Diving Into the Game

The Olympics came to a close on Sunday. Personally, I’ve given little thought to these events in the past, but was enthralled with the stories of victory and defeat, not least of which the gold medal win of Australia’s 20-year-old Matthew Mitcham, who held the distinction of not only defeating the heavily favored Chinese divers but was the ONLY openly gay male athlete at the games. It was nice to see the out and proud Aussie take the gold — though the silver may have better suited his fair skin tone. Still, the whole Olympiad just made me think of sex, or rather my lack there of. With the solos, the duos, the teams, the “water sports,” spandex, and the relentless parade of perfectly toned bodies, the Olympic Village must have been a veritable Shangri-la for Mitcham or any of the closeted competitors.

Unfortunately, the Olympics fell far short of the abundant and gratuitous porn one can find online to really satisfy any carnal yearnings. The nightly barrage of chiseled abs and taut pecs reminded me that these sporting events too closely resembled the challenges we face on a more consistent basis — the challenge of dating and maintaining relationships in an age of up to the minute updates. Whether on TV or on your laptop in the living room, the man of your dreams seems to be within reach, but the games we play in the competition of love, often keep us from the podium of happily ever after.

Any casual viewer of television sitcoms or romantic comedies, (I assume that to be anyone reading this column) knows about ‘the game,’ its apparent ‘rules,’ and that no matter how closely played or followed, how it’s next to impossible to win. Like the tie-breaking guidelines for women’s gymnastics, ‘the rules’ of the game are both arbitrary and unfair. They ask us to go against our better judgment and emotions and force us to agonize about making the wrong decision. In an age of constant communication, they tell us to be aloof and unavailable. When we are falling head over heels for someone they dictate that we play it cool and act like there is something else we’d rather be doing.

The decathlon may seem like the ultimate torture for many, but anyone who has agonized over when to send a text message after a second date knows that playing ‘the game,’ can be even more exhausting. So why do we put ourselves through it? The game seems to be designed to ease ourselves and the object of our affection into a relationship that neither may truly wish to be a part of. We heighten tension by becoming aloof, and replace genuine affection and growing interest with a competitive drive to successfully woo the unwooable. Am I the only one that sees the flaws in this plan?

The only way to truly win in love is to abandon the rules that contradict nature. Every new relationship is built on the chemistry and spark between people. If we think we have to stifle the flame by screening calls and delaying emails, then how do we ever expect the relationship to grow into an Olympic torch-worthy blaze of glory? If our heart tells us to text immediately on the way home from the first date, than why should we wait the mandated three days? If the other guy felt the same way too he would be elated by your openness and excited to book the next date sooner rather than later. If the pursuit is too eager or off-putting than he can drop out of the race, but at least you’ll know after round one that he won’t be making it to the finals.

I love the spirit of competition and I love the thrill of victory, but I’m also a fan of instant gratification and honesty. I don’t have four years to wait and see if maybe we’ll make history. I don’t want to cautiously play on a team round after round, only to be knocked out at the last minute.

In the game of love we’re all like divers, jumping into a pool of uncertainty. We have our best moves, and lines prepared, our funny anecdotes and touching sentiments. We enter each round of dates ready to take it just a little bit further, hoping to impress the judges with our grace and skill. The game may be rough, and the rules may be set, but if lovely Mr. Mitcham has taught us anything it’s that we never stop diving. It may take until the last round, but with the same relentless spirit and our own set of rules, a gold medal romance, or a steamy locker room scene even, may not be just a fantasy.

Appeared originally on 8/26/2008 at http://www.homo-neurotic.com/2008/08/26/everybody-does-it-diving-into-the-game/