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Most of what I've written has been published as e-books and is available at Amazon. Match Play is a golf/suspense novel. Dust of Autumn is a bloody one set in upstate New York. Prairie View is set in South Dakota, with a final scene atop Rattlesnake Butte. Life in the Arbor is a children's book about Rollie Rabbit and his friends (on about a fourth grade level). The Black Widow involves an elaborate extortion scheme. Happy Valley is set in a retirement community. Doggy-Dog World is my memoir. And ES3 is a description of my method for examining English sentence structure.
In case anyone is interested in any of my past posts, an archive list can be found at the bottom of this page. I'd appreciate any feedback you may have by sending me an e-mail note--jertrav33@aol.com. Thanks for your interest.

Wednesday, June 27

Winning & Losing


          Success and failure, winning and losing, such a fine line between each. Often, luck is involved in outcomes, often determination or lack thereof is the determiner. And sometimes we have only ourselves to blame if we lose or only ourselves to congratulate if we win. Sometimes we lose because winning would be too painful or too public and we don’t want to be at the front of the stage. Sometimes, on a subconscious level, we cause ourselves to lose. I think back to the Winter Olympics in 1994 with Dan Jansen, the speed skater who was favored to win by a bunch in the 500 and 1000 meters. But then, he’d also been a heavy favorite in 1988 and 1992 . . . and lost. In 1988 in both events he slipped and lost. In 1992 in Albertville the ice was too soft and he failed miserably. And in 1994 (that was the year the Winter Games got back on schedule with the Summer Games), he partially slipped in the last corner heading home, fell to the ice again, and lost again. He was devastated, his wife was devastated, his coach was devastated. I was reminded of Jim Ryun years and years ago in the mile and Olympic 1500 meters. He was the best miler in the world at the time; at eighteen he became the youngest ever to break the four-minute barrier (3:55.3). He ran in the 1964 Games but failed to get through the preliminaries and then won the silver, his only medal, in the 1968 Games held in Mexico City at elevations that Ryun wasn’t used to and he could do no better than second place. It was what happened to him in the 1972 Games that was so tragically sad. In his preliminary heat, in which he was incorrectly entered because of some official’s error over his time in the 1500, he had 500 meters to go when a runner in front of him slowed down and Ryun ran into him, after which a runner behind him stepped on his foot and all three fell off the track. He got up and limped in, with a look of agony for me and the world to see. And that ended his attempts to win gold in the 1500 meter Summer Games. It was one of the saddest moments in sports I ever witnessed. Was it fate that caused that fall? Was it fate that put him in a preliminary with inexperienced runners? Or was it some part of him that didn’t want to win the gold? I think some people cause themselves to lose in biggies like the Olympics. Maybe their fear of failing is so great that they, like people who are accident prone, make things happen that will allow them to lose for reasons that aren’t their fault, or at least for reasons over which they had no control. Jansen and Ryun may fall into that category.
          There must be all kinds of other unfortunate losers not just in sports but in life itself, with unrequited lovers probably the best example. According to Tennyson, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Hmm, I’m not sure I agree with Lord T.

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