What you may not know is that I hate it when I get that way. The rational portion of my brain is clearly aware of how childish I am acting and vividly records the moments to later replay over and over again. I hate that I'm reacting that way and yet cannot seem to stop myself from doing so. If I try especially hard, I can sometimes manage to at least not get worse than sullen.
I don't know why I care so much about winning. In most cases, it is--in fact--"just a game." Yet, I cannot seem to disconnect the idea that winning or losing is somehow tied to my personal value. It certainly drives me to try and win more often, but even that drive can be a source of frustration for me. I would like very much for it to be "just a game," to enjoy the time spent no matter the outcome, and to be gracious no matter who wins.
I'm just getting through the neurochemical letdown from a devastating loss at The Quacks of Quedlinburg (for which, sincere thanks go to Bj for recommending--it's a massive hit in our house). I not only lost, but I came in last place (Rowen triumphed over all). My potion exploded on five of the nine rounds. During the sixth round, I only pulled white tokens (the ones that make the pot explode) in the order of 3, 2, 1, 1, and 2. The odds of that happening are about one to six hundred. ... Honestly, I just had to unclench my jaw because I was thinking about it [I had to do so again while I was revising].
I would like to be better at losing graciously. I can usually calm down in a few minutes after the game comes to a conclusion and I do realize that I still enjoyed the game and the company. At that point, I try to remember to congratulate the winner and express the fact that I did enjoy the experience, but I know that the damage has been done. Thus, should you win a game against me and get a grudgingly proffered congratulations, realize that I am mentally beating myself up over my behavior.
At least I haven't flipped a table in a couple of decades ...