Oh, cruel defeat, I have felt your bitter kiss/And I faced it with a smile.
[Note: The preceding sentence should be read with a King Lear-esque delivery for maximum melodrama].
In last week’s column, which has already gone triple-platinum (columns can do that, right?), I discussed an upcoming barbecue sauce competition at the Ducks Unlimited fundraiser. I was mildly hopeful about my chances (nearly as mild as my sauce). I didn’t have high hopes, but I thought I had a decent chance.
So, how did it go? By reading the first sentence of this article, you can guess it wasn’t exactly a winner’s circle moment for me.
I’m a fairly competitive person. As several friends and a few failed relationships can attest, I can be a poor winner and an even worse loser. I’ve argued with trivia hosts about minute details. I’ve spent board game nights with clenched fists and gritted teeth. I’ve dragged my partners through three-legged races until our ankles were bright-red. I like to win, even when I know I don’t have a shot.
Before the competition, I talked with my friends in radio and television about their sauce plans. Based on their descriptions, I predicted they would blow me out of the water. I was punching well above my weight-class, but I still walked into the Ducks party with my head high and hope in my heart.
I grabbed a seat with the media table and I noticed five bottles of sauce on the table. After a few quick taste tests, I determined that Bottle #4 was my concoction. And boy, howdy, it was quite the...acquired taste. A friend of mine agreed, given the face he made when he ate it. I sampled the other sauces and quickly realized I was utterly outclassed.
People voted for their favourite sauces in open baskets near the back of the room. You could see how well your creation was doing at any given time. My results were consistently...anemic.
My friends kept an eye on their ballots, certain they would win. They were vying for the top spot. It was a dead heat.
A weird sort of calm washed over me. Now that defeat was certain, I was free from the breakneck speed of competition. I didn’t have to fret over winning since it was a distant fantasy at this point. I could chill out.
Finally, I heard my name announced over the microphone, along with a friend. I headed to the front, where the speakers were positioned. After much gesticulating from the audience, I realized the microphone-holder was actually positioned in the back next to the sauce table.
I stood there with my friend, knowing what was coming. They announced us as tied...for last place.
All I could do was laugh. To quote the 2011 movie “Beastly” (a film I’m certain no one remembers), I learned to “embrace the suck.”
Besides, how could I be a sore loser when I got a better prize than a first place trophy? They handed me horseshoes for my defeat. I suppose they’re meant to symbolize luck for next time, but for me they symbolize a new hobby.
Losing’s never been so sweet.
So that was my sauce loss experience. I’m sure there’s a lesson about humility or gracious defeat in it somewhere. But I can’t think about it right now. I’ve got to focus on my new summer obsession: Horseshoes.
See you on the field.
