By Will Carlin
Act I: Sizing Up
There you are.
No, I didn’t know who you were when I looked at the draw sheet and saw your name right above mine. I didn’t know that you were going to have that swagger, like you already had won the match. I didn’t know that you were going to look so smug, like your upcoming match wasn’t going to be a battle to the death. I already don’t like you, and that, brother, is going to fuel my fire while we play.
Go ahead, turn this way. Do you feel that? I know I do. Our eyes lock, and I can tell that you now know what you are dealing with. Oh, sure, chuckle with your friends as though your nerves are not now jangling—your laugh is a little too loud, my friend. Don’t think I don’t notice.
I can see that I am in your head. It isn’t every day that you match wits with a psychological master, is it, good buddy? Are you beginning to learn something? Oh, yes, you can try to hide it, but I can see your fear from miles away; I can smell it, pal… Wait a second… Your name is Jack?
Wrong person. Sorry about that.
Act II: Scouting
What do we have here?
Is that you about to warm up before our match? You probably thought that this court way over here was kind of private, didn’t you? No one would see you here and be able to watch you hit the ball. And even if they did, you probably thought, how likely was it that one of them would be your next opponent? HA HA HA HA. Sometimes the joke can be on you, big boy.
I see you take off your sweater, as I peer from behind this column in the gallery. I am not hiding; I am using something called ninja tactics. I can see you, but you can’t see me. It would intimidate you if you only knew.
While you thought you were getting the proverbial “leg up” by grooving your strokes, I am getting the true boost (leg up… boost… get it? Man, am I good…) by sizing you up. Go ahead, hit the ball. I can’t wait to see this.
What are you looking at? Me? Do I know if our court is on time? “I’ll go check,” I hear myself saying.
Nicely played, old boy. Nicely played.
Act III: Introductions
Okay, the time has come.
Our match is just moments away, and I have been preparing for this encounter for the past twenty minutes. I will shake your hand, all friendly-like, but the firmness of the shake is going to set the stage. You will know I am not to be trifled with. It is as if the first couple of points are already in the ol’ bank.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” you say. “Do you remember Jamie Newmark?”
Ah, so that is your ploy, is it? The old “Do-you-know?” game to throw me off my rhythm. I see your call, and I raise you.
“Of course I do. He went to Deerfield, won a letter for wrestling, and always had a thing for modern art.”
You see, good sir, even though it is just a handshake, I am able to parry your blow and make you feel like a friend. And that, chum, is a little thing I like to call “people skills.”
“Well, actually, Jamie is a woman…”
“The man was a varsity wrestler, pal. I wouldn’t say that to his face.”
“She’s my wife. She wanted me to say hi.”
Point taken.
Act IV: Warming Up
Finally, we are in my domain.
I like to think of the court as, well, home. You know, no one comes into MY house, and all that.
I am still stretching a bit as you start to hit, and I can see that you are relatively new to the game. Your strokes are, well, lousy. No, wait, they are worse than that.
Is this a joke? You must have entered the wrong division. You can barely get the ball to the front wall. Now, I am more than jacked up; I am ready to take you apart.
How dare you play so far above your ability level? I mean, I was hoping to get a decent match to start out this tournament. Look at your backhand, for goodness’ sake; you don’t even have the right grip. This is ridiculous.
All right, I’m ready now. When you hit the ball over to me, I will smack the ball up and down the rail a few times, and you immediately will see that you are in waaaaaaaaay over your head. C’mon, hit the ball to me.
You look over and see that I am ready, and… what’s that? You casually toss the racquet over to your left hand. Then you smack a forehand right past me. I try to snap my mouth shut. You are LEFT handed?
You knew what you were doing, didn’t you?
Game on, then. Game most definitely ON!
(I think I might be in trouble here.)
