Seven Old Tweets to Help You Cope with a Final Four Loss
Notes on losing, perspective, and what they can never take away.
I started writing this essay back in December, when I was thinking a lot about losing. I’d received an email from the chair of the Judith Deckers Prize notifying me that, although I’d been named one of twelve finalists for the inaugural award recognizing teaching excellence at Duke University, I was not selected as a recipient.
Each of the three winners of the Deckers Prize received $35,000. I finished fourth.
Actually, that’s not true. I finished somewhere between fourth and twelfth, and they don’t announce final rankings, so we’ll never know. The truth is, I wasn’t planning to publish this essay, in part because it felt self-indulgent and in part because I didn’t want to seem like a sore loser. (The three winners, each so deserving, included Catherine Admay, one of my all-time favorite people at Duke.)
Then Saturday night happened (Duke fans, don’t click the link), and everyone at Duke was unhappy with coming in fourth.
They do announce final rankings, in this case, and no one cares. All that matters is that we lost.
And, yes, of course, making the Final Four was an honor in and of itself, just as being a finalist for the Deckers Prize was. To Duke fans, however, it sure doesn’t feel that way. We really wanted to win the whole thing, and no one’s in the mood to hear a pep talk about moral victories.
(As an ethicist, shouldn’t I take more comfort in moral victories? Easier said than done, I suppose.)
We lost in the Final Four, and it hurts. It really hurts.
We might as well have a little fun.
I keep an album of photos on my phone that I flip through when I lose a competition, get a rejection from a publisher, or hear a “no” when I wanted to hear a “yes.” The photos are memes and screenshots, mostly from the earlier, at-least-somewhat-playful era of Twitter, before it was overrun with trolls, bots, harassers. These images remind me to dust myself off, get back on the horse, or just keep swimming. Pick your metaphor, really.
When I swiped through the album after losing the Deckers Prize, I realized there was a substack post about these images waiting to be written. When Duke lost on Saturday night, I realized I had to write it.
So, here they are. I hope they make you feel a little better.
Seven Old Tweets to Help You Cope with a Final Four Loss
1. Start with the Basics
Inhale oxygen. Exhale carbon dioxide. Drink water. Eat breakfast. Repeat as needed.
2. Release the Productivity Demon, at Least Temporarily
Am I at my best after a Duke loss? No. After missing out on $35k? Also no.
3. Take Perspective (and Live Más!)
If you’ve never heard of Taco Bell Quarterly, it is a very real literary magazine where each published story has a connection to Taco Bell. It’s also a delightful, incredible source of encouragement for writers. As TBQ says on their website, “Is this real? A joke? … We don’t fully know.”
Oh, and the Scientific American story about the universe is locally real. The universe isn’t locally real, but the story is. Got it?
4. Take More Perspective (Especially in Higher Ed)
Things are pretty weird in higher education right now. At the NCAA, too. If you’re losing, don’t take it personally—academia is nuts.
5. Make Time for What’s Most Important
This one’s printed and tacked to a wall in my office, and I still have trouble heeding its advice.
6. Rediscover your confidence
This applies to everything, not just creative writing. Just do it. Jump.
(See, I told you TBQ was great.)
7. Remember what they can never take away
This screenshot is so old that it’s pixelated, but it’s my favorite for a reason. Need a boost? Watch seven minutes of Tim Duncan being Tim Duncan. Or five minutes of Manu Ginobili being Manu Ginobili. Or three minutes of Gregg Popovich being Gregg Popovich.
I know I switched from Duke basketball to the San Antonio Spurs here at the end, but if the beautiful game doesn’t cheer you up, I don’t know what else will.
Postscript
You want more Taco Bell Quarterly, don’t you? I suspected as much. Well, here you go.
