The Cow And I

Obsession

What’s the key to winning BeefStakes? Obsession. Can either of us honestly say we would otherwise put beef into our stomachs every day, 365 days in a row, sometimes twice or three times in one day? No we can’t.

My opponent continues to state the obvious – the winning strategy is to eat more beef than one’s foe. As if it’s that simple. Puh-lease. You gotta really be worked up about beef to eat it that much, that often. Thus, obsession.

And I’m not talking about the perfume.

No, obsession is a reckless drive, an unhealthy fixation. Something I have. I’m going to win BeefStakes because I’m more obsessive than my opponent. It’s that simple.

Guy knows what I’m talking about. He’ll recall that when we first met, in 1987, I spent a lot of time in his dorm room listening to his stereo, playing the same album, Pink Floyd: The Wall, over and over.

I can’t see any good, rational reason for it, in retrospect. In fact, the first year of college, I must have listened to that album at least 3 times a week in his darkened room. Half the time he wasn’t even there. As I recall, it got so bad that he eventually banned the playing of The Wall on his stereo. He may have even hidden or destroyed the CD. That was the right thing to do, and I thank him for it. What was my malfunction? Obsession, clearly.

Then there was that wretched “County Carnival” video game on is computer. Shooting ducks at an increasingly frenetic pace until their quacking motion became a blur on the screen. I played that game. A few times? No, more like a few thousand. So much so, in fact, that upon the retirement of his computer, I was declared the undisputed champion. Only Samina even remotely came close to matching the score, if I recall correctly.

Is this because of any natural talent on my part? Absolutely not. I suck at video games. But I stuck with it. I was obsessed. Guy knows this. He was there, cheering me on with the malevolent cackle of a mad scientist observing his creation fulfill some ill-spawned purpose.

And how could Guy forget the moment in our second or third year of college when, in a less than completely lucid state of mind, I recalled for Guy’s benefit one of my grandfather’s favorite expressions: “A dog in every bucket makes a bigger hole for the cheese dish.” It made no sense, and was clearly a work of fiction, but I insisted that it was true. Guy bought my story, or at least the idea of my story, and demanded to know what it meant. I didn’t relent. Not for a long time. Indeed, long after Guy stopped asking about it I continued to torment him with the expression, because I was somehow driven to do so. By the time I finally confessed it was pure meaningless horseshit, years had elapsed. Why had I continued to nurture this curiosity, why had I constantly goaded my good friend to ask about a dog in every bucket?

Obsession, pure and simple.

This contest is no different. Yes, beef is great. It’s nature’s perfect food. Its qualities are unmatched in all other meats. But it’s not that great. Not 365-days-in-a-row great. My opponent will eventually lose his taste for it. He will eventually opt for fish, to the exclusion of beef. And when he does, all that will remain is obsession.

In the meantime, he’d better hope some of my perfume rubbed off on him.

Posted by eric at April 23, 2004 10:21 AM