a man down.

There’s something about playing a man down. It quickens the pulse, lifts the chin, and the tightens the veins—today we were down two. The five of us, the seven of them, and a story-book victory in the making.

When you play with a handicap, you can’t lose. It’s like test-taking without studying and dating without showering. With all the odds against, you, everyone wants you to win, and if you don’t win, “at least you had heart.”

And guts. It takes guts to play a man down doesn’t it…or does it? It doesn’t take any guts to play a game you can’t lose. No cajones needed for being the underdog. Some kids float through life, not trying but getting by, and they (dare I say we?) feel pretty good about it. Hey, they’re doing ok—for not really trying very hard, maybe they’re doing great. It takes brains to be adequate with abysmal effort. Thank god I’m not an “adequate” overachiever.

But it doesn’t take guts. Playing a man down, living without trying, trying without really trying—its really all just to get by and play it safe. No one blames you for not having something if you say you don’t really want it. But don’t you want it? Sure, it’s hard to be the favorite. Hard to expect something. Even hard to want something. But that’s where the players are. They are the one’s on the teams that are supposed to win, making the plays they are supposed to make, knowing that if they don’t, no one is going to say “ah, well, at least he had heart” because no one gives a shit how hard you try when you are on top—just so long as you win. Trying, not trying, heart, no heart, doesn’t matter when you’ve got a full team. And in the end, isn’t that what counts? Are you ever going to win anything if you don’t lose the handicap, sack up, and just win with no excuses?

Eh, maybe, who am I to know? Today we played two men down.

…and lost.