I hate losing. It doesn't matter if it's a card game, a touch-football game, or Scattergories. Losing is like being forced to drink a tall glass of cottage cheese while watching your puppy get kicked by the opposing team.
I know that sounds slightly extreme, but it used to be a lot worse for me. Whenever I'd lose or my favorite team would lose, it used to depress me for days. Not minutes. Not hours. Days. The worst was whenever my beloved Oregon Ducks would lose a football game.
Growing up, the Ducks used to lose often, so fall was always a rough time for my heart. But once I hit high school, winning became a regular thing for the Ducks. It got to the point that in my freshman year of college—attending the University of Oregon, of course—the Ducks were well on their way to go to the national championship game, led by the Heisman-trophy-candidate quarterback, Dennis Dixon.
But while playing Arizona, Dixon's knee gave out, a season-ending injury. Without their starting quarterback, the Ducks flailed and lost the game, forfeiting all national championship aspirations. They limped through the remainder of the season.
Needless to say, I was devastated. This was the worst loss of them all. I wasn't just depressed, I was angry. I felt like this had been some sick cosmic joke, to come so far over the years just to fall flat. It was unjust.
Trying to cope with the loss, some friends wanted to watch a movie. If something else occupied our minds, then maybe we would feel better. Someone chose the movie Blood Diamond, which had come out on DVD not too long before. If you don't know, Blood Diamond is a movie about conflict diamonds and how they are used to fund rebel armies who use child soldiers to wage their wars. It's a gruesome but very well-made film.
There's this one scene in the movie where the rebel general invades a village looking for new boys to join his army and slaves to mine for diamonds. The general massacres much of the village and rounds up all the males, boys and men. Hands get chopped off. Mothers get shot. It's horrible.
I remember watching the scene and feeling disturbed because the crimes committed were so wrong. But then I suddenly felt more disturbed. I realized that although I was moved by this injustice, I was not angered by it—not like how I was angered by the supposed injustice of the Duck game. I was more furious about a football game than I was about an evil man brainwashing children to kill people. I remember thinking, I am a horrible human being. Football doesn't matter as much as people.
Jesus took me to the mat for that one. Thankfully, from that point on I've had a sobered perspective on losing. Sometimes I have an initial emotional reflex, but it's always tempered with that memory.
A couple years later, the Oregon Ducks actually ended up going the national championship game but we lost because of a last second field goal. I was fine. Watching the game was actually one of the most fun experiences of my college career.
I'm not saying losing should be easy. I understand the pain of losing a game. In a high school soccer playoff game, I missed a penalty kick that would've tied the game. Instead, we lost because of me. The pain is real, especially for the players and coaches. I'm not going to take that away from anyone. But I do know that sports is just a part of life, not life itself. While we're losing games, people are losing loved ones. We should consider ourselves blessed when the most traumatic event in our life is just losing a game.
At the same time, we shouldn't devalue the losses. Don't pretend like they never happened. They're tools to teach us, grow us. In many ways, you learn more when you lose than when you win. There is such a thing as getting back on the horse, stepping back into the ring, and the come-from-behind win.
Everyone is going to lose at some point, definitely in sports but also in life. The question is not if you will lose, but how will you react.