26 Points

26 points to win.

Those are all the points I need. I've got two guys playing tonight. If they both have a good game, I win. If one of them has a good game and the other doesn't, I win. If they both only give me as much as their worst game, I win.

So yes, the odds are stacked in my favor.

But I won't win . . .

Until I win.

And I think of everything that went into tonight's better than average win possibility. The research, the choosing, the deciding, the weighing of factors, the luck and the un-luck.

And the best part?

The outcome is meaningless.

There will be no less food in the fridge if I lose, I won't be any thinner if I win. For its not whether you win or lose, its how awesome the ribs taste on a Sunday afternoon with your bros watching football.

Nah . . . I'm just kidding.

Winning kicks ass and losing sucks, no matter what the stakes.

I'm not here to make friends, I'm in it to win it.

So when Joey tells me that he's quitting his job because he doesn't make enough money, I totally understand. Right now his job feels like a lose.

He's in his early twenties, he lives with his parents, his car is dead, his smart phone is shattered, and his job barely pays enough for him to travel back and forth to his job.

Joey's not dumb, lazy, or useless. Far from it. Not only is he a healthy male with a full head of hair, but he's also easily one of the most talented musicians I've ever worked with. He's a skilled craftsman, a focused technician, and a very sweet humble man. You put him into a cool car and some clean fitting clothes and there isn't a single girl out there who wouldn't drop and give him twenty.

This is what sucks about life in your twenties. You do all this research, choosing what you want, deciding who you are, figuring out what makes you happy and what makes you sad. You have all these people around you who will give you advice, most of which fall under the category of what not to do and every day you toss the dice hoping for the one throw that makes you Jay-Z on the Sunset strip. And everyday you go home, and your room's a mess and your parents want you to do some chores and you've got that project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the other project you've been working on that's getting in the way of the project that you dream to be working on. And Please God don't let me end up like my Dad/Older Brother/Boss/Friend/Jay-Z's Dentist. Let me be who I am, if I ever discover who that is. Don't force me to sell out until the price is right.

But he wants to sell out. Even if for a little bit. Even if it's just to get him to that next level. The level that involves a room that his mom doesn't see and a car that starts up in the morning. Just to be able to say to a girl, "Why don't we finish this conversation at my place . . . baby."

And this is not too much to ask.

But there's a problem.

Once you reach that level,

You are now playing the game. The game where decisions have consequences. The game where once you sell out, it becomes harder and harder to buy some of that back.

So Joey, who's got the talent to become a full time musician, who's got the skill to open up a shop of his choosing and who's got the smarts and time to go get his Master's Degree in biological warfare, may end up driving a truck for $30,000 a year.

Which is great.

When you're twenty.

But then you're forty, making $50,000. And that hot chick you brought to your studio apartment is now your ex wife who hates you and tells your children how much of a loser you are.

And you're a little fat, and a little bald, and all your stories sound the same.

But this won't happen to Joey.

Just as this won't happen to my boys, one of which is so close to Joey's age that I'm already taking notes of my own writings so that I will have one helluva speech when he comes to me wanting a few buck to get his Class A license.

But the odds are in your favor, Joey.

Just don't lose.

26 points man.