Jakeb Brasee

The Upper Hand

We all hope to gain the upper hand – the upper hand is our Holy Grail. We gather with carefully straight faces, masking our eager energy in a thin shell of nonchalance. As the contest for the upper hand begins, the tension builds and shines through the cracks in our indifferent armor. We keep up the pretense because we know the celebration will be sweeter when our victory is certain. And also so that if we lose the upper hand we can pretend it doesn’t matter. Why heap on more humiliation with a premature cheer, see?

Now it is my turn to vie for this prize. An impartial third party brings forth the baseball bat, as I and my opponent square up. We do not bow, nod, or smile – respect has nothing to do with this. It would not matter if we loathed or loved, admired or scorned each other. We would be just as ruthless in our dealings either way, because this is serious business, or something like enough to it.

The impartial third party lofts the baseball bat exactly between us. We both leap for it, clasping for the handle at the top – for the fist that closes on it first will be the victor’s. Our teams lean forward now, breathless but still silent. I catch my balance and grab the knob, but my opponent does the same! Our fingers interlock around the contested handle, and we both know we have an equal claim to the upper hand. That must change. We bring our free hands to bear, prying each at the other’s clenched fingers, but we are evenly matched. This will never end – we will never allow it. And then I see the way. What am I seeking, after all? I smile into my opponent's eyes and slowly – unstoppably – loosen my grip. And I let go. I clench my fist just inches higher, altogether above the bat – above my opponent’s hands! And I know, in that moment where defeat and victory collide, that I have lost something good, but gained something greater.