The Loser
Too often I’ve found myself on the short
End of the stick. Wrong side of the
Scoreline. Bone side of the meat.
All that losing makes you better!
Is what I told myself
That’s how you get stronger.
I had no interest in easy wins
So I kept picking opponents who
Got harder and harder.
Loss after loss after loss
I began to lose track of what I was even doing
I’d look out the window and see all these people celebrating—
Fireworks and horns honking and minivans on fire
Does it really feel that good?
It didn’t affect me at all
I was already looking for the next match.
Many misinterpreted this dispassionate equipoise
As the hallmark of the enlightened loser
Who had somehow learned to transcend the dead
End of strictly outcomes-based valuations
And has found the pure realm of endless competition
In a game that no one was ever meant to win
And maybe there’s some truth there but more than that,
I found the biggest adrenaline rush came from
Giving everything I had just to keep it close,
To make them have to earn it.
For instance, put me in the middle of the ocean
And watch how long I can tread water—
I’ll show you the archetype of the noble
Martyr who eventually
Sinks in the middle of nowhere
And is never seen again.
People respect you for that.
Walk away with your chin held high.
Next time, they won’t underestimate you.
The problem with winning is it makes
Losing seem especially bad.
You start to want to win all the time
And that only leads to corruption.
You start looking for rigged games,
Games you’ve learned how to manipulate—
Your arms scaly with aces
Slid up your sleeves,
Up all night reading the answers
On the back of all the trivia cards,
A pair of dice in your pocket
Weighted with your most closely guarded secret.
Every time you try to chuck it against the wall
Its number always seems to come up.
Nowadays those games are called
Suburbia and Tenure and Made Partner
No one plays Meritocracy anymore, it’s gauche.
I’ve considered playing the one called
Professional Degree II: Economic Security
In these games, once you get in, you’re safe
You never lose
Win after win after win
Or at least that’s how it appears to those watching.
But the longer you play something shifts
You start to figure things out
Learn to rely on old familiar patterns
Like paths in the woods behind
Your childhood home.
Every time you play, it’s always the same game
Ending the same way— back at your house
With the wasp nests and tuna casserole
Again for dinner, rabbits
In the unruly hedges
Mourning the dry September grass.
It’s all so predictable
Which is the moment when it stops
Being fun.
You begin to think of it as your Life
Which is why this all feels so
Deadening.
If we were smart we’d make everything a game
But never keep score
There would be no way of knowing
If what was happening
Would soon be ending
Or was only just beginning.
What are the odds of that?
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