man's struggle in the face of the inexorable, his quest our quest.

He is Wiley Coyote.

And in a way, WE are all Wiley Coyote, my friends.
We all are engaged in the eternal quest to catch and devour the particular Roadrunner of our own lives. We will stop at nothing to attain this goal, dragging ourselves out of dusty arroyos, peeling ourselves off of rock slabs, struggling out of the spent and shattered hulks of our ACME Rocket-propelled hovercraft, our arms and legs pointing in different directions. So engrossed in our chase are we that we run full speed off of cliffs, the object of our desire finally, firmly clutched in our greedy paws, only to look down and discover that we are 3600 feet in the air, have our adversary woggle his tongue at us, as we wave bye-bye and drop down, down, fading to a faint speck that briefly resonates as it slaps dust at the canyon bottom.

Viva Wiley, I say!