Me and my Competitive Nature

The other day, as I was talking shit to some old men and betting 20 Dollars a throw in a game of Horseshoes at a cook-out I was at, I realized that I am competitive. Granted, I have known this for a while, but didn't really see it as a problem until I found myself telling a older gentlemen that "he was so old that even his fucking memories are in black and white" as I tried to throw off his rhythm before he was about to throw his horseshoe. I think my competitive nature, I believe, is because it is either all or nothing with me, either I try to win by any means necessary or I am just joking around. That is the main reason I am no good at slap boxing, the age old male tradition of showing off your boxing prowess by slapping your opponent on the face. I'm no good at that because I feel either we are fighting, or we aren't. This is the same reason why I couldn't be an actor in one of those Cinemax-esque late night sex movies where the humping is simulated, because either I want to give a woman 2 beautiful minutes of sexual ecstasy or nothing. I have rambled long enough, here are some examples of how my competitive nature went a bit too far.

Basketball: My friend Bob was throwing a birthday cook-out for his father who was turning 60 at the time. I have known Bob most of my life and I am extremely cool with their family, at least I was. Bob's father was a pretty good CBA player who had a brief stint in the NBA some years back. The whole day we had a good time, played spades, drank, talked shit, we had a ball with Bob's sister videotaping the entire thing. It was about 6p.m when Bob had asked his father, "I bet you have lost it old man, you think you can still shoot some hoops??" His father replied, "You know I can! HumanityCritic, lets go one on one for a couple of minutes." I agreed, so we went to the court they had set up in the backyard. The entire party filters out to see us play, with Bob's sister still taping us every second. I figured that the guy is 60, has extremely bad knee's, and it's his birthday so I will just half way guard him and treat it like a joke. The first few times I had the ball I didn't even drive, just settled for jump shots that I luckily made. The first time Bob's dad got the ball he not only forcefully backed me down under the basket, but he scored and started talking shit, saying "Jesus man, you guard me like we are slow dancing!" Still, I maintain my composure and still take it in as a joke. He got the ball back and this time not only was he talking a tremendous amount of shit, but he elbowed the fuck out of me in the stomach. As I hunched over I looked up and saw Bob's sister zooming in on me, laughing, actually everyone was laughing. The last thing I wanted to become was Bob's family's joke on tape, that they could show to love ones for a laugh whenever they wanted.

I get the ball back, back him the fuck down, and placed my pivot foot directly on his so he couldn't contest my shot or jump. When he got the ball back he tried to post me up like before, but this time when he elevated to shoot I jumped with all my might, swung my arm back, and blocked the shit out of his shot. I even screamed, "Get that weak shit out of here motherfucker!!", as I turned to the camera and screamed "What!! What!! What!!" I looked around and people weren't laughing anymore, they all looked at me with a "What kind of asshole are you?" look, as Bob's dad clutched his knee. I felt that my competitiveness got the best of me, I felt bad because the entire cook-out had began to look at me like I was Shaquille O'Neal at a spelling Bee, but I felt better when a devil appeared on my shoulder and said.. Devil: "But that motherfucker elbowed you in the stomach, I don't care how old he was!" I was only semi-relieved, only because seeing imaginary objects can't be good thing mental health wise.

Paintball: Playing this game just let me now that if I ever became a hit-man, that I would shout out movie quotes from 90's "hood movies" as my signature trademark as I "offed" somebody. But I will get to that later. A few months ago my friend put together a paintball match with some of his co-workers and he invited me. I thought it might me fun, being that I had so much fun the last time I used one when I peppered a 19 year old kid with round after round, after I took it from him because he shot my house with it. Anyway, I got the gear and was supplied with the standard paint-gun that the park provides you. I put it in my belt ala "Dough boy" in "Boys in the Hood", ready to take on anyone who stood in my way. A few minutes later, after feeling ultra confident, I found myself shot the fuck up looking like a god-damn rainbow. I can take losing, but the thing that infuriated me was that the other guys on the opposing team had targeted me, so taking me out was their prime objective, not winning the game. Also, a few of Mark's co-workers, had shot me multiple times from a long distance after I was already down. Those things hurt if you don't know, and I would of punched this guy name Mike for doing what he did, but since his son was in attendance I didn't commence in whipping that ass.(See, HumanityCritic has a heart.)

So my friends, for the past few months I have been waging an all out war. I bought a couple of high-powered paint-guns, a pistol-type model, and a shitload of paintball grenades for when we played again.(I know it sounds silly to spend so much bank on something I will probably never do again, but those fuckers had to pay!!) A few weeks ago when Mark called me to play again, lets just say I was ready. We get there and I am in full fledged attack mode, so much that I look at Mark and say, "Are you ready to twist these fools cap backward?",(*See "Menace to Society") he looked at me and said "What in the fuck are you talking about?" As far as the others knew I only had the regulation paint-gun, they didn't know that I had two high powered paint-guns, along with a pistol-styled one, and a shitload of paint grenades strapped to my body. I felt like a drealocked Rambo and shit. As we begin I stalk Marks' co-workers, I hide behind a tree and when one approaches I lace him with about 20 shots in the chest and scream "Riverside Motherfucker!!"(*See Tupac in "Juice") The man that I had just shot said, "Dude, you are crazy, calm the fuck down!!" The mere look of bewilderment on the faces of some of the opposing players was priceless as they are covered with paint from my paint grenades that I had just thrown in their direction. As Mark and I run across a muddy field, his friend Gary gets hit mid stride. Mark says, "Shit, Gary's been hit!", to which I reply, "Come on, that N*gga's dead!"(*See O Dog in "Menace to Society") Mark looked and me and said, "What is wrong with you today??" I then approach an opposing player who had obviously climbed a tree to gain advantage, but the problem with that was that he didn't have eyes in the back of his head. I got right behind him, pulled out both high powered guns, and as I shot him in the back about a million times as I screamed "Buck, Buck, Buck! Take that with you on the way down!"(*See Kool G Rap lyric in the song "Ill Street Blues) The guy fell out of the tree, got up and was screaming to whoever could hear him "That bastard is cheating, look at the guns he has!!" Our team had won for the day but I could tell that Mark was mad at me, but I could also tell that he was somewhat amused at the same time. As we gathered in the parking lot Mark's friend Mike came up to me and said, "You have a problem man, you are crazy!!" I couldn't resist the opportunity to say, "You know what, I am crazy, and you know what else? I don't give a fuck!!"(*See Tupac in "Juice")