My Controller Is Broken

When I was a young man I was highly competitive.

Some may remember me as a poor sport even.

We played a lot of baseball in my backyard and I would set the ground rules. I changed them from game to game.

Then we entered the video game era and there was a whole new level of aggravation. My kids play now and I hear them yelling in their rooms at whoever they’re playing.

I recognize their frustration because my brother Jeff owned me in all the video games...

...and when he would score on me he would punctuate it by yelling:

“HE SHOOTS, HE SCORES!”

I had a hundred and one excuses...

...none being more useful than:

“There’s something wrong with my controller!”

As I’m writing this I’m also thinking of my pal, Jeff Renaldo, who figured out a cheat code for SEGA Hockey ‘94. He would score anytime he wanted without even actually taking a shot.

I still don’t know how he did it but I’d lose 7-4 and he’d finish with 7 goals and only 5 shots on goal.

“You’re cheating!” I’d cry.

The reaction to my ranting?

Both Jeff and Jeff would simply laugh at me.

And that’s what is kind of funny about this week.

Trump was beat.

Soundly.

It wasn’t actually all that close. Five and a half million votes.

The same electoral beating that he claimed in 2016.

Trump was ranting about cheating months ahead of the election.

The writing was on the wall.

The mail was slowed. Lawsuits were filed to stop the counting of mail-in votes in 3 states.

There were states where Trump took an early lead. As the mail-in votes were being counted he was screaming:

“My controller is broken!”

Here’s the funny thing about my years of being a poor sport...

...I felt ridiculous about it after the game was over.

I remember where I changed my ways too.

I had just 5-putted a hole on the back 9 at Eden Valley. It was an absolutely ridiculous green that should have had a windmill on it.

I went off!

The end result was I broke my putter on the back of the golf cart after making a hole in the green.

Pops was with me.

He was looking at me like I was possessed.

He actually gave me a new putter and after laughing heartily, he helped me figure out that there was something wrong with me.

I still have the putter he gave me that day. It’s been probably 15 years since that little episode.

I haven’t thrown more than 2 clubs in anger since, and even those were half-hearted tosses.

Being a bad loser is a character flaw.

When you’re a presidential candidate who is soundly trashed...

...it’s much better to be a good loser.

Especially when all the evidence is stacking up against you.

My brother Jeff would end all debate by switching controllers with me.

Then he would beat me again.

There was nothing left for me to say.

Trump is in the same boat.

Hang it up.

Get a new putter.

Pack up your controller.

You lost.