You Thought You Were Dating. He Found the Scoreboard

Some men are stubborn in a very particular way. They are not simply opinionated, which can be perfectly attractive; they are strangely uncooperative, as though every compromise has been entered into a competition nobody mentioned but they fully intend to win.

You say, “I’d rather go somewhere else for dinner.” He disagrees with surprising determination, you briefly consider whether this tiny matter deserves the rest of your evening, and eventually you say, “Fine.”

Somewhere above the relationship, an invisible scoreboard lights up.

HIM: 1
YOU: 0

Nobody knows who installed it.

You thought you had just settled dinner. Apparently, he won.

That is the curious thing about stubborn, uncooperative men: the subject itself may be almost irrelevant. What seems to matter is that when somebody has to bend, it preferably will not be him, and once compromise begins feeling suspiciously like losing, even brunch can acquire a buzzer.

At First, the Prizes Are Tiny

The first few rounds barely seem worth noticing because couples disagree all the time.

But with this particular man, small differences acquire a faint competitive sparkle. You suggest something and he resists; you change the plan and he suddenly develops strong convictions about why the original plan was excellent after all.

Then comes that tiny flicker of satisfaction when he gets his way, as though somewhere backstage a glamorous woman has just pulled away a curtain to reveal the prize for today’s round.

Congratulations. He has won parking.

The interesting part is the strange feeling that a victory has occurred at all.

Soon Everything Has a Buzzer

Once you notice the pattern, it becomes wonderfully difficult to unsee because the game starts spreading into places where no game was previously required.

Who remembered correctly? Who knew the better way? Who technically said what first?

Hands near the buzzers, please.

Men like this can build a perfectly respectable championship from scraps. You are telling a story about a dinner and casually say it started around seven, when he jumps in to establish that it was actually seven-fifteen.

Fifteen minutes have been rescued from historical inaccuracy.

Point awarded.

Soon points are also available for having warned you, noticing something first, or discovering that three months ago you claimed not to like olives and are now, strangely, eating one.

Bonus round: you changed your mind.

The olive is not really the problem. Plenty of men have strong opinions and can disagree with you cheerfully; they say what they think, you remain unconvinced, and somehow everybody survives.

The stubborn, uncooperative man is different. He seems unable to leave a difference sitting peacefully on the table. It has to be settled, preferably with his answer glowing on the scoreboard.

That is an enormous amount of ceremony for an olive!

The Scoreboard Starts Looking Excellent

The funny part is that men like this often accumulate victories, not because their arguments are brilliant, but because the more flexible person eventually develops a very practical relationship with exhaustion.

You could keep discussing it and revisit the same subject from three additional directions, but eventually a far more attractive possibility presents itself: you could also simply eat.

So one small thing goes his way, then another, and the scoreboard glows more brightly while the relationship becomes curiously quieter.

From his side of the studio, this may look like progress. There are fewer disagreements and fewer challenges, which must feel reassuring beneath a scoreboard announcing an extraordinary season.

He may not notice that the show has become easier because the other contestant is entering fewer categories.

The Audience Begins Leaving

When every small preference becomes unnecessarily difficult, the other person eventually stops bringing certain preferences into the room, not because she no longer has them, but because some things are simply not worth a twenty-minute episode followed by a recap.

The relationship may even look smoother. Nobody is challenging the champion, and the atmosphere has become wonderfully peaceful.

But sometimes peace means harmony, and sometimes it means somebody has quietly discovered that participation is optional.

Once a woman begins emotionally wandering off during commercial breaks, the scoreboard may still look magnificent, but the show itself has developed an audience problem.

Then Comes the Final Round

By now, our champion may have assembled an impressive record. He won the restaurant, the route and several disagreements whose subjects nobody else remembers, perhaps even securing a breathtaking technical victory over something so trivial that recounting it would diminish us all.

The lights brighten, the music swells, and surely an enormous prize is coming.

Except relationships do not actually award trophies for getting your way.

The prize was never the point; it was the ease between two people, the pleasure of being heard without being defeated, and the freedom to bring a different opinion into the room without somebody immediately reaching for the buzzer.

A good man can have strong opinions, dig in his heels sometimes and be gloriously wrong about plenty of things without making every disagreement feel like a contest he has to win.

The other kind may keep collecting points for years, becoming more pleased with himself every time the scoreboard confirms what he already suspected: naturally, he won again.

And if he is extremely successful, one day he may look up at the glowing scoreboard and discover that he has finally won absolutely everything.

Unfortunately, the audience has gone home.