From dawg to kitty cat: a faltering competitive spirit

BREAD & CIRCUSES | COLUMN | SPORTS | WAIRUATANGA / SPIRITUALITY

Written by Luke Fisher (he/him) | @lukefish7__ | CONTRIBUTING COLUMNIST

“I believe sport is actually a chance for us to have other human beings push us to excel.”

Though I can’t say I’ve ever recited a line from a poem as part of a football drill, this quote resonated with me. It felt like a suitable one to start this piece with, not least because I look like every student from the Dead Poet’s Society put together.

I relish the chance to excel on the sports field. Win: feel good. Goal: feel good too. However, a motif of my brief foray into adult life has been my casting of judgement upon opposition players in social football leagues whom I think were trying too hard. No, not trying too hard as such (as a former Sanitarium Weetbix TRYathlon athlete, there is no such thing), but rather being a tryhard. Trying hard, but doing it in a way that doesn’t match up perfectly with my moral, cultural and spiritual values. I think people who do not fit this rigorous criteria should be ejected from competition immediately.

In all seriousness, my often unquenched thirst to play to a high level and win it all I possessed playing regional competitive sport in high school has been mostly replaced by excitement for the Yate’s lawn seed I sowed into a bare patch of my flat’s lawn to take hold. I’m no longer set on an unhealthy quest for self-esteem via a relentless pursuit of cricket runs. Instead, I seek purpose in life serving mates juicy chicken drumsticks hot off the WeberQ I got for Christmas.

So, in the famously healthy spirit of comparing myself to others, I looked inwards and outwards to answer some questions, including whether the unfortunate euthanasia of that dog in me was actually for the best.

Where does it come from?

Competitiveness is an evolutionary trait in humans and many animals – stemming from a need to rise above the rest in the Burgerfuel-less survival environments of previous ages. We saw this resurface during Covid with lesser-evolved Karens fighting for the last package of Purex. Our competitive instincts didn’t just fade away with our need to spear mammoths to get by. Instead, they’ve been channelled into areas like sports, academics, careers and social status.

According to Psychology Today, the competitive trait can be influenced by both genetic and environmental factors. A child of an elite athlete is likely to inherit the personality traits that made that athlete elite. Similarly, anyone who has siblings knows the struggle of competing for their parents’ attention; or the dream of being recognised in a public ceremony as the favourite child. ‘Environmental’ can apply to countless parts of life. To name a few: high-stakes careers, professional sports teams, and bowling dates.

For me, and most other guys I imagine, competitiveness peaked during adolescence. This can be explained partly by the bulk testosterone pumping through our systems during high school – but the overwhelming need to forge an identity for ourselves at that time must also get a mention. No one wants to be known as the slowest in the team. Or the one that can’t catch. Or throw. I fought tooth and nail to keep my name away from these categories. Unfortunately, not everyone can be the fastest kid in school, and while I won’t say I sat at the bottom, I did hover around that lower quartile.

In high school I staked my identity on being a cricketer, despite my career having a dismal mahi to treats ratio. During one of my rare successes, an article in the local newspaper quoted my coach:

“Luke’s been training since July, and is one of the hardest-working players around. To see him make runs for us here was heart-warming. He batted beautifully.”

A diligent student of tall poppy politics, I was quick to set the record straight:

When asked about his innings, the Bay’s first batsman to make a score of consequence at this tournament was typically self-deprecating.

“I was put down three times and also was nearly stumped, but it was my day and I backed myself,” Fisher said.

For those not versed in cricket chat (don’t worry, it’s probably one of the most inaccessible sports there is), I was pointing out that the opposition missed numerous opportunities to get me out. The point is that this was the only thing I was known for, and my main source of purpose – of course I was going to be competitive. But that wasn’t sustainable.

Where does it go?

It’s different for everyone, but for me leaving my hometown to go to university in the big smoke was liberating. I’d escaped the place where everybody had known me since age seven. No longer handcuffed by the identity I’d incoherently constructed for myself there, I had the opportunity to rebuild my life around more than just a sport where even professional players ‘fail’ around 75% of the time. I wrote, tried new sports, found love … fumbled it. After eighteen long years, I became multi-dimensional. 

As for sport, I still want to play well and I still want to win. But it isn’t the be all and end all, and I have so much more fun as a result. I’ve come to terms with not being a national sporting hero, and now live my life like a retired greyhound – sleeping most of the day, occasionally getting up for a nice run around the local park.

The competitive drive stays with many into adulthood. This isn’t a bad thing. If it left everyone, people like me wouldn’t have professional athletes to criticise from the safety of our couches. Thirteen years ago, a college football coach delivered an uber-American rant that hammers this point home better than I ever could:

“I told our players: you needa be more like a dawg, we don’t need a bunch a cats in here. Meowwwwww, lookin’ in the mirror… ‘Do I look goooood? Got my extra bands onnnn, got my other shoes up-’ BE A DAWG."

But there are healthy and unhealthy types of competitiveness. The healthy kind focuses on a drive to constantly improve and push your limits. It leads to personal growth, achievement and resilience. The unhealthy kind is fueled by an obsession with outperforming others at all costs. It often results in stress, anxiety and poor sportsmanship. This harks back to the tryhards featured at the beginning of this piece. This doesn’t belong at a social football game on a Wednesday evening after work.

Am I simply perfect?

I realise in writing the previous paragraph I have appointed myself judge, jury and executioner of all things moral. But I am no competitive Jesus, and will forever be striving for that perfect balance of caring enough, but not too much. In sport and in life, too.

I’m not immune to unhealthy competitiveness. I feel stress and self-doubt when I see my coworkers excelling, and yet struggle to find the drive to pursue excellence myself. Only getting my arse into gear when my fear of mediocrity overtakes lazy complacency can’t be a recipe for success. Add a penchant for (addiction to) Instagram reels to the mix and the big leagues shan’t be calling. Sometimes I wouldn’t mind having a little bit of that dog in me.

But no matter how cliché this sounds, the important thing to remember is that everyone is on their own journey. A massive advantage I’ve found in my life is that no one can read my mind. So we all have time to work on solutions to our issues while everyone else assumes we’re doing pretty damn well for ourselves. 

Until then, well, there’s always beer.