Tennis, Mitzi & Me
Eric was quite surprised when I asked him to play tennis with me that Sunday afternoon. It had been no less than six months since I last played with him or with anybody for that matter. Throughout that long period, all my time was divided between my studies, work, and Mitzi. These days when I seldom find myself unoccupied, maintaining a girlfriend and at the same time indulging in a sport as demanding as tennis is no mean feat. Eventually, I end up making good in one and neglecting the other.
The weather was fine. The sun was temperate enough so as not to hurt one’s eyes with glare when one goes to serve; no strong wind current that may jeopardize the ball’s direction and make it go wild. A writer may liken a tennis game not only to a conflict between two men but also to a classic battle between man and the elements. And just like any other game, the kindness that Mother Time would allow herself to give affects the course of any love affair.
The clubhouse was just a cigarette away from our place. As our car turned right into the parking space, I noticed all the courts were already taken. It was a quarter to five and that’s to be expected. That meant we were in for a long wait. If there’s anything in my life that I hate most, that’s waiting. Just the other day, Mitzi came thirty minutes late for our date and boy, did I blow my top! Mitzi became my girl when we were still in high school and upon graduation, her parents sent her to the States to study and so we split up “for practicality’s sake.” On her return, we found ourselves back into each other’s arms again. Still, she had a lot to learn when it comes to being punctual. What started out as a simple exchange of ungentle words eventually ended up in a bitter argument which saw us turning our backs on each other.
So there I was trying to forget. Tennis is one of the best outlets one can find. Hit the ball hard enough and you can just imagine yourself smashing your life’s problems away into oblivion. If Mitzi and our affair can make me forget the goings on in this damned world and set my racket aside for a while, so can I forget her by keeping myself busy wielding my racket now that she’s gone, so I philosophized. As Eric and I finally had our chance to play, however, I realized I simply can not get my game going. My backhands were a hopeless lot. My forehands were just terrible. My serves almost always land in the net. The first three games alone ended up in the same forgettable score: 40-love. Oh well, life is indeed like a tennis game. The more “loves” you get, the more you lose. Eric could only shake his head. I beat him the last time, you know. “Is something wrong with you?” He asked. I said “No!”
The match commenced in no time at all. I lost. Eric and I took a brisk shower to shed off the smell of sweat. A hotdog sandwich and a bottle of Coke after that saw me searching my pockets for twenty-five centavo coins. I may have lost the game but-- boy! --I won’t allow myself to lose my girl just like that. As I headed for the lobby to get my hands on the nearest pay phone, it dawned on me that my racket won’t help me forget this time. Mitzi was the one who introduced me to the sport in the first place. I dialed the number and it was busy….Darn it!
Copyright ©1984 The New Builder
The weather was fine. The sun was temperate enough so as not to hurt one’s eyes with glare when one goes to serve; no strong wind current that may jeopardize the ball’s direction and make it go wild. A writer may liken a tennis game not only to a conflict between two men but also to a classic battle between man and the elements. And just like any other game, the kindness that Mother Time would allow herself to give affects the course of any love affair.
The clubhouse was just a cigarette away from our place. As our car turned right into the parking space, I noticed all the courts were already taken. It was a quarter to five and that’s to be expected. That meant we were in for a long wait. If there’s anything in my life that I hate most, that’s waiting. Just the other day, Mitzi came thirty minutes late for our date and boy, did I blow my top! Mitzi became my girl when we were still in high school and upon graduation, her parents sent her to the States to study and so we split up “for practicality’s sake.” On her return, we found ourselves back into each other’s arms again. Still, she had a lot to learn when it comes to being punctual. What started out as a simple exchange of ungentle words eventually ended up in a bitter argument which saw us turning our backs on each other.
So there I was trying to forget. Tennis is one of the best outlets one can find. Hit the ball hard enough and you can just imagine yourself smashing your life’s problems away into oblivion. If Mitzi and our affair can make me forget the goings on in this damned world and set my racket aside for a while, so can I forget her by keeping myself busy wielding my racket now that she’s gone, so I philosophized. As Eric and I finally had our chance to play, however, I realized I simply can not get my game going. My backhands were a hopeless lot. My forehands were just terrible. My serves almost always land in the net. The first three games alone ended up in the same forgettable score: 40-love. Oh well, life is indeed like a tennis game. The more “loves” you get, the more you lose. Eric could only shake his head. I beat him the last time, you know. “Is something wrong with you?” He asked. I said “No!”
The match commenced in no time at all. I lost. Eric and I took a brisk shower to shed off the smell of sweat. A hotdog sandwich and a bottle of Coke after that saw me searching my pockets for twenty-five centavo coins. I may have lost the game but-- boy! --I won’t allow myself to lose my girl just like that. As I headed for the lobby to get my hands on the nearest pay phone, it dawned on me that my racket won’t help me forget this time. Mitzi was the one who introduced me to the sport in the first place. I dialed the number and it was busy….Darn it!
Copyright ©1984 The New Builder
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