My arch-nemesis Dr. Schumacher has been laying low for quite some time. The last match we played was all the way back in late May, when I beat the poor man 6-2.
Yep, 6-2, because we were playing tennis. At the end, Schumacher stalked off the court, darkly vowing revenge.
But, perhaps fearful of another ignominious beat-down, the good doctor maintained an unnerving quiet. Not a peep, not a growl. Nothing.
Then suddenly, last week, a challenge. Schumacher invited me to play at a new club he recently joined. The club is out in suburbia where he takes his kids to play. Three nice new courts, a lot of exercise equipment, and loud and annoying thump-thump music as a gaggle of initiative-challenged knuckleheads did spinning, heedless of the effect of all that silly music on the squash players just around the corner. Not a bad place over all, though, despite a remarkably surly reception booth attendant who should be immediately fired.
So, we played. For a variety of reasons I had had a 2-week hiatus, and the first game was a bit ragged. He won it, although not by all that much. The second game saw me claw ahead in the early going, hitting a few nice drop shots that were too tight for old Schumacher to get. But to his credit he bounced back, doing what I have to admit is a great roll corner shot that leaves me paralyzed every time the bastard does it. Arrrgh. We ended up 10-all, but through perhaps divine intervention, yours truly won in overtime. Sweet.
But the next game was not so sweet. In fact, it sucked. I took a little mental holiday and admired the beeches and palm trees at a wonderful resort in my head while Dr. Schumacher performed surgery on my game. I think it was a lobotomy. I think I amassed a total of 4 points...
Well, down 2-1 in games, I tried pretty hard in the next game, but Schumacher, sensing victory, would not give up, carrying the day for all Schumachers the world over, 11-8. The doctor wins!
Oddly, later in the day, a tennis buddy of mine asked if I wanted to play. I demurred, having just played squash and feeling a bit sore. But, being a sucker for a decent rackets game, he eventually prevailed, so off we went, and I played tennis magnificently. Hit nice forehands with good top spin and highly undercut backhands. Ran pretty well too, if i say so myself. Serve a bit off, though, although that's far from unusual.
Oh well, the ups and downs of the Squashist.... I never promised you perfection!
Yep, 6-2, because we were playing tennis. At the end, Schumacher stalked off the court, darkly vowing revenge.
But, perhaps fearful of another ignominious beat-down, the good doctor maintained an unnerving quiet. Not a peep, not a growl. Nothing.
Then suddenly, last week, a challenge. Schumacher invited me to play at a new club he recently joined. The club is out in suburbia where he takes his kids to play. Three nice new courts, a lot of exercise equipment, and loud and annoying thump-thump music as a gaggle of initiative-challenged knuckleheads did spinning, heedless of the effect of all that silly music on the squash players just around the corner. Not a bad place over all, though, despite a remarkably surly reception booth attendant who should be immediately fired.
So, we played. For a variety of reasons I had had a 2-week hiatus, and the first game was a bit ragged. He won it, although not by all that much. The second game saw me claw ahead in the early going, hitting a few nice drop shots that were too tight for old Schumacher to get. But to his credit he bounced back, doing what I have to admit is a great roll corner shot that leaves me paralyzed every time the bastard does it. Arrrgh. We ended up 10-all, but through perhaps divine intervention, yours truly won in overtime. Sweet.
But the next game was not so sweet. In fact, it sucked. I took a little mental holiday and admired the beeches and palm trees at a wonderful resort in my head while Dr. Schumacher performed surgery on my game. I think it was a lobotomy. I think I amassed a total of 4 points...
Well, down 2-1 in games, I tried pretty hard in the next game, but Schumacher, sensing victory, would not give up, carrying the day for all Schumachers the world over, 11-8. The doctor wins!
Oddly, later in the day, a tennis buddy of mine asked if I wanted to play. I demurred, having just played squash and feeling a bit sore. But, being a sucker for a decent rackets game, he eventually prevailed, so off we went, and I played tennis magnificently. Hit nice forehands with good top spin and highly undercut backhands. Ran pretty well too, if i say so myself. Serve a bit off, though, although that's far from unusual.
Oh well, the ups and downs of the Squashist.... I never promised you perfection!
what an extraordinarily dull piece. What audience is this meant for?
ReplyDeleteI love the Schumacher series. Visit a few of the old Squashist' posts and you will understand that we wall bangers are forever competing against the "Schumachers" and each new match yields a unique episode to the struggle.
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