Voodoo Economics

I've read the ancient Aztecs used to sacrifice the losers of their events. I envy them. Until America adopts similar customs I am stuck living with the shame. Parading through life with that undeniable stain. Walking through crowds reeking of the rancid stench of failure.
I can't help it. Most people think it was my father. I wasn't very old at all when he explained the family motto.
"How do you spell FUN? W-I-N?"
This bit of advice played a huge factor in me not having much fun at my first spelling bee.

However, it was my mother who influenced me the most. Her silent pacifism embarrassed me. no matter what happened or how she was slighted, she just sat there and took it. Once a tele-marketer scammed her out of 100 bucks for some sort of rewards program. We never received any of the cards or whatever we were promised and were billed anyways. She just sat there and took it. "Turn the other cheek." Absolutely sickening. I replay that scene in my head over and over again when the urge to quit or give in seductively waves it's lacy undergarments in my direction.
That will never be me.
If there is anything I hate more than losing, it is being helpless to decide my own destiny. During what would turn out to be my last water polo game, my coach decided to put me at the end of the bench. This is not how you treat a returning All American. Perhaps the only time I will ever celebrate a loss.
Later he tried explaining it to me. He thought he was being clever. I didn't match up well with there quicker players. Maybe on paper it made sense.
I explained to him the Prom Theorem of sports: Dance with who brought you. their team would also have to match up to me, a stronger, more powerful player (not to mention more skilled). He promptly made me do push-ups.
In the weeks that followed, I skipped practice and stayed at home. I was like Achilles, pouting in my tent.
Except no one came and got me.
Alone and bored, I joined a tennis club. At least in this sport I wasn't dependent on others and I could never be benched. But my losing streak continued. Be patient, people would tell me. You have a lot of potential. Great. I am the unending abyss of potential.
The losses piled up and my racquet became more and more a frisbee. After about 13 matches without a win, my racquet decided to quit on me.
My tennis venture over I tried other outlets. The streak continued. Loss 21 was pick up game against what turned out to be a semipro basketball team from DC. Loss 47- a game of darts against a drunk sorority girl. Each night I prayed to God, "Give me victory or give me death, whichever you see fit." Everyday losses were tallied. The final straw was loss 99 to my five year old cousin in Monopoly.
The time had come to a consult a lower authority.
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It was actually not nearly as warm as the stories tell, just naggingly humid. I sat in the waiting room and leafed through a couple of really old TIME magazines. Finally, my number was called and I was invited into the office.
"What can I do for you today?" Satan grinned fiendishly at me from across the desk. "We're running a special on bobble heads."
I explained to him my situation. From my unfair benching to the losing streak from ... well you know where. He nodded courteously and attentively with each of my grievances.
"So what I'm hearing is you're looking for something sporty. Perhaps as tying home run? Maybe a great off the post goal as time expires?"
I told him I wanted more.
"OK, there is some room for negotiation. Two game tying plays, can be used for any sport. Sound good?"
I shook my head in disapproval.
"Well, you drive a hard bargain. OK. One game winning score. You'd get this coupon; it never expires. You'd be able to redeem it at any time. In any important game you could just hold up your coupon and boom game winning double, goal, basket, you name it."
Was I wrong for expecting more in return for eternal damnation of my soul?
I was soon to find out.
"What where you expecting? Extra ability? Super human athleticism? To never lose ever again?
What's so wrong with that.
A smile glinted across his face. He put his hands upon his sides, puffed out his chest, tossed his head back, and let out a most horrific giggle. It reminded me of one of those tickle-me-elmo or what have you dolls. Composing himself, he rapped his fist on the desk . " Listen kid, the days when people could just come in here willy nilly and get super human abilities are long gone. Premium stuff costs at least 2 souls."
About all I could muster was a blank stare of utter confusion.
"Kid, let me explain it to you in terms you can probably understand. It's a simple matter of economics. Are you aware of the concept of supply and demand?"
I wasn't ready for this.
"When a product is in high demand," he marched on, not waiting for my response," its producer can demand a premium. Superhuman abilities don't grow on trees. Alot of people are willing to pay a premium for it. I'm also kinda a monopoly in this sort of business. Who are people going to turn to? god? He may might give it to you, but for most, he requires too much hands on control. Me? I give it with one quick transaction. Instant gratification. Who can pass that up? But, that convenience also gives me a free range to bump up the price.
I asked him about Dr. Faust and the witches of Salem, who got magical powers in exchange for there souls.
"Inflation," he stated matter of factly. " There were only about hmm, well lets say 100 million people in the world at that point. there are now 6.5 billion. At least 1 billion of those would probably be willing to sell it for a bag of rice." This prompted yet another speech on economics and Keynsian theorems of currency. He pulled out graph after graph, a Power point presentation, and several pamphlets outlining the degradation of the value of the soul. No, it was evident a soul was just not worth nearly as much as it used to.
I probably could have learned something if I had payed a little more attention, but I had an intramural swim meet coming up in a couple of hours, so I needed to speed things along. I inquired how in the hell I was supposed to come up with two souls? Metaphysical mitosis?
"Get your mother to go in on it with you. A lot of inner city kids and their parents make these sorts of pacts. It benefits both. the mother gets to live off her offsprings success."
I wasn't all that surprised, but I knew my mother wouldn't be down with this. A deal was looking less and less likely.
"Don't be so quick to walk away. Maybe we can work something out. you know anything about robots?"
I shook my head.
"Pity really," he said frowning for the first time. " We'd pay a pretty penny for souls with a technological background. Promised one kid total world domination for knowledge of computers... What was his name again? Yates? No. Bates? Tates.." He trailed off into his own little world.
I couldn't prevent myself from asking what the lord of darkness needed robots for. This brought on a long story about some sort of biblical war fought with souls, and how developing super robots may give some sort of advantage over the throngs of heavenly hosts. Pretty dry stuff.
I expressed condolences that I had wasted his time, and I had to get along. I stood and shook his hand
"Are you sure there isn't anything you want?" He asked beaming a flashy used car salesmen smile.

*****************
I'm proud to say the streak ended that day and a new( good one started). I wound up winning the 200 butterfly.
I guess it only goes to show you don't need to enlist the forces of evil. Perseverance.
"Nice Jeter bobble-head. How much it run you?" my roommate asked me the next day.
Oh, not too much.