The Urge to Win

That Little Voice

Neighbors heard her screaming obscenities, gasping for breath at the top of her ability to utter sounds, chasing her husband while wielding a wooden spoon in her fist.

And they knew she was, once again, expressing her anger and frustration at losing what began as a pleasant game of Scrabble.

A bit of overreacting, you say? Don’t be too quick to judge this poor soul’s desire to extract vengeance on the person responsible for her defeat.

After all, it wasn’t a gun she was grasping, or an 8 inch bladed kitchen knife, it was a spoon, the closest object she could reach that would inflict pain on her intended victim.

The Scrabble victor was able to stay ahead of her until she collapsed in exhaustion and resolution acknowledging she hated to lose and declaring she would never play again.

I play Mexican Train with a group of women, and in order to minimize bodily harm on each other, we decided not to keep score. But there were protests from a couple in our group who wanted to know who won. Identifying winners and losers is the objective of a game, isn’t it?

Just so happens, those same folks who wanted to make certain we named the ultimate victor were the ones who declared weekly they would never play again when they lost.

Now explain this to me. Why play if it strikes a blow to your ego, causing you to display violent tendencies, such as chasing an opponent with an object of possible harm?

I learned as a youngster, defeat was inevitable, but it did not mean I would never compete again. Nor did it mean I would chase my grandmother, who was confined to a wheelchair, through rooms of her house when she beat me in our daily game of Russian Bank. Even in a wheelchair, I knew she was bigger than I was.

Besides, I wanted to play again because I enjoyed the time together and the challenge of competing. Who won was not as important as the conversations we had while shuffling cards and strategizing my next play.

Not being a psychologist or an expert in human behavior, I wonder why winning is such an important part of our identity. And why losing puts a hole in our self-esteem?

The number of Mexican Train games I win or lose does not appear on my ‘permanent record,’ nor have I ever listed it on my resume. Perhaps it should be a consideration in the hiring process since it would enlighten an employer how much time I spend playing games on my computer rather than doing boring analysis of company procedures.

And it might give a hint if I will engage in raging fits of chasing co-workers with sharpened pencils when I find out they make more money than I do.