Last season, I was on the hockey team that won every. Single. Game. (strangely, you’d think that was fun, but it really got old… more on that some other time). This season though, no wins. And there we were, five goals in the hole in the third period:
My buddy, John looked over at me and said “Great shift, Crash*. I hate when everyone stops trying just ‘cause we’re losing.”
“I’m just too dumb to know we’ve lost, and I don’t know how to give up,” I said.
John pointed at me. “And that’s how I know you’re a writer.”
Right, now back to the dissertation (Sooooooo close! I can feel it. It has the cold whispers of doubt and fear coupled with anticapatory celebration, but that makes me feel a little guilty about the idea that I still have time to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory... back to work for me)
*Yes, my hockey name is Crash (as in crash the net). I picked it up when I had a team that bought jerseys and had funny nicknames sewn on the backs. Mine stuck.