My fingers were shaking with every letter typed.
The homepage started loading. It felt like it took an eternity to finally log me in. Time doesn’t fly when you’re kakking yourself, apparently.
This is just one of the reasons I have a love/hate relationship with Superbru, the online sports prediction slash bragging rights game. It’s really great, it really is — but it also makes you feel dreadful when you see that you’ve plummeted down the table or, and this is the worst, one of your lesser sporty colleagues or friends is way ahead of you.
Let me tell you a story. My former boss, who knew next to nothing about rugby once challenged me to Superbru for a SupeRugby round. He picked exclusively based on which team badge was “cuter”. Hahahahaha. That’s sweet, I told him, before I accepted his bet. A bottle of whiskey was at stake. Easy peasy. In the bag. I mean, cuteness. Lolsies.
He smashed me. Hard.
Double or quits? Same picking method? Sure! He won’t be fluke his way to victory two weeks in a row. Never. He did. I lost, again.
A good week on Superbru will make you feel like a frigging genius. A bad week, which are the most frequent, I find, will make you feel like a chop who knows next to nothing about the sports you spend your weekends engulfed in. It’s an emotional roller coaster on tracks that will inevitably fail and leave you stranded on the upside down section of the loop-the-loop.
Think I’m being overly dramatic? Play Superbru with competitive friends and get back to me.
But that’s not why Superbru ruined my life.
This is why it ruined my life: Superbru forces me to support teams that I hate. Why? Because I predicted those teams would win, and if they don’t then I have a bad Superbru week.
I’ve watched as Tottenham lost and thought, ‘Dammit, that’ll ruin my Superbru.’ Normally I’d rejoice with not a care, now I rejoice with a rather large tinge of Superbru Sadness holding me back. Man United? I’ve backed them. Liverpool, too. Especially when the top of the pool is tight and I need the right results. It grates me.
You could just not play, you know. Yeah, I guess you’re right. But then how will I be able to laud over my friends/colleagues/strangers?
Then stop moaning about it. No. Piss off, and leave me to my mid-table mediocrity as I cry into my bowl of oats.