Turning Shit into Gold since 2006
Competitiveness runs deep in my veins. A simple game of four square or a round of paper-scissors-rock can turn into a champ or chump battle with a no guts, no glory outcome. That is why when recently challenged to a friendly bout of bumper boats I had to kindly decline. What’s the point of playing if there is no finish line? Unless I am going to sink your boat and watch you drown in the shadow of my victory than I’m not interested.
Even the most mundane activity, like driving on the highway, can turn into a road race riddled with gravel grinding results. The best way to go about this challenge is to target three cars that seem to be traveling at about the same pace as you then proceed to pass them and maintain place, punishing anyone who slips by with daring right lane passing maneuvers and tailgating persistence. Granted this is not necessarily the safest thing to do while cruising at a cool 80 miles per hour, but it sure makes the long-haul a tad more exciting.
There was actually a time in my life when I treated the sacred monthly sign of womanhood as a blood sport, literally. I would bully the biology of my closest female friends in an attempt to reign supreme in the bleed off of our semi-synchronized menstruation cycles. Anything less than first place was unacceptable. The results of this game were most definitely based on the honor system, and I totally trust my friends, but I will admit that there were times when I wanted to ask for evidence but that seemed to cross some line of friendship I was unwilling to step over. All I have to say is, an empty wastebasket usually means someone is not telling the truth.
When competition ends in tears that is when you know you have had the most fun. As a nineteen year old camp counselor I initiated a dodge ball contest that pitted a team of 6’2” South African counselors against a crew of pimple spotted rich kids from New Jersey. Teeth were lost and parental complaints were made, but those brats knew who ruled the gym that day.
Life hands you blow after blow people, so what better way to prepare for the combat ahead than a winning competitive edge? Now I am not quoting an inspirational calendar or typing verbatim from a cheesy self-help book. This is merely a way of letting you know that sometimes winning is the best thing. Watching an opponent sink in misery as you do a victory lap around the field is much more satisfying than slumping in a second place slouch while sitting in the dug-out with Gatorade stains on your jersey.