Inviting Khrushchev To Class

I PREFER track and field, swimming, and volleyball to gymnastics because I prefer competition in which winners are determined by, tangible, verifiable results rather than opinion. No matter how well founded, no matter ow expert and observant the judges, opinion remains arguable. In world call competition, all gymnasts appear near perfect. Similarly, all Miss America contestants sing and speak well, are articulate and pleasant, and beautiful. Which one is the best? Its a fifty wan tie. There is seldom if ever unanimous opinion as to which is the best movie of the year. Or the best song. Or television program. Or pianist. Maybe my personal experience biases me. In seventh grade social studies, we staged debates. I don't remember the topic, but I was pitted against a popular, charismatic kid. When the class voted, I got more votes. For some reason, there was a recount, and I lost. Several of the little bastards changed their vote. I have never, obviously, forgotten it, although it happened fifty years ago. It changed my entire life, made me bitter. Turned me into a misanthrope. The next day my seventh grade social studies teacher died mysteriously. Over the years, the members of that accursed class have all either been abducted by extraterrestrials, fled to foreign countries, or tragically perished from substance ingestion. i alone am left. so, in a sense, I won the ultimate debate. In 1959 young American piano virtuoso Van Cliburn entered the prestigious Moscow piano competition, and the judges decided he was the best, out of all the world class competitors. Members of the politburo informed the judges tat it simply would not do to given the first place prize to an American during the cold war. But the judges held firm. When the matter was taken before Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, the Russian ruler asked: "was the American the best piano player?" Hemming and hawing, a Politburo member replied: "the judges say so?" Khrushchev, clearly impatient, responded: "I'm asking you, not the judges. Siberia is very unpleasant. Again, tell me, was the American the best piano player?" Shamefacedly came the answer: "yes, Mr. Premier. He was". With a dismissive wave of his hand, Khrushchev shouted: "then give him the damned first place trophy, and don't bother me again. I have work to do!" Bela Bartok ignored piano contests, asserting that "competition is for racehorses." Oh, how I wish the ruler of all mother Russia had been in my seventh grade social studies class. Many of my classmates might still be alive today.