It takes a lot of courage for a person to admit a loss. Surrender is always difficult and usually the white flag rises after it's been long overdue. To swallow one's pride is a difficult, if not impossible thing, and it takes a very big man, or woman, to back down with grace and leave the battlefield. There might be some dignity in surrender but the glory of victory is like a siren calling out to sailors at sea with promises of pleasure that is beyond their dreams. It is this siren's call that makes it almost impossible to surrender.
Nobody likes a sore loser, they're no fun to play with because they always take the game too seriously. They're aggressive and unyielding. Unfortunately, I am one of those sore loser, if not the worst sore loser in history. If there was a prize for sore losing, I would get it, but it is a prize that promises no pride or glory. After a long day at work and being stuck in traffic for an hour, the game of risk I played to unwind did very little to satisfy me. I lost miserably. I did not surrender with grace nor did I get my glorious victory. I was tempted by the sweet, terrible call of the sirens and have found myself drowning to my doom, swirling in the cold waters of loss, struggling to take a breath and filling my lungs with nothing but icy water. I am drowning alone, abandoned by the ever elusive sirens.
Yes, I do take competition too seriously. Like I said, a sore loser to the very end.
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