I hate losing. I hate it more than almost anything — more than the Yankees, more than losing to the Yankees, more than prelims and swine flu and the redesigned Ivy Room. I don’t like losing in Monopoly, I don’t like losing in poker, I didn’t like losing in high school and I don’t like losing in their current equivalent, the amalgamation of collegiate “athletics” known as intramural sports.

I have heard, on occasion, that I can sometimes be, well, a few ticks to the left of acquiescent. I admit, I can be rather insistent during debates — always friendly discussions, of course — and I should say that my sophomore year I was given the distinctly dubious title of Queen Bellige (as in belligerent). I prefer, however, to think of myself as passionate, rather than hotheaded and tenacious, instead of obstinate. It’s all just semantics in the end, right? Just don’t ask my mother.