The games people play
Jacqueline Browder
Happily Ever After
It's amazing the games people play in relationships.
Rather than an honest, candid approach to modern courtship, we spend our time trying to perplex the opposite sex into a haze of dating frenzy. It's like one giant game of kickball, except this time, everyone's getting hit. Is it nostalgia for our youth? Or are we merely filling the void left by afternoons of Twister and Chutes and Ladders with carefully calculated maneuvers meant to confuse, deter and baffle the opposite sex?
As much as we'd like to hit the jackpot and find true love, we spend so much of our time strategizing against the other team and trying to sink everyone else's battleship that it's surprising that anyone dates at all.
We seem to be caught in an endless power struggle. It has become more about our scoring record and our win-loss statistics than anything else. In all of our efforts of playing not to lose, dating has become less of a splendid notion than an odd game of wits and strategy. We're influenced by friends and spurred by the fear of rejection. We may be holding four aces, but we are often so afraid of showing our hands to anyone else that we end up folding before we even get to show our cards.
What's amazing is that, as much as we hate to admit it, we all play. We speculate endlessly and make sure that we compete, but act like we don't put any effort into it. It's the eternal game of one-on-one, but does anyone really win in the end?
The classic example is the phone call tug of war. We tend to keep tabs on the number of calls we've received or made to the object of our affection. Often, we wait a certain amount of days to return calls, and when we do, we feign unavailability, thus making the subtle point that, yes, we have a life, and no, they are not crucial to its existence. It's a back and forth effort that can be tedious, if not exhausting.
And then, of course, there is the ultimate playing field — the Friday night social scene. Rather than immediately striking up a conversation with our intended, we take interest in any other person at the party, all the while keeping an eye on our prize. We wait and we watch and when we finally catch that person's attention (casually, of course) we act like we didn't know they were there. At this rate, we're all going to end up the weakest link.
Even when we're in a relationship, we still play games. It's just round two. For example, when any "talk" in a relationship comes up, we often answer in the form of a question:
"What do you want?"
"I don't know, what do you think?"
And it just goes on and on. Obviously, this is a technique that really should be left to Alex Trebec.
Relationships have become a game of wits confusing enough to make anyone crazy. It's practically Darwinian. Do we play these games as a way to weed out the weak? Do only the strong survive? We're so busy trying not to be voted off the island that we forget why we were there in the first place. Dating, in theory, isn't about winning. It's something that should be looked at as a team effort. There are only two people involved, both with the same goal. However, rather than joining forces with our intended, we put on our helmets and head out to the battle field.
Dating should not be about who has the most points or the least whammies. After all, when we play our games and winning becomes our first priority, does it really make sense to want to date the loser? There's no fun in that.
It can be so exhausting that we're not even sure if we want to find out what's behind door No. 3. We don't want to take that chance anymore. It's like a never ending game of Bingo. We may be a mere B-15 away from true love, but we're still waiting for our number to be called. Nevertheless, we keep on playing.
And luckily, sometimes the price is right. We find someone who ends up on our team after all. It's like we landed on Boardwalk with a hotel on Park Avenue. We let our guard down and finally get a teammate. It's not about winning or losing anymore. We give up the power struggle, throw the Darwin factor out the window and forget about a final answer.
We may have had to play the game to get there, sinking a few battleships and folding a few hands along the way. But in the end, it just may be worth it to roll the dice and take that chance.
Let the games begin.
Jacqueline Browder is a senior American studies major with a minor in journalism. Contact her at jbrowder@nd.edu. Her column appears every other Wednesday.
The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.
All Viewpoint Stories for Wednesday, October 16, 2002
