I have a tendency to get a little competitive.
I can turn nearly anything into a competition – for better or worse – and, in turn, I get frustrated should I (or my team, if it’s a group effort) lose. This competitive spirit particularly comes into play in the summer – during softball season.
There is, of course, the competition on the field. But usually, there’s not too much bad yelling – unless you decide to be a little bitch and call yourself safe when you’re clearly at LEAST three inches off the bag and you’ve already been tagged.
Sorry, where was I?
Anyway. Softball is supposed to be fun, and most people take it as such, so I can usually keep myself in check. But afterward, well, afterward we go to the bar and inevitably play several rounds of flip cup. And drinking games introduce a whole different level of competition.
After our first scrimmage of the season, we did just that. Throughout the night, our game slowly grew bigger as other patrons of the bar asked to join in. One of them joined my team, and took up his flip cup spot next to me, as the anchor.
I don’t remember everything about the game, but I remember that he wasn’t doing so well (at ALL). And I remember that we were almost at the end, and I just wanted to win, and we were so close to winning but he lost it so I might have yelled at him. Something along the lines of, “What’s wrong with you?! What are you doing?!” During games, a sweetheart, I am not.
(I did, of course, immediately apologize, though, and he laughed it off – and, I think, stopped playing with us.)
Fast forward a couple weeks later, after our first real game, and we’re at the same bar. We started playing pool with a couple guys who were already there, and they asked if our softball team came there regularly. “I think I played flip cup with you all a couple weeks ago,” the one guy said to me. “Someone was yelling at me a lot.“
I immediately chalked it up to our resident Flip Cup King, and started explaining how he takes the game really seriously, and can be a little mean sometimes, until a light dawned and I realized, “Oh my god…that was me, wasn’t it?” The kid (college junior, whatever) nodded, and told me, “Yeah, you were really mean that night. In your defense, though, I was playing terribly.“
But all I could think was that he clearly still remembered my yelling from two weeks before.
I just hope I didn’t scar him permanently.
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