Why Do You Do This To Yourself?

I don't have any idea how squash came up in the conversation, or how the various individuals' relative skills began to be questioned, but in the end none of that really mattered.    All that mattered was that it was now 2 o'clock in the morning and a whole lot of trash talking had transpired.    By sometime mid-afternoon the following day, the starting shortstop for this summer's softball squad (the C.A.C. Smokers) would be anointed, someone would be shaved in an unnatural manner, and an awful lot of pride would be won or lost.

Now, this may have been a natural conversation in some settings, but it certainly wasn't normal in the Hog Pit.    While the last few years have been quite kind to New York City's Meatpacking District, and across the street in the SoHo House there were probably 5 such conversations going on at that very moment, smart money would be on the fact that this was, without question, the first time anyone had ever argued over who was a better squash player in here.    Established back when the only people wearing high heels in this area were working girls and men on the corner of 13th and 9th, the Hot Pit is one of the few bars in Manhattan where you can order a Pabst Blue Ribbon AND have it served in the can.  It's a place that my friends had frequented for years before the meatpacking district became a good place to bring a date, and even though Willie Nelson is replaced on the juke box by Bono way too much for my liking these days, we still go there from time to time.      So, with a good friend in town from Canada who could have received mail there about a year ago, it was no surprise to anyone that it was PBRs a plenty for this Friday eve.

For the record, my squash game is probably slightly above average (and significantly below strong).  What I lack in technique is generally made up for by decent athleticism, and more importantly, my annoyingly hyper-competitive nature.    With this being the case, it was no surprise to anyone in attendance that when the topic of squash came up and Undy proclaimed that he was the number one seed at Deerfield, my response was something along the lines of "that may be the case....but I didn't go to Deerfield."     Even as I said this I knew that I was digging myself a potentially embarrassing hole, but much to my chagrin, I couldn't control my mouth.    When, a second later, another friend chimed in that he'd bet me my starting shortstop position that he'd mop the court with me by virtue of his finely tuned Greek game, I responded that it would give me a certain ease this summer to be fielding balls in the hole knowing that I'd earned it the old fashion way.    My fate was sealed.

The worst part about the feeling I had at that very moment was that this wasn't the first time I've done this to myself.   About 3 years ago, I was out with a bunch of friends when one of them bet me $100 that I couldn't score a point on our friend George.   Sure George was one of the top singles seeds at Cornell in tennis, and the same in squash, but how could I not manage a single point over the course of a whole game?   It didn't seem possible.     I accepted the bet.    Needless to say, my game with George the following day was not very enjoyable, and shortly after it began, I had lost 3 sets 0-9, 0-9, 0-9...and George had won a hundred bucks.  It was the  memory of this embarrassing day that was dancing around in my head at 9:45am the next morning when my cell phone started ringing.    I didn't need to see the caller ID to know who it was.   I just got out of bed, put the shoes that hadn't been worn since the match with George in a bag, and started brushing my teeth.   

Nina knew that something had gone drastically wrong when she came home from the gym to find me in this position.    She saw the bag and the racquet on the floor, took one look at me, and said almost hopefully, "You didn't?"     I nodded.   "Why, with who?" she asked apologetically. 

"Underwood", I said.    This was met with a frown.   

"He's probably pretty good," she said, adding, "Didn't he go to Deerfield?   Isn't that all they do there?"   

I shrugged and started to smile betraying that there was more to the story.   "And Jimmy B."

"Jimmy the Greek?"   She said this as she simultaneously figured out that she already knew the answer and lost all sympathy for my predicament.  "He probably started playing squash when he was like 2 years old.   That's all they do over there.   He could probably beat you with a just about anything you could wrap a grape leaf around."      Now done brushing my teeth, I tried to move in for an "encouragement hug", but was met only by her back as she walked away announcing to the room, "I don't know why you do this to yourself."

Sitting on the subway for the next 30 minutes, I had a plenty of time to think about this question of why I continually do this to myself.    Why am I so competitive?   And, is this really a bad thing?    This got me to thinking about a guest on the Daily Show late last week, who was talking about research she did while writing a book recently on the negative impact of our national school system's "self-esteem epidemic".   She talked about how there was no longer any duck-duck-goose, how tag was replaced with a game called "circle of friends", and how dodgeball was simply unthinkable.   In short, competition - because there are winners and losers, and losers could suffer lowered self-esteem - was being removed from the childhood experience.   This seemed to me to be a terribly dangerous trend, both because competition is fun (I realized this as I thought about it) and because all of those American students were going to be cripplingly unprepared when they started competing in the real world and realized, as Christina Sommers pointed out on the show, that "there's no circle of friends in the global economy."

An hour later, as I was lacing up my shoes amidst a new round of trash talking, it was clear to me that there was no place I'd rather be right then, and I knew why I did this to myself - because it was a hell of a lot of fun, and because I could handle it win or lose.   As it turned out, I did a little of both.    I may have lost my shortstop position, but at least I have all of my hair.

Comments

[Jason Underwood]

I want a REMATCH!!! I just noticed that you confessed to ending the night at 2am. Unacceptable.

[Collmer]

I just did that so I wouldn't sound like a degenerate for my 7 subscribers.

[Jason Underwood]

Good point. I guess this is actually available for public consumption. OK, but I still want a rematch!

[Kyle]

Which university are you at? buy accutane online canadian to perform. The allowable values are:
Phenergan Cream Demonstrate caring, empathy, and compassion in your interactions with others. Actively listen
retin a buy cheap Signature logs and/or electronic facsimile signatures must be retrievable for in-store or

[Chase]

Recorded Delivery where can i buy sobranie cocktail cigarettes in usa Ad irected teaching and learning experience whereby the student applies the knowledge
cost of dunhill cigarettes in australia green ink unless the prescriber has written in green. If possible all annotations should be
buy camel cigarettes canada condition requiring biweekly medical care with the same physician. All exemption requests will
winston cigarettes price in india Pathophysiology, interpretation of lab values,