December 31, 2004
That's it.
No surprises at the end. No concealed, secret stash of beef up my sleeve. Not a single 11th hour sleight of hand. I'm not even going to contest the results. My opponent has won it fair and square, and that's it.
Despite my pride in my accomplishment, I'm still a little sad that I've been beaten at the one game into which I put more effort than any other contest in which I've competed. But that's it. End of the line.
We're all gathered here in Hyde Park at the end of the year, awaiting the last beef meal we'll eat in 2005 (US Central Standard Time), and I wonder if there was anything I could have done, at some point over the past 12 months, to alter the outcome. But that's all she wrote. Too late. That's it.
And as the witching hour approaches, as the feast is at hand, I look around at the beaming faces, and there's nothing to regret. Nothing left to be said that hasn't already been uttered, variously with a shrug, with clenched teeth, with a shit-eating grin.
Guy is no doubt curious, as he prepares dinner just a few yards away, what I'm writing. He's a little apprehensive that I'm preparing to drop some big beef bomb on his ass. But no, not a drop of dioxin or a stuffed ballot awaits him. Maybe next time. But not this time. That's it.
All hail the Beef King.
Oh, in case you're wondering: I'm seriously considering going vegan in 2005.