The champ’s coach watched with narrowed brows as he saw the world’s greatest tennis player miss yet another backhand – the trade mark backhand that he had once made famous for technique and style. Technically it wasn’t so bad, but it was missing an element of fluidity. He looked like the same player, but moved like an imposter. That one percent factor that fuels his veins and makes him “super” was missing. He knew what it was, the magical, but elusive elixir they called “form”, but he didn’t know how to restore it. He had convinced the champ to fork out a million dollars on a “performance coach” who claimed he had the scientific formula for form. They had spent countless hours together doing visualisation techniques, meditation, positive affirmations, confidence boosting exercises, even some childhood regression therapy. But the champ was getting worse.
The performance coach insisted things would get worse before they got better, but time was running out, the champ was already thirty-two. Whenever the champ or his head coach would question the performance techniques they were just given a series of questions. What would you give to get back to your former glory? What does it mean for your legacy if we don’t achieve this? What does your life look like if you never win a grand slam again? The champ conceded the value of success was priceless, it was worth everything he had – one million dollars was but a pittance.
On the other side of the world there was a very unremarkable man. He was good at everything but unremarkable in every way, always in the top 20% of everything he tried – he was master at nothing. Approaching forty he looked at his life and said “I’m not yet ready to resign to a sex life of hookers.”
Google search: pick up girls – alpha behaviour, fashion, voice tone, posture, cold approach, daygame, instant dates, mmm twenty year old’s are much better, more dates, 6 months goes by, 1000 approaches, a couple lays, still single, enjoying it. I know where I want to be but this is harder than I thought. Persist with the Sisyphean task; grind on street, numbers, dates, occasional lay. Still not getting laid like I was when I was twenty, if I could just get some momentum. Some days I am good and in flow, lots of numbers. 1 year, 2000 cold approaches, getting worse, mental breakdown, break from game, back to approaching, no results. I have to get this. I can’t give up on this too, maybe a boot camp. Google search: Daygame bootcamp, contact form, skype call.
“What would you give to have the abundance you deserve with women? What does it mean for your life if we don’t achieve this? What does your life look like if you don’t get this area sorted?” The unremarkable man conceded the value of success was priceless, it was worth everything he had – one million dollars was but a pittance.
“OK, I’ll do it. How much?”
“Ten grand for the 7 day one.”
“Do you take credit card?”
Day five of the boot camp, I’m exhausted, there’s no point opening girls, my vibe is so low, whatever it is in my micro-expressions is pussy repellent, maybe some of this investment will pay off down the track, they did say it would get worse before it gets better. I don’t like to consider I have wasted ten grand plus the opportunity-cost of a week off work.
On the other side of the galaxy in a world not to different from earth there was a clever man who worked out what people wanted most and made them believe he could deliver it to them by bringing out the power within. He started with desperate men who wanted girlfriends and finished with sports men. He converted a lot of sales calls but not all. One of his sale conversion failures he remembered because of the guy’s humorous response was an unremarkable man. “What does it mean if you don’t get this area sorted?”
The man replied. “I’m already half way there and if I fail I’ll just fuck girls in 3rd world countries whose only other choices look like Manny Pacquiao without muscles”
Another failure to convert was a potentially very lucrative sportsman. “What does it mean if you don’t get get back to your former glory?”
The tennis player replied. “I suppose I will have more time to shag my fans.”
Back on earth, a year later, the tennis player, who will remain nameless, won Wimbledon. After his win he made a special thanks to his performance coach for all the support. About the same time the unremarkable man was now living the life of a digital nomad, he had set up his business and was travelling the world fucking girls in countless different cities. He gave a glowing referral to the boot camp on their website.
In our alternative galaxy, the unremarkable man had just had a great weeks travelling and daygaming. He had hit his stride, he had experienced this before, vibe he called it. It was a mix of confidence and enthusiasm and made his blood feel like it had an amazing cocktail of drugs in it, yet he was completely clean. He would go for a walk to meet some of the local girls, his head was clear of worry and his body felt fluid and relaxed. His forehead felt smooth and the muscles around his eyes so relaxed his face felt like warm treacle. He had been in good vibe for days now. The trip hadn’t started so well. He wasn’t afraid to approach girl he didn’t know anymore, but often, especially in a new town he would have a resistance to go out and make things happen. He pushed himself out the first day and got a number, but nothing special, the second day, a couple numbers and 2 instant dates. The second one he got all the way back to his bed; kissing, resistance, hugging, kissing, fingering, resistance, hugging, kissing, resistance, he got his dick out, game over.
He woke up pleased with himself and hit the streets to get more. He could feel his dominance and confidence, his voice was lower, his movements were slower, and he was calibrated to the subtle nuances of the girls’ movements. His eye contact had a quality he couldn’t fake, he could hold eye contact with a girl walking past without ego, guile or fear, and the response from the girl was equally calm and accepting. It was like he was the only guy on the street allowed to look at girls like that and get away with it. When in set, his body movements were like that of a prize fighter, always a step ahead of his opponent with skill and grace, combating her defensive movements to thwart his seduction, getting closer to her and overcoming her resistance, turning maybe girls into yes girls, getting physically closer without appearing awkward, and seeing the signs of “yes” with an instant date invitation.
He recognised he was far from technically perfect and had a lot to improve, but with vibe like this daygame was a joy and the life of a daygame nomad was better than he could have possibly imagined. He knew the power he held was elusive, he had highs and lows before and knew he would have them again, what was important was to make hay while the sun shined. After getting another handful of numbers he was tired and wanted to go home and rest, but thought. My vibe is too good, I have to go and approach. Openers came easy, sometimes direct, sometimes indirect, it didn’t matter, every second girl he opened would gaze into his eyes as hers dilated. Another instant date, another lay.
He felt like he was floating, his mind felt like mush, constant dopamine spikes rendered the practical aspects of his life a mess. Lucky I only need to work an hour a day to keep the ship steady – thanks younger self for being obsessed with business. Thanks current-self for being obsessed with pick up, and this is only half way up the mountain. The days, numbers and dates blend. I know what I have, and I know how effective it is, but I don’t know how to keep it. I know it will go away at some stage and I don’t know how to get it back. Oh the joy, if it was easy everyone would do it.
The trip came to an end and he was off to his next destination. He sat at the airport bar and noticed the guy next to him had the same drink as him. The guy smiled at him he realised thy had both ordered the same drink. “Celebrating?”
“Yes, actually I just won a tennis tournament.”
“Ah, yes, I thought you looked familiar, well done man!”
“Thanks. And what are you celebrating?”
“Just life. I travel the world and do as I please.”
“Ever had a performance coach?”
“Haha. I had a meeting with one once. Fuck that, what a bunch of wankers.”
“Yeah, same, I could have wasted a lot of money.”