The Violence of Ambition

I've always wanted to be the best at what I tried.
That includes corkscrewing.
I was immediately drawn to corkscrews as a teen the way others are drawn to Corvettes. No one has ever accused me of being lazy. I was willing to work at this craft. I read all I could on the history of cork, watched You Tube to absorb the various techniques, contacted corkscrewing masters in Bavaria for advice.
I was disgusted by the amateurs around me, trying to pop open wine bottles. I suppose, in retrospect, I became overconfident.
At a large gathering of friends I asked to open the wine. I should have practiced in private, I know that now. I was handed a corkscrew heavier than those I had grasped, but I won't use that as an excuse. I jabbed the screw into the cork; there was a collective intake of breath. The anticipation was crushing. But this is what I wanted. One violent twist and yank and...
The horror!
The cork broke apart, did not slide out, there was NO pop. Over and over I tried, until pieces of cork covered the table. Some were shoved right into the bottle, ruining the wine. I unleashed a soundless scream of humiliation, dropped the corkscrew, hunched my shoulders and left the table.
I fled from the premises and have been in isolation since. In the ensuing months I've probably destroyed 200 innocent corks in my obsession to redeem myself. Hubris, my friends, was my downfall. I hate my failure. Mostly, I hate cork.