Way way way back when, nigh onto thirty years or so, I took up racquet. I took up ball. I moseyed into a racquetball court and found that it was GOOD! I wasn't, but IT was.
In due course, I learned angles, ricochets, spin. I learned the art of the kill shot, the sublime perfection of a cross court winner, the awe inspiring roll-out and the all-important double reverse pinch. This is not to say that I can perform these shots at will, but I have, on occasion, been successful in performing one from time to time.
When I was living in the great state of Florida, I had a reliable cadre of fellow enthusiasts and we would meet on a somewhat weekly basis to prove our mettle against each other, vying for alpha dominance in the landscape that is floor, ceiling and four unforgiving walls. I do not believe I am at all incorrect when I state that my win record was squarely above 500, and my friends would agree that I was always available for a game or two...or five.
Leap forward to the Fall of 2006...
I move to the D.C. area for a job, and since I know no one in the area, I immediately start looking for a public racquetball court because I know that my fellow aficianados will congregate there, and I can get both my game 'fix' and assert my dominance in a whole new state. I do not find one. Dang. Realizing that Washington D.C. is the shrine of capitalism, nay the Mecca of capitalism, I scour the nearby gyms in hopes of finding one that offers racquetball as part of the amenities. Again, I fail. My dear friends and readers, in the land of the free and the brave, in the city where the legislature of our country is formed, where the inalienable right to 'pursue happiness' is not only encouraged, but mandated by LAW! I cannot find a freaking court! Despair sets in. Waistline expands. Skills diminish. (sigh)
Leap forward 22 months...
I'm sent to Germany to work for three months. Again, I don't know anyone, but this time I don't speak the language, understand the culture, and certainly do not know my way around the area. However, as an American working on a military establishment, I am granted some perks, one of which is free use of the gym. Since the pastry and bread here are fantastic(!), I decide it might be a good idea to make use of this perk. Lo and behold, a court. No, two courts. With wooden floors. Glass rear walls. Free for my use! GOD BLESS AMERICA and ITS FIGHTING MEN AND WOMEN! Tears spring unbidden to my eyes. Tears of joy. Tears of rapture. Tears of disappointment, because all my gear is rotting in a closet in Virginia.
Arghh!
I am not deterred.
I buy new gear: a racquet, a glove, eye protection, balls.
I play; it is glorious...almost.
I have no opponent to awe.
No one gasps at my command of the playing field.
There is no dominance.
My ebullience is short lived.
Until...
yesterday I saw another lone racqueteer. "Care for a game?" I asked, hoping like a sophomore chess clubber asking the cheerleader captain to the prom. The game was ON! Now the glory. Now the kill-shot. Now the sweat, the strain, the reach, pouncing, swinging, running. Now the ecstasy that can only be felt by Olympians who win the gold. Ahhhhhh....!
I got my ass kicked, but damn, I loved it.
~db~
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4 comments:
you should have just paid the fine and not gone to court. Nick
uncrat you me and dad should play cutthroat when you get back
Did you use your 50 Euro note to buy your new raquetball equip? Did you need to take some Ibuprofen the next day????? Loveyou...Karen
Karen: I did not use my found money for the racquet, but that would've been smart!
Nicholas: I'll be happy to play when I get back, but you'll be gone to Philly by then, I believe.
Nick: har dee har har
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