You Win Some; You Don't Dare Lose

If we don't win the last game of the Series, they'll dismiss us. ...I know these guys. I know the way they think, and they will erase us. And everything we've done here, none of it'll matter.

This quote, spoken by Oakland A's general manager Billy Beane (Brad Pitt), is played as one of the solemn, vulnerable moments in the Oscar-nominated film Moneyball.

Watching the movie tonight, I was grudgingly impressed. I thought the writing was strong (yes, Aaron Sorkin of The West Wing, The Social Network, and A Few Good Men worked on the screenplay). Although I couldn't forget that I was watching Brad Pitt in the role, I was drawn in by his character.

As I reflect on the movie, however, I am struck most by that one quote.

It expresses the source of tension in every successful sports film. The team hits a turning point mid-season, but none of their efforts matter unless they win the final game. In a movie, it provides a convenient and triumphant ending. (Biopics tend to conclude with a victory, even if it means excising part of the true story.)

The equation is simple. The competition has to have high stakes in order to draw viewers and generate buzz.

As one who gets frustrated by losing Monopoly or pick-up soccer, this type of competitiveness makes a great deal of sense to me. When it carries over to other pursuits, it becomes slightly more problematic.

The problem is that we cannot stop time after reaching a desired plateau of success. Life fails to conform to the dramatic arc of a film. (Read more about Beane's continuing story.) We are left with a discrepancy between the reality that everyone fails and loses and the mantra that a winner is always in danger of being erased.

In my experiences as a student and as a tutor, I have found that a great deal of anxiety surrounds the writing process because we are taught to think of writing, as well as most other academic work, as a similarly one-shot, high-stakes endeavor. Rather than making revision a natural part of the writing process, it becomes punitive. The paper has to be perfect the first time. End of story.

Don't get me wrong. I think the ability to handle pressure and seek excellence is vital. As an example, careers such as medicine and military service are imbued with responsibility that leaves little room for error.

But what happens when the high-stakes mindset becomes the default setting? In this model, there are no second chances. All previous accomplishments can be nullified by a single mistake. As a result, criticism and failure are devastating. Rest is impossible. The pressure builds and builds because no accomplishment is safe or can protect us from the inevitable failure that will someday follow.

This type of performance anxiety seems frankly unsustainable, and yet I buy into this mentality more often than I would like to admit. The irony is that my best tutoring moments and most candid conversations spring from weakness and struggle. When I give up on perfection, I am in a better position to focus on the other human who brings his or her own set of fears to our encounter.

But the drive to succeed remains, and I can't help wondering if this is a tension I will just have to learn to live with. You might even say, with all proper caveats inserted, that it is a tension as American as apple pie or -- dare I say it -- as American as baseball.