Handling losses

I learned a long time ago how to handle losses. As a kid, I really didn’t understand the concept that hard work and sacrifice would eventually make it easier to excel. I figured that since I went to practice three times a week that I should win every tournament and always come home with the biggest trophy. I was setting myself up for a number of occasions filled with disappointment. Until I got into high school, every time I lost I would cry. Not just a couple of tears, but the all-out, “I just broke up with my girlfriend/my dog just died” cry. I would run and hide under the bleachers until my parents came searching for me. My Mom was typically sympathetic. She would try to encourage me and tell me, “You'll get them next time.” My Dad was the complete opposite. He would yell at me to come out from under the bleachers and to stop being a baby. He would tell me, “If you would have wrestled harder and won, you wouldn’t be crying.” As harsh as it sounds, it was filled with truth.

My biggest memory of his tough love was when I lost in the finals of our county championship to a kid named Mark Hague from Kingsway. As silly as this may sound now, the county championship was a pretty big deal back then. I was up by one point with ten seconds left, and instead of defending, I backed up, was hit for stalling, and the match went to overtime. In the second overtime period, he rode me out to win. I remember laying on bottom watching as the clock wound down….5, 4, 3, 2, 1. This was one of the biggest tournaments of the year for me, and I let it slip away. I cried. After the finals someone at the head table handed us a slip of paper that had our tournament finish printed on it and told us where to go to pick up our plaques. Obviously the second place plaque wasn’t nearly as big as the first, and I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I didn’t want to go get my second place trophy. I wanted the big one. I tried to pass the slip to my Dad. “Can you please go get it for me?” I asked him, sadly. “Nope. You get it yourself," he said. "I’m not getting it. If you want it, you have to go get it yourself.” I replied, “Fine, I’m not getting it.” I hoped that this would make him feel bad and that he would finally give in and go get it. “Ok, let’s go,” he said smoothly as he headed towards the exit door. He called my bluff. It was either leave empty handed or swallow my pride, and go to pick up the trophy that I had earned. So with dried tears on my cheeks, I went to pick up my second place trophy from the award room. My Dad probably doesn’t even remember this story. As insignificant as it may seem, I believe this was an important moment in my development as an athlete, and as a man.

The truth behind it is why I love the sport of wrestling so much. It’s one on one, with no help from your teammates or your coaches. Once you step onto the mat, there is just you and another man, and the victory usually comes down to willpower and the desire to win. I’ve been told “no” many times in my life. I remember being told I was too small, not smart enough, or a number of other reasons for being rejected. But when put my foot on the line, I know that I decide whether I win or lose. It’s a pretty liberating feeling. If I am beaten, I don’t use excuses. My opponent was more prepared than I was. Excuses are just a rationalization that you make up to cope with defeat. “Toughness is the ability not to rationalize. Rationalization is to make an excuse for not achieving more than you have to that point (Jay Bilas)."

I’ve learned that it’s not always about the destination, but the journey. As much as I would love to stand on top of the podium after each event, I know that may not always happen. I smile regardless. I could be going home with no reward at all. I may not win every competition that I enter, but that won’t stop me from trying. “Failing doesn’t make you a failure. Failing makes you a competitor. Every competitor fails. If you lay it on the line, you will come up short at times. Failure is a part of competing, and embracing that fact is an important component of toughness. Tough people fail, but tough people are not failures. The only failures are those who give up, or give in (Jay Bilas)."

-Jordan Burroughs