Games and Gamesmanship

Just two weeks ago, Saturday, August 9, I encountered Mr. Pant at the fitness center and he won handily that round, after I failed to return even one lob volley. After I finished my workout, I began to realize -- with a thump -- that I was victimized by a master gamemeister. No, I was victimized by my own poor gamesmanship skills. I had made a fatal mistake of taking Mr. Pant seriously, and I was being punished for my naivete.

For the next two weeks I consoled myself by watching hours of boring commercials interwoven with riveting glimpses of highlights of popular games. Just about every organized sport imaginable or so it seemed (actually 28). Every four years we're treated to the spectacular feats of professional (or quasi amateur) athletes whose ability to train untold hours, months, and days on end is remarkable itself. For the athletes, the Olympic games (and preliminary contests in between), there comes the moment when -- according to the rule bibles -- crowns them winners or losers. All their efforts pay off in a brief "15 minutes" of fame, and bragging rights forever.

It is all to show mankind's humane side to have these extended ceremonies, especially when compared to the world of "sports not" -- murders, wars, assassinations, bankruptcies, divorces, disease, and a multitude of other disasters (man-made and natural), plus all the games for which there are no written rules for winners, only rules of punishment for the losers.

The nice thing about organized sports is that there's a beginning and an end at which moment the entire endeavor is scored and thus a "final" reckoning, unlike the game of life which ends in a score of years lived, and, for which accomplishment there is no medal or garland, but there may well be flowers and wreathes. Isn't that why we watch or play organized sports -- at the end there's the dead reckoning, also, come to think of it, would include gambling (casinos, insurance, capitalism, etc.)?

The game that I find myself playing, only because I'm a player with Mr. Pant, supposedly has unwritten rules that apply. And, right now, I have every right to become, if I want, a sore loser. But out of adversity, I can overcome my awkwardness, my naivete, and witlessness. Supposedly. But, what if the other player is from another Galaxy or time in history? What if every response, every statement, has been programmed into a supercomputer -- programmed to keep the opponent hopelessly off balance?

I know what Jake would advise, if I was so beaten as to ask. "Awesome, just awesome", he'd say, and, with equal fervor he'd say the same if I wreaked the car -- Jake is, if nothing else, a perennial booster, an genuine enthusiast for things that move. Or the Missus -- no, no, she'd tell me -- quit while you're ahead.. Like the lottery, you can't lose if you don't play. But, THEY SAY, you can't win IF YOU DON'T PLAY. And, you do want to win, don't you? Don't you? You can't win if you don't try, that's what the Voices are telling me. Not one of those Voices are telling me to quit.

Americans don't quit! True Americans don't quit, do we? Why, that's the same as surrendering. John Wayne never surrendered, did he? Our great political leaders didn't surrender, did they? They don't accept defeat. They must never surrender, even to overwhelming odds against them, do they? If you've been sitting at the game table and lost a fortune, you don't give up, you must believe the odds will turn in your favor -- ultimately -- and so you give the house your IOU which obligates your precious grandchildren, who, after all, will inherit your recovered fortune, won't they?

So, watching the Olympics 2008 has served to revive my faint heart and vow to continue to play this game with Mr. Pant. The tide will surely turn -- ultimately -- won't it? I'm going to keep thinking of those some 940 athletes who stood on those podiums and listened so valiantly to their nation's anthems, and tried very hard not to think of physical embrace due on delivery. I'm not letting those 10,000 plus losers mess up my dreams. After all, most will get another chance in just four years. And, so, next month, maybe next week, I'll think of a way to get even.

Now, while I'm turning my attention to my contest with Mr. Pant, I'll watch the other spectacular quadrennial sport of the U.S. presidential election preliminaries called the major party conventions. The one in Denver this week features the Democrat party and all it's fractured elements and next week the Republican party in St. Paul, Minnesota featuring it's star windbags.