Memory...and how mine must suck

So a little kid challened me to a game of memory. You know the one - with all the pairs of cards that you lay out face down, turning them over and trying to find the matches? Well, I played against a seven year-old girl fresh out of first grade. Did I win? No. Did I lose? Yes, you could call it that. But really, to make use of current events, I got "Pistoned". Like the Lakers, I was the older team, and like the Lakers, I got my ass severely rocked. This little girl who had to be coaxed to eat her green beans with threats of no T.V. flat out kicked my sorry ass at this damn memory game. I wish I could say I let her win. I mean, earlier, I practically hit my ball backwards trying to let her catch up in a little backyard croquet, but I can't lie, once she made her first match, and proceeded to wave the cards gleefully in my face, the competitive fire was lit and there was no turning back, I was in it to win it. But I lost.

What I, and the Lakers, want to know is, what the shit happened? Is she a genius? Am I a joke? Is she just good because she's young? Am just bad because I'm old? Is my mind going bad? Did my knee already go bad? Did I really just make one last run at the big one and lose? Was I somehow cheated out of victory? Didn't everyone expect me to win? If I turn the ball over to one of the W's, does it mean I'm too old to play PG anymore? Am I going to jail?

All I know is, I've been bested. It was a humbling experience, and one from which I'm sure I have learned a great deal. As for the Lakers, I couldn't care less. I'm a dissheartened hockey fan who wanted to see Calgary hoist the cup and wants to see Peter Forsberg stay in the NHL. That, however, is another blog for another day. For now, I accept my defeat.