Tennis memoir
Budget: $250 – $750 USD
Old Guy with bad knees aches to play tennis again.
He’s old. He can’t run.
He’s new in town. He’s too slow for singles.
For doubles, he needs three players.
What does he do?
LESTER SAN MARINO—
KNIGHT QUESTER IN KNEE PADS
Lester San Marino has bad knees.
He’s married, terrific wife, no kids.
Lester’s not a real jock—medium good-reflexes, a variable mode killer instinct—but he loves the game of tennis.
He loves the sound of the ball on his strings, a soft shirred sizzle sound that tells him he’s hit another winner spin shot.
He loves the arc of the ball as it leaves his strings, launched from the sweet spot, the center of his string-bed, and wobbling across the net, slip-sliding past the enemy net-person, touching down a foot inside the baseline, two inches from the bright white boundary.
When he hits a perfect touch shot in Complimentary Senior Doubles, Lester feels a rush. The rush continues when his shot sucks the back-court enemy player forward, hurrying toward the ball, but getting there too late.
Lester’s not a mean guy.
But he does enjoy causing confusion in the game-plan of his opponents, two dozen savvy 3.0 players, longtime members of the TCSP, Tennis Center Sand Point, where Lester has found his sanctuary, his home away from home.
Like most senior players, Lester enjoys the ripple of chaos he creates with a tricky spin ball, putting the opposition into stiff confusion—tennis is a subtle game, where being subtle pays off.
But only if Lester keeps the flaws to a minimum.
Because he is that sort of guy—careful, analytical, a thinker-planner who aims at targets on the court: soft and short to the singles sideline, hard down the middle, a super-sliced underbelly lob that lands two feet inside the baseline, and then hops sideways with a crazy bounce.
He likes to win—who doesn’t?—because when he wins he hears the music of the spheres—just a few shrouded seconds of trumpets and drums and a piping piccolo, but he doesn’t commit suicide over the loss of a set. Or two. Or three. Because tennis, to Lester, is a game of beauty and grace—and survival.
His body started failing him when he turned 50.
Tennis elbow. Tennis knee.
He’s old. He can’t run.
He’s new in town. He’s too slow for singles.
For doubles, he needs three players.
What does he do?
LESTER SAN MARINO—
KNIGHT QUESTER IN KNEE PADS
Lester San Marino has bad knees.
He’s married, terrific wife, no kids.
Lester’s not a real jock—medium good-reflexes, a variable mode killer instinct—but he loves the game of tennis.
He loves the sound of the ball on his strings, a soft shirred sizzle sound that tells him he’s hit another winner spin shot.
He loves the arc of the ball as it leaves his strings, launched from the sweet spot, the center of his string-bed, and wobbling across the net, slip-sliding past the enemy net-person, touching down a foot inside the baseline, two inches from the bright white boundary.
When he hits a perfect touch shot in Complimentary Senior Doubles, Lester feels a rush. The rush continues when his shot sucks the back-court enemy player forward, hurrying toward the ball, but getting there too late.
Lester’s not a mean guy.
But he does enjoy causing confusion in the game-plan of his opponents, two dozen savvy 3.0 players, longtime members of the TCSP, Tennis Center Sand Point, where Lester has found his sanctuary, his home away from home.
Like most senior players, Lester enjoys the ripple of chaos he creates with a tricky spin ball, putting the opposition into stiff confusion—tennis is a subtle game, where being subtle pays off.
But only if Lester keeps the flaws to a minimum.
Because he is that sort of guy—careful, analytical, a thinker-planner who aims at targets on the court: soft and short to the singles sideline, hard down the middle, a super-sliced underbelly lob that lands two feet inside the baseline, and then hops sideways with a crazy bounce.
He likes to win—who doesn’t?—because when he wins he hears the music of the spheres—just a few shrouded seconds of trumpets and drums and a piping piccolo, but he doesn’t commit suicide over the loss of a set. Or two. Or three. Because tennis, to Lester, is a game of beauty and grace—and survival.
His body started failing him when he turned 50.
Tennis elbow. Tennis knee.