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WIN OR LOSE, IT'S
JUST A STUPID GAME |
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I love to compete in sports. I grew up playing basketball,
moved on to doubles tennis and golf when the body started breaking down,
and look forward to competing in my sport of the future---bocce ball.
I love to experience the thrill of victory, and can usually
handle the agony of defeat. I just don't like the thought of losing to an
11 year old.
Let me explain. I entered my local tennis club's annual
doubles tournament that was held the weekend before last. My partner was
my 28 year old son, and because we've won the tournament in years past, we
were the #1 seed in our division.
There is no age limit, but no one under 18 has ever entered,
simply because kids have better things to do. So when the very athletic 11
year old son of a member decided to enter, I immediately started getting
nervous.
When I saw the draw, things got worse. We would play the 11
year old and his adult partner in the first round. It was a recipe for
disaster.
Since my son had a scheduling problem, I asked the tournament
director when we would play our second round match.
"If you win, 1:30. If you lose, you're in the
Consolation bracket and you'd play at 12:30," he replied, looking at
his sheet.
"That's not right," I told him. "If I lose to
an 11 year old, I won't be playing at 12:30 because I'll have killed
myself."
He chuckled, not caring a bit. He didn't care, 1.3 billion
people in China didn't care, 300 million in the United States didn't care,
and my wife, family and friends didn't care. But I cared---way too much.
The match began and a crowd gathered, eager to watch the 11
year old mature before their eyes. When my son and I won the first set of
the best of three match, 6-3, we could sense the disappointment. Everyone
wanted the cute little athletic kid (and he's the nicest kid you'll ever
want to meet) to do well.
In the second set, he did just fine. He was getting better
with every point, and my anxiety was increasing with every point. When the
little munchkin and his partner won the second set, 7-6, I had only one
reaction.
Uh, oh.
Pressure is a fascinating phenomenom. Some people handle it
better than others. I'm somewhere in the middle. Sometimes it gets to me,
sometimes it doesn't. This one was building into a perfect storm.
When the third set went into a tiebreaker, my throat
constricted and my stomach started doing things I didn't know it could do.
But we had match point, and I was serving. This is where champions shine,
digging deep to find the will to win. I promptly double-faulted.
A couple of points later, and I was serving again. This time
it was match point against us. With the failure of the will of the
champion fresh in my mind, I decided the only way to remain calm was to
practice mindfulness, which I had begun recently. I focused on my breath,
quieting my mind as I bounced the ball, preparing to serve. And then I
promptly double faulted to lose the match.
I had lost to an 11 year old. I shook his little hand and
walked off the court with my son, who may never speak to me again, nor
should he. It was a crushing blow that absolutely no one cared about
except me.
"This kid is going to have unlimited athletic
achievements in his life," I said to a friend when I got to the
sidelines. "Why'd he have to start with me?"
Sports can be cruel, just like life. Strange things happen,
upsets abound. As they say, that's why they play the game. I had worked
myself into a frenzy with the fear of losing, and it caused me to gag. All
I could do was learn from it.
And I could laugh, because we all know in the great scheme of
things, a loss in sports, whether it's the Warriors in Game Seven, or my
ridiculous little tennis match, means nothing.
So by the end of the day, as the friendly abuse from fellow
participants poured in, all I could do was chuckle, albeit a bit
painfully. Especially when the rumors got out of hand.
"I heard you lost to a seven year old," one guy
playfully said. "That's gotta hurt."
When I proudly responded that he was 11, not 7, I realized I
was on the road to recovery.
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