Following my last post about running into Talkative Boy and having an ill-advised conversation with him, KittyMama commented that “we say it a lot, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” But when you’re drunk and the player is right infront of you, it’s hard to hate the game.”
I used to quite like the phrase “don’t hate the player, hate the game,” it has a purpose; a bit like religion, it lets you shift the blame for someone’s shittyness (totally a word) away from them and onto this mysterious outside force, over which they have no control.
I choose to hate both the player and the game. Because you have a choice, you always have a choice. You choose whether or not to pick up the gun, take that pill, pour that next drink, to eat that chocolate, or to play the game. Not that I’m saying game-playing is on a par with manslaughter and LSD, but you know what I’m getting at. No-one forces you to obey the three-day rule, or to “not seem to keen,” or any of the other weird rituals we have around copulation. I’m not saying that some of these things don’t have their place, but the majority of what goes on in these situations is unnecessary, frustrating and a waste of time.
I’m no saint, and I have been guilty of doing the odd bit of game-playing at various points in the past, but I really do try to avoid it as much as possible. It’s really very simple; be honest, be direct, be upfront, don’t be mean. You’ve got a much better chance of getting what you want, of being happy with the outcome, and it’ll help you avoid making enemies. If everyone hates the game as much as they claim to then why are so many people still playing it?