I bask in the sunlit garden of utter defeat. Little did I know, all would be taken from me so swiftly; my dignity, my honour, my standing in the community, cruelly torn away at its zenith.
My son just beat me at lawn bowls. At this point, the fact that he is my son matters little, because he is eleven and inexperienced, while I myself am a renowned champion. Nay…a former champion. I no longer deserve the title, after my humiliating and highly-public defeat. The dinner table has been transformed into a place of scorn and mockery. Who knew a teenager had such a capacity for vitriol, constantly reminding me of my immense failure?
I need to be stronger to reclaim my crown, and I’ll do anything. I’ll drink disgusting smoothies, wolf down supplements…and I’ve heard that Melbourne’s hyperbaric medicine industry is currently thriving, especially for sportspeople. Also, those with breathing issues and those recovering from injuries. My injury may not be physical…but my heart and pride are deeply wounded. Meditation within a hyperbaric oxygen chamber may be exactly what I need; I shall meditate on victory, banish thoughts of victory and all the while increase my physical state. I need to be in prime condition to defeat this upstart eleven year old and take my place at the top once more.
Practice will also be necessary. My previous level of greatness was clearly not enough, and thus I’ll need to extend my training regime into the night. My technical skill must be perfect, my mind in a state of constant readiness, and my body…well, hopefully Melbourne’s fine oxygen therapy can help with that. Also, smoothies. Whatever it takes to be the king again.