On a bright sunny day, with an average
temperature of close to thirty five degrees Celsius. The waves of
heat could be seen from any angle, pouring down on the pavement of
the street. The grass in the parks. And on the asphalt on the Tennis
court. Where a father and son, were playing the hardest game of
tennis they had ever had against each other.
The game was tight and nearing its end,
or at least, it should have. They had been playing tennis for a solid
four hours, which was a lot for them. The hot sun was beading down,
and they each had their own advantages and disadvantages. The young
ones advantage was that he was fourteen years old. So he had lots of
energy, and great stamina. The older ones disadvantage was that he
was fifty years old. He had bad knees and, although good stamina, not
a teenagers. Something his son pointed out to him, repeatedly.
The fourteen year old disadvantage was
that he was fourteen years old. And every time, anything that
remotely resembled a woman, he would tense up and screw up his serve,
or his back hand. And then the old man would tease him
The old man's advantage was that he was fifty years old and had been married for twenty five years, and could give two shits about the young girls that were walking past the tennis court.
However, the old man had also taught
his son everything that he knew about tennis, so there skill level
was equal. And it had become pretty vicious.
They were in the final set, and they
were in the final tie breaker. And they kept on bouncing back and
forth between deuce and advantage. Over and over.
The other people on the court had
stopped to watch. It was in itself, too amazing to see these rallies.
The ball moving faster than they had ever hit before, each desperate
to win. Each for their own reasons, or maybe the same one. Sometimes,
you just have to win.
The will power that they were
displaying now against each other had begun to more like a chess game
than a game of tennis. As neither of them were above taunting.
“Hey! Boy! Which one of those girls
is your girlfriend?” The father threw at him
“What's that? I couldn't hear you, I
think my serve broke the sound barrier, you sounded really whiny and
like you were about ready to give up. Was that it?” A solit parry
from the boy
“You little shit.” Clearly a hit
for the boy.
“I love you too Dad, try not to break
any bones while you swing and miss on this one, okay?” In for a
kill shot.
“I'm trying to be nice to you because
I know you're young, and you still cry so easily, and I didn't want
to mention that in front of any of these girls.” A cheap, but
effective blow.
“Hurmph” The boy had nothing.
And then back into play. The boy
advantage, deuce, the boy advantage, deuce, water break. The old man
advantage, deuce.
“At some point we have to go home and
have dinner, you know.” The old man, aware of the time.
“Oh yeah, well if you want to quit.”
Smirked the boy.
“Your serve.”
In a tennis tie breaker, you have to
win by at least two points. Or it can go on forever, tie breaker or
not.
It went on forever. All the people had
left, not because they wanted to, but because they had to for
whatever reason.
Finally, the old man won the game.
The boy lost his cool, his rage
unleashed on the court. It was a sight to see. The threw his racket
and it shattered into pieces.
A few girls that had been watching him
because he looked so cute while playing his dad, quickly left. And
that made the rage worse.
The father came up to his son and tried
to be stern, but he had no idea what was going on.
“Stop it son, it's just a game.”
Confused at the behaviour, unaware what could have caused this.
“Oh yeah, sure. Just a GAME!” he
screamed at him.
Then the father tried to hug his boy.
And his boy thrashed and yelled. And eventually collapsed into his
fathers arms.
And he cried. They both did. And then
softly, to his son:
“Good game though, real close”
“Chhhuk.. huh. Yeah. I would have won
a while ago if your eyes could actually see when the ball hit the
line instead of just yelling out because you're blind.”
“At least it's just my eyes, you just
cheat!” He exaggerates this exclamation, as if he's flabbergasted.
“Do not!”
“Do so! I had at least, five balls
that were on the line.” Another gross exaggeration.
“You're blind. What the hell do you
know?” Good point.
“You're a child, what the hell do you
know?”Better point.
“Yeah.”
And then they packed up the equipment,
and the boy had to carry the rackets. They were both exhausted.
Usually after they played tennis, they would race each other home.
Through the park, mostly to get through the mosquitoes as quickly as
possible.
“No race today son, okay?”
“Okay. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because you have no hope of
beating me!” and he broke off
into a dead sprint laughing maniacally.
“Good
luck old man!” And he bolted after his dad. And they raced home,
yelling out and arguing over what the finish line was.
“First
to hit the garage door!”
“Noo,
first one inside the house.”
“Okay,
you have to hit the garage door first and then get inside to win.”
“Stop.
Making. Me. Talk.”
“Wuss.”
And
then the boy won the race home. Because his father let him.
Because that's what fathers do
sometimes.
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