Losing to Win

 

Growing up we played all sorts of sports, most not organized, but we had teams just the same. Baseball, basketball, football or even bowling, the competition was fierce. More often than not we mimicked our favorite sport's heroes, sometimes even wearing their numbers. We were them, hoping to possess their athleticism, more often then not falling well short. We were dreamers and schemers, plotting a path to win column. We were kids being kids, sometimes making it to the victory circle, other times falling well short. Everyone wanted to be first but we settled for second when things didn't work out. Eventually we'd have our chance, each of us having strengths in one sport activity or the other.

 

Hitting, catching, fielding or pitching gave us options to succeed on our cow pasture baseball diamond. So what if we sucked, we had fun and life went on. If one led the others of our merry little band in home runs over the bared wire fence, then we recognized him as the home run king. On base percentage meet you could hit the ball where one if us wasn't or it took a bad bounce off a cow patty or uneven field. We laughed when bad plays were made and cheered when great ones were made. Strike outs happen just like walks did. We never played to a tie. Someone would win if we played long enough. There were no trophies on MVP awards, only because we couldn't afford them. At the end of the game, we piled in some one's car and headed to the nearest place we could purchase soft drinks, ice-cream or other goodies of choice. Losers and winners celebrated alike.

 

Football was the same. We scored touchdowns, didn't kick any field goals. Shrubbery, trees or other fixed objects marked the out of bounds. Interceptions were acknowledged as loudly as touchdowns. One team eventually won meaning the other one lost. Next time we'd choose sides differently and it might or might not impact the outcome. Who really cared? We were having fun. Don't get me wrong; we all wanted to win and took winning seriously. But once we had and we had razed the losing side, we were over it.

 

Basketball was usually a friendly game of Horse or some other crude animal or thing. Those with trick shots had the advantage. I had an under the leg shot that they heated. I think they eventually banned it. We some times had enough kids to go three on three but most of the time we settled for Horse. We called that person whatever game name we were playing if they lost. Sure, losers hated being tagged with losing game's name but we all eventually lost. The loser always wanted to play one more game. Sometimes we did, sometimes we didn't.

 

Bowling was a fun sport. Stupid stuff always happens on the bowling lanes. People fall, drop balls and even hit pins. Bowling was my game. I was good by kid standards. Did that mean I always won...certainly not. I hated losing but like in any of our other antics, we laughed even when we lost. We controlled our destines. We made the rules, sometimes even following them. There was no fairness. Winners won, Losers lost. The scoreboard never lied. Well we actually had no scoreboard except in bowling. If an inning of baseball scored 25 runs then that was just the way it was until all three outs were made. The other side had three outs too. We played football until finally we just got too tired to play any longer. The one leading at the time won.

 

So where am I going with this you must wonder. Well wonder no longer. I hate what sports have become for the young kids now. It isn't tolerated to be labeled a loser. Everyone is a winner...really? Who made up a stupid rule like that? Outs don't count in baseball. IT'S BASEBALL...OUTS DO COUNT. Since when is it wrong to keep score? Strike outs are part of the game. You get three, not an endless turn at bat until finally you put a ball in play. Football is for hard knocks. You get a bloody nose or knee, it is part of the game. You don't not keep score; that is so terribly wrong. Same goes for basketball. Why would anyone want to run up down the court and then find out at the buzzer that both teams won.

 

Same goes for school classes. If I made an 'F', I either didn't study or gave wrong answers. If you're smart then you should be hailed as being smart. F's don't necessarily make you stupid. Some kids try harder or are smarter than other kids. That just the way things are. Making kids think they are smarter than they really are is not really helping them. Making every kid think they are winners are just setting them up to be big losers in the adult world. There's no even playing field for adults. Screwing up doesn't make you move up. Handouts and entitlements create weak and pathetic adults in the long run. 

 

What's wrong with this world when we don't prepare our children for the real world? The crime is not. I grew up getting whippings by my parents and in sports. I obviously deserved both, either because I did something I wasn't supposed to do or I stunk up the cow pasture in whatever pastime we were playing. That's life. You can't pretty it up by being deceitful to the youngsters by making they seem something they are not. Eventually the truth will catch up with them and in this case, it will not set them free.  

 

Losing builds character. It makes winning feel more special. We all mistakes. We learn from them. But if we never lose or think we make mistakes, we are in for a rude awakening in the real world. Claiming a victory when there isn't one will spell doom for those ill prepared. I am glad I grew up in a time before fairness and even play ruined the world. Bless your hearts, those of you who are now learning otherwise. Blame those who made you believe you never lost at anything. Welcome to the real world.



Excerpt from The Perfect Spook House, now available @ Clock Tower Books in Georgetown or where books are sold on line:

I hung up the phone, relieved to know the Calvary was on the way, even if I had five hours to fend off the onslaught, before he arrived. I returned to the closet. I dragged out the box marked High School Stuff. Apparently I had slipped firmly into the grasp of a nostalgic Sunday afternoon, ready or not.

     I normally don’t spend Sunday afternoons at home alone or even at home at all, if I can find something better to do. Today, the past had a strangle hold on me, so abnormal conditions ran rampant. A sunny October afternoon in my little hometown of Abbeville gave way to brewing storm clouds, the kind that don’t register on the Weather Man’s radar screen.

     I picked through the half dozen high school annuals until I eyed the one that interested me, 1968, my junior year. That year so happened to coincide with the year it happened, the year my life came unraveled. I flipped through the pages, reliving the scenes as if they were just yesterday. They would have been joyous care free times, if not had it been for that day, Thursday, October 31st.

     I had very few signings in the year book. Hardly anyone had wished me luck or told me what a joy I had been to know, except for my very closest friends. Real friends were few and far between, after the incident that night. Most gave me wide berth. I would have probably been a social outcast at a Leper colony. My senior year had so sucked. The class nerds had gotten more attention than me.

     Flipping the pages, I gazed on pictures of happy students walking the hallways, cheering at various sports events, crowned kings and queens, mostly likely to be or do this and that. The photos looked nothing like the year I remembered. I appeared in none of them. My fellow classmates had scorned me, banished me to a desert island, all because of what had happened, and what couldn’t have been prevented. Maybe it could have, if we would have stayed away from that damned old house.

     I would have loved to have seen any one of them do any better, considering the circumstances. I needed a drink. After all, it was past noon. I checked the pantry and spotted a pint of rum, not my preferred drink, but what the hell. I poured an ample amount in a mug, added a couple of ice cubes, some Pepsi and a splattering of lime juice. I was off and running. After a couple of long swigs, all was good, or at least getting better. That catchy 1970’s tune leaped into my head. I began singing while I danced around the room. It just seemed the right thing to do.

She put the lime in the coconut, and drank them both up
She put the lime in the coconut, and drank them both up
She put the lime in the coconut,
Called the doctor, woke him up, and said,
"Doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take,
I say, Doctor, to relieve this belly ache?
I say, Doctor, ain't there nothin' I can take,
I say, Doctor, to relieve this belly ache?"
She put the lime in the coconut, and drank them both up
She put the lime in the coconut, and drank them both up