Growing up, my parents, sister, and I had the notable distinction of being the four least competitive people in the world. How uncompetitive are we talking?  We never once finished a game of Monopoly.  Someone (often me, because my strategy was to buy or trade for the two cheapest properties, slap hotels on them right away, and slowly bleed everyone dry) would put themselves into a position to win and then give up – for the public reason that they wanted to play Barbies and the private reason that they didn’t want anyone to feel bad.

As such, my family naturally stayed away from activities with A-side brackets and chess clocks in favor of situations where Everyone Shines, like dance and musical theater.  I suppose the opportunity existed for someone to reward a two-hour, two-girl showcase of every song in Phantom of the Opera and A Chorus Line with a gold medal for awesomeness, but that would mean my sister and I would have been getting three medals a day – we were prolific with our performances – and what would we do with them all?  Hang them in a gold medal room?  Who has time to dust that when there were queues ‘round the theatre; could we deny them the triumph in store?! (winky winky fellow Broadway nerds)

Kyle, on the other hand, is VERY COMPETITIVE.  Very.  Very Very.  If Kyle’s competitiveness were a Broadway song, it would be “Anything you can do (I can do better)”…but it wouldn’t be a Broadway song, because Broadway songs are fun and sparkly and overdramatic and Kyle DOES NOT LIKE FUN NOR SPARKLES NOR OVERDRAMA in competition.  I’d say he has fun only if he wins but that’s not the truth, because I’ve seen him win a sand volleyball game and spend the rest of the evening berating himself because his gameplay wasn’t perfect.  He’s not a jerk or a turd about winning, but he does expect you to do your Very Very best.

Because of this, Kyle and I rarely play games together.  The last time we played on a team was right after we were married.  It was co-ed softball, and I benched myself after Kyle tried to give me pointers on how to throw.  Three days later, I ended up needing emergency surgery (completely unrelated, although I assume Kyle’s advice on how to throw was to blame) and was out for the rest of the season, and then out for the next eighteen years.

That is…DUN DUN DUN…until this 4^th of July.

As you know, we spent the week of the 4^th with Kyle’s cousins in Michigan.  I was lounging about in the pool on a glittery red, white, and blue inflatable inner tube, drink in hand, minding my own business when Kyle’s cousin shouted across the water,

“Amanda, we’re playing a lawn darts tournament and you’re in.”

“Nope,” I shouted back.

“We need you to make even teams,” she shouted.

“Nope,” I shouted back.

“Please?”  She shouted.

“Okay, fine,” I said, because she’s a lovely person and because it’s impossible to say no to something when you’re in a glittery inner tube.

Once out of the inner tube, however, and dart in hand, I remembered an important fact about Kyle’s competitiveness: his entire family is competitive, too.  How competitive are we talking?  I was partnered up with one of Kyle’s sweetest cousins, the one who regularly sits with the little kids in the back of their grandpa’s pickup during the fireworks so that no one is scared.

“I should warn you that I’m terrible at lawn darts,” I told her.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said, drying off her legs with a beach towel.  “I’m new to it, too.”

“That’s good,” I said.  “I just hope everyone has fun.”

She dropped the towel and looked at me.

“Ha ha,” I said, as if to express that I didn’t really mean that, although I secretly did.

Suffice to say, as per family rules, no one had fun.  I didn’t have fun because I suck at lawn darts and Kyle tried to give me pointers, which I did not appreciate (especially when the advice worked). Kyle’s cousin/my partner did not have fun because we lost by a million points and her partner did not try her Very Very Best.  The rest of Kyle’s family didn’t have fun because everyone knows that fun is not the point of lawn games.  After lawn darts, we played a dice game called “Left Right Center,” which I thought was a great time, although I didn’t tell anyone for fear of being shunned forever from the family.

In the car on the way back to North Dakota, Kyle said,

“You improved a bit while you were playing lawn darts.  Would you like to practice at home?”

“Nope,” I said.

“You can’t get better without practice,” he said.

“Being good just won’t be good enough; I’ll be the best or nothing at all,” I sang, before quickly switching to a rousing performance of “Gary, Indiana,” since we had entered into Indiana and thems the rules of Broadway when you’re in Indiana.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Kyle, by virtue of winning the family lawn darts tournament, did have fun.]

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The photo above is of the lawn darts tournament. Kyle is the guy in the grey t-shirt.

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This week on North Dakota Today we talked about Tania McKay, my Nice Person of the Week, as well as a new Facebook group for sharing photos and stories of North Dakota..  Enjoy! (Valley News Live)

Minot’s Marney Gellner is the first woman to call a Twins baseball game. (Jamestown Sun)

In North Dakota-adjacent news, this is the cutest story about a fish and a woman that you’ll ever read. (My Modern Met)

In PHEW news, Walter the Dog is back at home. (Fargo Forum)

Happy birthday to Salem Sue! (KFYR TV)

Kyle sent me this article a long time ago – about how acts of kindness are contagious – and I’m just getting around to sharing it. (Fast Company)

Kyle and his friends, Corey and Kelly, have a podcast called North Dakota After Dark where they talk about youth hockey in North Dakota.  The latest episode is up and is an interview with Kyle Kosior himself.  Check it out. Bonus: you can watch it on YouTube. (North Dakota After Dark)

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