Cribbage (men only need read this)

I had forgotten what a bad loser I was. As a teenager, tantrums having lost at table tennis to my Dad were a fairly regular occurrence. Both the losing and the tantrums were a regular occurrence, at least until I went to university, where two hours a day with table tennis bat, reversed my fortunes.

I can rationalise this as a determination to improve, an unwillingness to give up, the striving necessary to make it to the next stage, and of course, all these were part of my genetic make-up, for which my Dad is 50% responsible.

My Dad will testify to numerous examples of Junior Hawker throwing things around, on being given out lbw at cricket, at being dealt a bad set of cards at bridge, or even worse, being dealt a fantastic hand of cards, and then not getting the chance to play it.

A number of broken squash rackets, not all of them mine, testified to the poor character of the now “Swiss Based and Totally Rational” Colin Hawker. A missed shot, followed by racket abuse, not on the soft grass of Wimbledon centre court, but the unforgiving concrete of the walls of Walton-on-Thames squash court, and another squash racket bites the dust.

And who would not sulk on being beaten at monopoly 12 times in a row, especially when you have Park Lane and Mayfair and the opposition only has old Kent Road, but manages to skip merrily over every danger, for at least 672 rounds, collecting £200 each time?

But all that is past me now. I am calmness personified. Serenity rules. The assembling of IKEA furniture is allowed as the only exception, as this is not a sport, but a military campaign. The screwdriver-marks in the plaster will testify to this. Apart from that, I can take defeat “like a man”.

Furthermore, I now consider myself sufficiently mature to regard winning and defeat with equal indifference. Indeed, the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling, is my own personal mantra in this respect.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If%E2%80%94

But then in May, Cribbage came along……..

Kevin, my son-in-law, has a great deal to answer for. I am sure that it was his idea to play. After all the Cribbage board had been sitting there for months, just asking to be used. “How about a game of Cribbage?” “Oh yes”, I foolishly and innocently replied, not realizing what demons were about to be released.

I thought I knew the rules of Cribbage, and regarded myself as an adequately good player. One hour later, all illusions were shattered. You have to understand that it was not my lack of skill, but that I had really bad cards and everyone else must have been cheating

I was not content with one night of ritual humiliation, Hazel and I continued playing for the following week. How do you cope with managing only 2 points with your own hand and the box, which in bridge terms is the equivalent of being dealt a hand with one Jack and nothing else higher than an 8? And how is it, that I never got 15 in the play (for “2” points). This conspiracy is a throw-back to my table tennis. Nights of humiliation at the Cribbage table continued, until Hazel took pity on me, and let me win.

“Don’t do it”, says my Dad to Hazel. Don’t take any prisoners. It’s good for his character.

No mercy there.