One of the the things that kept me from getting killed by the football players when I was in highschool was the fact that I was on the tennis team. Though I had a foot firmly planted with the “drama-fags”, cure I also had a (sneaker-clad) foot in the “jock” area.
I haven’t played tennis regularly since 1980, side effects way back before you were born, but earlier this year I started playing again, diving right in to competition via “tennislosangeles.com” in the “skilled” category. Skilled is the lowest.
The first season, this past summer, I had to figure out how to play and also figure out how to play competitively again. They are two different skills that are dependent upon one another. I got beaten quite a bit the first season, but once I realized that I really was playing for fun and not thinking about maybe trying to play in college or something things began clicking into place. I also had this weird thing about winning. As in I felt weird winning. I realized, though, that if I want my opponent to play as hard as he can against me, he probably wants me to play as hard as I can against him. Respect the opponent enough to play well.
This past season; my second, I actually won enough to get me into the “playoffs” and actually to the finals. Me and another guy… battling it out for first place.
I played the match tonight. I’d beaten him before during the season and he’d beaten me once when playing just for the fun of it. But tonight, he methodically and decidedly handed me my hairy ass. It was a defeat of epic proportions. 6-3, 6-0. Man, he fucking kicked my ass.
Horrible.
So… there’s that.
That should be enough. Aren’t you ever satisfied?
Okay… Victor and I are going to be performing Spamscam at the Steve Allen Memorial Hairpiece Theater at the Center for Inquiry West. (Memorial Hairpiece is what I think it should be called).
It should be a good fit. Hope I can remember my lines.
Man, he just kicked my fucking ass so hard. Humiliating.