Dad’s big lesson in being competitive

WHAT’S that? You think you’re more competitive than me? Well you’re not, I’m at least 10 times more competitive than you will ever be.

I’m so competitive that on the weekend when I was driving home from Cairns in bucketing rain, I would see cars coming my way with their wipers on the fastest speed and mine only on No. 2 and I’d think to myself, “what a goon, my eyes are way better than theirs”.

My competitive nature isn’t just bound to my fantastic driving abilities, it stems to pretty much everything in my life — arguing with my wife about how many books I’ve read this year compared to her, who got the bigger scoops of ice cream, and so it goes.

I’ve always known I was competitive. From a very young age I lived by the Ricky Bobby mantra, “if you ain’t first you’re last”. I just didn’t know it until the movie came out and I was a grown man. And to think back on it, my dad had a fair bit to do with it, always jokingly saying, “ahhhh second place, the first loser”.

Having two competitive brothers and a manchild for a father, it was always on in my house.

One of my earliest memories is when we’d just got a Sega Megadrive and a baseball video game.

No matter what, no one in the house could beat Dad. “Too good,” he would say as he did his little “Ttsss Yessahhh” sound as he tasted victory again and again.

Then one magical day, my older brother was on the verge of sweet victory, something that had not been seen in our house and if you ask my dad, still hasn’t been seen.

We were in our rumpus room, it was hot, the tension was palpable and three brothers were about to see one of their own win.

It was the bottom of the ninth, two out, bases loaded, older brother up by three. Dad skyed a ball, my brother’s eyes lit up, he ran to the circle, all he had to do was wait for that ball to hit his glove. He got up, control in hand, knowing better than to leave it by Dad.

Like a cheetah stalking his prey, my dad waited, he saw his opportunity and when the ball was about to hit the glove he hit my brother’s hand, causing his player to jump out of the circle. The ball hit the ground, all of dad’s players ran home.

My brother’s shoulders were slumped, then we heard it – “Ttsss Yessahhh’’. My brother turned away, defeat etched across his face.

Three brothers all learned a very tough lesson that day: never count victory too early; never think you’ve got the old man covered until the final bell goes.