My ‘Loser’ tag may well be a thing of the past, at least for a while

I’M a loser. Now don’t feel sorry for me. It’s alright. I’ve been a loser all my life. You get used to it. And in case you’re wondering, I don’t suffer from low self esteem. When I say I’m a loser, I mean in terms of actual physical victories, be them sporting or otherwise.

According to family folklore, the only thing I’m capable of winning is an argument and that’s because I will talk my opponent to the point of them just giving up in a bid to shut me up. I must confess, I love having the last word and I make no apologies. So there!

Anyway back to my Loser status. I was always rubbish at sport. In school I was the last person to be picked for any sports team. And if there was an odd number the PE teacher would add me on as an extra person and the team would still say, ‘Ah Miss, do we have to have Justine?’

When we played camogie, if the ball came near me I screamed and ran in the opposite direction. In basketball, I’d just stand there avoiding eye contact so no one would expect me to do anything and with athletics I’d get a stitch after running ten seconds.

My Loser status isn’t just confined to sports. With board games I always blurt out the answer. I get so excited, the first thing that comes into my head comes out and with cards, I may as well just give you my hand to look at, I’m so transparent.

It doesn’t really bother me. The good thing about being a Loser is that no one has any expectations of you. It does bother my poor husband though, who thinks for some inexplicable reason that I’m not fulfilling my potential in many aspects of my life!

So he’s back on the ‘Let’s Make Justine A Winner’ campaign again. He signed me up for a tennis tournament without my knowledge. And he played the emotional blackmail card by informing me it was for a children’s charity. How could I say no?

I played the first match. I lost 14-1. Himself was mortified and tried to pretend he didn’t know me. I was actually delighted I managed to win one game. I escaped the second and third matches as I was sick. Genuinely on my last legs sort of sick because trust me, Himself wouldn’t have left me away with it otherwise.

My fourth match came round. Off I trotted in my too-tight TK Maxx sporty pants that left nothing to the imagination preparing for another round of defeat. By the fifth game they were winning well, the sweat was pouring off me in bucketfuls and my partner was displaying the patience of a saint.

‘Come on now,’ she said, ‘We can do this. You can do this Justine!’ Unbelievably we won the next game. I did a little victory dance. She told me that wasn’t correct etiquette. I danced a little more.

And guess what? We won! We bloody won! By the skin of our teeth, to be fair. But we won! My very first win. Like EVER!

I could get used to this!

UNBELIEVABLY WE WON THE NEXT GAME. I DID A LITTLE VICTORY DANCE. SHE TOLD ME THAT WASN’T CORRECT ETIQUETTE