Playing with the Cards Dealt

Believe it or not, I have matured greatly in the past year. That maturity has manifested itself in surprising places. For example, I no longer attach so much of my self worth to winning or losing. Nowadays, losing is accepted with grace and dignity. (The peanut gallery shouts BULLSHIT!)

The tennis gods want to fuck with my new found maturity. When I peeked at tonight's schedule, I discovered I am playing my bitter gay rival in doubles. Something deep inside me begin to stir. The blood running through my veins flashed to venom. NOT HIM!

How did he get the distinction of being my bitter gay rival? On one fateful day at Highland Park, I overheard my opponent say... "Don't worry -- I beat these clowns all the time." If I were Joe Wilson, I would have screamed "YOU LIE!"

The match was not pretty. In fact, my poor doubles partner begged and pleaded with me to behave. I remember zinging backhands and forehands near my foes ears. I would say, "What's the matter? You can't return back a forehand either?" I am surprised a fist fight didn't break out.

Since then, I have faced my bitter gay rival on three other occasions. Every single match has been balls-to-the-wall tense affairs. He has an awesome serve that puts fear into the hearts of others. I am extremely talented at the net and have the athletic prowess to chase down ANY ball.

As I type this, the whites of my eyes have turned a wicked black. My sword is ready to slay. Stay tuned for either a gloating winner or a blabbering crybaby.

Cracking knuckles...