I was sitting at the Victoria House with some choir friends one Wednesday night of recent history, talking about the weather - it was cold and nasty - and the perfect time for making the best chili I've ever tasted in the whole world.
The topic of chili poured onto our table because I had made a pot that afternoon and then inhaled two large bowls of it right before choir practice.  My subsequent distended belly was responsible for the elastic waist pants and loose oversized shirt I was wearing that evening.  Oofda, those kidney beans and savory spices can cause a heap o' trouble.
My chili was delicious, however - absolutely delicious.  Allan remarked on its excellence also, and he doesn't cater to the cook by lying.  Every time I make chili it gets better because I find new and improved ingredients. 
This time I used a couple dollops of hot chili garlic sauce and also some sweet chili sauce from the Asian section.  Diced tomatoes in the can now come pre-seasoned with basil, oregano, and garlic.  A whole onion, chopped and sautéed, plus dashes of chili powder made it all work perfectly together.
Oh, I almost forgot the meat!  In recent years I've been using half ground beef and half ground venison.  Seems there's always an animal in the freezer that I've got to get rid of. 
As with everything else I set on the table at our house, my chili doesn't come from a recipe, written or unwritten.  It's never exactly the same.  It comes from a little of this and a little of that until it suits my fancy.  When it comes to edible and earthly matters of all kinds, my fancy is subject to change.
So, after I had introduced the topic of chili to the table, my choir friends suggested we have a chili night together, where we would sample each other's homemade chili and then cast votes for the best. 
I was interested in the chili and in the party but not in the contest.  I couldn't explain or understand very clearly my lack of interest in a chili contest, however.
So I said, "How about if we instead simply take turns, every few weeks or so, having this group over for supper and just serving a whole pot of our own chili?  We can make comparisons over time if that's what you want."
My friends continued to prefer a chili contest, however, sampling the various chili recipes in one evening, and voting for the best.  I said, "All right you guys, you all bring your chili samples for tasting and I'll make fried chicken."
Then - and this is the kicker - one of the choir friends (the cowboy if you must know) said, "You just don't want to lose, do you?!"
Whether said in jest (a frolicsome or frivolous mood) or as a sneer (a scornful facial expression characterized by a slight raising of one corner of the upper lip), or a combination of said attitudes, the truth is that winning or losing a chili contest doesn't make sense to me.  I enjoy contests as a general rule, but the subject matter for this one - chili - wasn't inviting or logical to me.  I couldn't find it on my radar screen.
People have different likes and dislikes, after all, when it comes to food and such things and so I didn't -- and don't -- see the point of it.  Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot nine days old.
A chili contest isn't like running a foot race and crossing a finish line or getting the best score on an algebra test or in a card game.  It's not like growing the biggest or heaviest pumpkin, which can be measured by weight or circumference.  It's not like finding the most Easter eggs, which can be collected and counted.  It's not like saying "Checkmate" and winning a chess game.
You would win a chili contest on subjectivity, on relativism (relative to a palate or personal opinion), not on black and white lines or definitive answers or measurements that are the same for everyone.  And, I believe, there's the rub!  That's why my thoughts went elsewhere at the mention of it. 
A chili contest doesn't compute for me.  I'm a person of rhyme and reason, black and white, right and wrong.  There are lines in the sand for many big and little things, both silly and serious, but not for chili.
So, in answer to the cowboy's rather rhetorical question, "No, I don't like to lose.  Do you know anybody who likes to lose?  And what does that have to do with the price of tea in China or hot sauce in Thailand?  Go make a pot of your own chili and try harder to stay outa trouble."