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COLUMN ........................... Amy Holtz The truth is, I’m a Minnesotan One of the funniest things to me is a person who says, “Me? I’m just not that competitive...” Because we’re all products of competition, despite some fighting their hard-wiring at every turn – especially when they really, really want to win. For example, I witnessed a challenge between British people over the last can of diet G&T in the fridge at M&S, which went something like: Person A: “You have it...” Person B: “No, you. I insist!” Person A: “I’ll just take this Piña Colada here instead. Honestly, it’s fine.” Person B: “Oh Piña Colada, lovely. I’ll take one of those too.” Insert me in the scenario, however, and this would have happened: Person A: “You have it...” Amy: “Ok.” *grabs can, dances to till* Which doesn’t prove that British people aren’t competitive. They just don’t want to seem like they are. It’s a pretty hard instinct to turn off though, always trying to prove we’re not just animals. So, really, it’s nice I’ve come to terms with my true nature. Because us Holtzes are notorious. Take Christmas, the epicentre of familial warfare; at Holtz HQ the whole day is built around competition. My dad buys lottery tickets and pits us against each other with the worst kind of pub quiz (alcohol-less) to win them. Then we spend an hour scratching them off and crowing about each dollar we’ve won. And then, inevitably, board games. We used to spend hours over Blokus, Guitar Hero, Bananagrams, Smash Up; my partner and I fought so much over Scrabble that someone gave us the official dictionary (and then backed away, quickly). Spoons was dangerous: there were multiple hand-biting incidents that year. Not that I’m averse to biting, it’s just not my MO. But this year’s battleground was 7 Wonders, just the kind of mercenary, merciless world-conquering game my family enjoys. I made the rookie error of winning on my first try (yes, I’m bragging, we’re also all show-offs), which means no one will rest until I play again. But I don’t want to play again, because I don’t want to lose. I hem and haw, pretend to nap, lock myself in the bathroom. Finally, I throw the only thing that’ll stop the taunting and posturing – another challenge. “Let’s go outside – and play volleyball!” It takes but a few moments to get people out into the freezing air, slapping their hands together and jumping. My brother and I quibble over imaginary lines so much my dad finally gets a rake from the garage to put on the ground – which is about as effective at regulation as placing a toothpick on the floor of the Colosseum. There’s lots of shouting and at one point, someone storms off. Then reappears, eating a cinnamon roll, turbocharged. Finally my dad says, “Let’s play 7 Wonders!” and everyone runs inside. I grab my ball and do my lucky winner’s dance through the door. Not sure why I doubted myself; I’m sensing another victory in my near future. ....45....