This happened to a friend of mine. He told me this. I know this friend very well. He was playing in a 4.5 league match against the smarty-pants over at Harvard. You know those types, the 1%-ers, probably. They play with their noses in the air. Anyway, he shows up, gets himself all psyched up, and onto the court he strides, awaiting the arrival of his adversary, warming up furiously before the battle is waged.
His opponent does show up, a little late, about a foot shorter than he, but in great shape and seemingly quite confident. The opponent warms up very quickly and then, without further ado, says, “Let’s play!” And play my friend does, as hard as he can muster, but the opponent holds the T awfully well, and there is something about my friend’s backhand that night, and I, I mean my friend, can’t seem to find a good range. The opponent senses this and starts firing away into his backhand, and all his return shots seem to end up in the middle of the court, and damn, the opponent’s dropshots are working great.
Game 1 to Harvard.
Next game my friend, the guy who told me this tale of woe, hunkers down and tries to relax a little, and ends up taking the game into overtime, but two nervous shots later, it was game 2 for Harvard, 12-10.
Jesus mother of god…
At this point, alarm bells are screaming away in this guy’s head, and a decision is made, no matter what the cost, no matter how devastating the injury, he is going to do whatever it takes to dig out every ball possible, no excuses. Flying around the court, all arms, legs and racket, he fights and fights and fights, and lo and behold, squeaks out an 11-9 win. Game score 2-1.
His opponent does show up, a little late, about a foot shorter than he, but in great shape and seemingly quite confident. The opponent warms up very quickly and then, without further ado, says, “Let’s play!” And play my friend does, as hard as he can muster, but the opponent holds the T awfully well, and there is something about my friend’s backhand that night, and I, I mean my friend, can’t seem to find a good range. The opponent senses this and starts firing away into his backhand, and all his return shots seem to end up in the middle of the court, and damn, the opponent’s dropshots are working great.
Game 1 to Harvard.
Next game my friend, the guy who told me this tale of woe, hunkers down and tries to relax a little, and ends up taking the game into overtime, but two nervous shots later, it was game 2 for Harvard, 12-10.
Jesus mother of god…
At this point, alarm bells are screaming away in this guy’s head, and a decision is made, no matter what the cost, no matter how devastating the injury, he is going to do whatever it takes to dig out every ball possible, no excuses. Flying around the court, all arms, legs and racket, he fights and fights and fights, and lo and behold, squeaks out an 11-9 win. Game score 2-1.
New game, new focus, my friend must tie the games up to have a chance at a win. First things first. So he tries to change his approach a bit, sets up some lobs to change the rhythm, but damn if the opponent’s overhead is working great, and damn if my friend’s backhand is still as bad as ever, and the plan backfires, and he goes down ignominiously in the fourth. Match to Harvard.
So he went over and shook her hand. “Nice game, miss,” he said. Ouch.
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