Hello.
I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving.
I spent the holiday with my family in Germantown, Md. We relaxed, we stuffed ourselves, we watched sporting events on the television and we played cards.
The latter pair of events brought something to my attention: I am capable of incorporating a sport or general act of competition into any moment of my waking life.
OK. I lied. I didn’t just realize this. I’ve known this my whole life. I’m a sports nut and a competitive freak. Is that so bad?
There are others like me. I’ve met them. We can’t focus on a coherent thought without wondering if our team can rebound from last week’s devastating loss. We can’t walk by The Break in the EMU without playing seven or eight games of “Quarterback Challenge” with a friend (no one ever wants to end on a loss), and we can’t help but get pissed if our mothers beat us at a hand of crazy eights.
When I travel east to visit my family, the card table is the No. 1 arena for competition. I spent last summer with them while covering sports for a newspaper in Montgomery County, Md. When the workday ended, our schedules were coordinated to allow for maximum card-playing time. Spades has always been our game of choice, with hearts mixed in as an occasional change of pace.
It gets so competitive around the card table (which doubles as a dinner table) that we often get into shouting matches and give ice-cold glares that could break glass. And that’s only what happens during momentary breaks in the action. Confrontations during games are too graphic to share.
When all is said and done, everyone knows they are loved. When the game is on, however, there is a general hate for one’s opponent. Even if it’s my own mother. I once got so frustrated about losing a game of spades that I had to lay down for an hour because my elevated blood pressure had sent me into an unthinkable dizzy spell (I love quality time with the family).
Spades isn’t the only game where competitive fires burn bright. Along with the help of my family and friends, I have always been able to cook up some kind of novelty sports-related game. After being told to clean the backyard over the summer, I quickly turned this chore into a makeshift version of home run derby.
Using a rubber bat and a whiffle ball wrapped in duct tape, my brothers, a buddy and I turned what could have been a boring afternoon of yardwork into an epic plastic-ball-bashing-back-yard battle of monumental proportions. The contest ended when my eldest step-brother failed to hit the plastic sphere over the roof of our house in what equated to the bottom of the ninth, leading to a bitter outburst filled with spitting, swearing and bat tossing.
Emotions run even higher during traditional sporting events. My friend Brandon and I have made a habit of playing racquetball at the Student Recreation Center this year. We’ve just started learning the game, but we consider ourselves decent at the sport. Now, Brandon may be one of the few people who hates losing more than I do. And since I’ve lost only once to my combative counterpart, I have been on the viewing end of quite a few heated eruptions.
The most entertaining tantrum occurred when he lost a racquetball bet for a case of beer. Along with spewing out four-letter words loud enough for all of Eugene to hear, he used his racquet to smash the plastic container that holds the balls. He proceeded to put the balls back into the container and fire it into a trash can with an “if you talk to me I’ll punch you in the face” look smeared all over his face.
Plenty of people say my family, friends and I are too competitive. If I received a nickel for every time someone told me, “it’s just a game,” my tuition would be paid for. I say being a competitive person is a good way to release stress. Whether you’re barking at a teammate during a sandlot baseball game or yelling at the TV when your favorite NFL team is in the playoffs, releasing your emotions is healthy.
Contrary to how I must sound, I am innocent of being psychotic. I am, however, guilty of being a sports nut and a competitive freak.
That’s not so bad, is it?