Losing is a Disease, Losing is a Disease.

Participation ribbons, I know
thee well.  

I’m really good at losing.  I played eight years of baseball and basketball, two years of football, four years of high school golf, and collectively, I have one third place trophy to show for it all.  I’d like to believe that I was just unlucky to play on some really bad teams, but I’m also willing to believe that the most common denominator to my lack of winning, is me. 

My losing streak has helped me understand a lot about myself.  One: I’m a sore loser.  I’m still bitter at all the teams that didn’t play me enough, or the coach who made the wrong call at the wrong time, costing us a chance at plastic figurine greatness.  Two: It builds character, like poutiness, temper-tantrumitus, jealousy, self-loathing, etc.  Three: it has made me primed for success.    

“Primed for success?” you ask, “haven’t we (the world) beaten you down enough, why won’t you settle for the basic comforts of mediocrity?”    Well, I guess sports also taught me about competition, and even though the other team might be grossly equipped by Nike, contain a roster full of blue-chippers,  and cheating in every capacity of the word, a win by the underdog is still possible, albeit unlikely.    

R.A. Dickey: despite the name and ten years of woeful MLB
performance, found his niche by perfecting the knuckleball. 

With the Summer Olympics starting on Friday, I won’t get many opportunities to root for the underdog.  Usually rooting for the dark horse would make me unpatriotic, as the Americans are favored to win it all, again.  But to call any Olympic athlete an underdog, is unfair to the word underdog.  There are over 7 billion people in this world.  There are over 10,500 athletes participating in this Olympiad, most of whom have no shot at the 302 gold medals.  But they have much more of a chance than I do.  Statistically speaking, I have better odds of getting murdered, 37 TIMES IN A ROW, than even making the Olympic games.  Getting murdered really sucks.  Getting murdered 37 times, is inconceivable.  Actually, my odds of making any event in the Olympics are actually worse than all of the above happening to me in the same lifetime: winning an Oscar, dating a supermodel (worse if she saw me, or if my wife found out about it), being on a plane with a drunken pilot,  scoring ten hole-in-ones on golf courses, being considered possessed by Satan, getting hemorrhoids, being audited by the IRS, having my identity stolen, and then being murdered, and having the murderer be exonerated of my murder.  (Course, now that I’m thinking about it, that doesn’t sound too far off from O.J. Simpson’s career…and he won a Heisman trophy as well). 

Many Hollywood insiders thought "The Juice" was just one more Naked
Gun movie away from his Oscar trophy.  

I’ve established that obviously my athletic abilities and winning drive will never get me a paid contract for any pro sport, including the WBL: The World Bocce League.  But I’d like to believe that even with 7,000,000,000 people in the world, my voice will still be heard.  I know it’s hard to hear over the screaming masses of starving people, soccer hooligans, Obama-haters, and middle school insulters, but I still have something to say. 

So I’m still writing, despite the rejections of literary agents who didn’t read my book proposal, despite the fact that print media is a fading art-form, despite the fact that my literary circle of influence is relatively small.  Because some people who lose a lot, still have the tenacity to see the finish line, and hold up a trophy and say to all those people who doubted them all along, “I forgive you, but no, you may not have a piece of my pie.”  

Okay, you can have one bite, but THAT'S IT!!!