When Did Losing Become Acceptable

When Did Losing Become Acceptable?

Guys; from the day that we understand random grunts in succession have meaning our fathers ingrain into our domes that we are meant to be virtuous. We are to pull chairs out for women, to pay for them, and to listen to them talk about shoes. We learn the difference between right and wrong, and good and bad. We are taught to win with grace and lose with dignity (And that losing sucks). In short, we are taught the meaning of nobility. A few years later we will forget all of it until (I presume; as I don’t, in fact, have a son) our own son is born and we teach him a bunch of things he’ll forget until (I presume) his son is born. Still, most rational people have a basic understanding of nobility and of its generally beneficial properties. My question is why do people seem more noble in defeat?

After Michael Jordan scored 63 in a losing effort, against the Celtics, Larry Bird said, “That was God disguised as Michael Jordan out there…”I guess, since the Celtics won, Larry Legend was implying that the 1986 Celtics could beat the all-powerful creator, but aside from that, Michael Jordan’s team LOST. Jordan is (perhaps) the greatest competitor to ever lace up a pair of sneakers and, obviously, the 63 points is not his iconic gift to the game, but it may be his most stunning singular feat. He scored 63 points against, maybe, the third best team ever assembled. (Definitely a top 5 pantheon team), and he lost the game. This brings me to another question: When did losing become acceptable? The thing is; I know it wasn’t acceptable to Jordan, but as time wears on it seems to have become acceptable to everyone else. Writers, pundits and fans remember it as one of the greatest games ever played in a losing effort. I’m sure Jordan sees it as a missed opportunity and a learning experience. Perhaps it was both but the question is; why do we care? I can’t answer the question, but I’d bet it relates to Clint Eastwood crying, metrosexuality and the continued marginalization of the All-American man.

To this day, when people (my dad) look back on Jordan’s 63 they always say it was one of the most amazing performances they have ever seen (It probably was). But his team still lost. Why is it that when a person leaves everything on the playing surface only to come up short, people suddenly martyr him? Did losing while scoring gobs of points actually enhance his legend? What if he had won? What would people say then? Would they have said Larry Legend and the Celtic 5 left it all out on the floor? Would the Celtics have then been sympathetic? More importantly, why does 63 points in a losing effort add to the lore and allure of Michael Jordan? I think something deeper is going on here. There is something sacrilegiously beautiful about human excellence coupled with human failure. That’s why people, in their minds, are actually happy when professional golfers chunk a shot…or they nod knowingly—and say they knew it was going to happen—when Donavon McNabb loses another close playoff game. It humanizes a group of people who, for all intensive purposes, are inhuman. For most of us, going an entire round without a chunky shot is impossible and the way Donavon reads a defense is both beautiful and infuriating; it is inhuman. But the fact that he loses on the biggest stage and in the most spectacular ways possible (the fact that he chokes) that is something we can all relate to. We crave excellence but revel in its failure precisely because they are doing things we can only dream about. But maybe there’s something more to this because the thing is Michael Jordan is now a winner whereas Donavon McNabb is not.

Perhaps Jordan’s 63 only add to his lore because of what he went on to do with his career. Six World Titles later the 63 against the Celtics was a happy afterthought. It was one singular game where his greatness was more apparent than ever before. But this is counterfactual engineering. What if Jordan had never won a title (Also counterfactual engineering)? At the time of his post-season scoring record, he had not yet won one. Would his career then have been remembered similarly to that of Dominique Wilkins’? Maybe he would have just been remembered as a no holds-barred gunner forever.

The thing is, he did win six titles so we can remember the game fondly, but my question still remains; why do we look back fondly on a game in which the greatest basketball player ever played his best and couldn’t manage to win? I think there are two possible answers to this query. It could be that as we look back on his career and we ruminate over his legacy it becomes more and more apparent that, in his prime, he was not human. If he hadn’t retired the first time he may have won eight straight world titles, but the fact that at one point in history he had given it his all and it hadn’t been enough reminds everyone that failure is okay as long as through failure one reaches greater heights than before. I wish this was true, but I know that its not. In truth, it probably reminded people of their own failures (especially) in athletics, probably in high school, when they just hadn’t had enough or weren’t good enough to win. Perhaps this is what Jordan’s failure showed America. The greatest basketball player in the world played as well as he could. And he lost. It must be okay to lose. Actually it’s not, but it does almost make losing seem more noble.