True Story Tuesday

What I lack in pure athletic ability (which is quite a lot, really), I make up for in brute strength and a desire to win no matter what. You would be surprised to know how many teams that allowed me to be a part of in high school. My senior year I became a prized member of the tennis squad. I was ranked 18 out of 18 (can you imagine that I actually beat some girls out for the spot?), until an unfortunate teammate dislocated her shoulder and I was moved to the 17th spot.

Most schools didn't have a squad as large as ours, so I only played singles during two matches the entire season (to put it in perspective, I was allowed to play in the #5 position against two schools because they only had 5 girls each. I kicked their @$es), but I was able to play doubles consistently. We usually were the last pair to play because we had to wait for courts to clear before taking on our opponents.

The best team in our conference also happened to be our high school's arch-rivals (Lobster attended said school, but we were able to put it behind us). Emotions were running high on match day, and no place higher than on the court featuring the face off of the #16-#17 doubles teams. Mind you, we actually pigged out at the refreshment table for about 3 hours before actually taking the court (I gained ample amounts of poundage over the course of the season since, you know, I didn't really play. Who knew tennis players could be benchwarmers?), but these girls were the best we'd played all year, and we were really pumped to be playing such steep competition.

Most of the team was finished playing, and the court lights were on which only increased the cinematic, superstar efforts taking place on our court. Suddenly, I heard my coach call the team together on the other side of the courts and say, "Ladies, that was a great match; well fought. Let's grab our things and load the bus and get out of here and go celebrate." Wait, what??? We were mid-point, but I walked off the court, pressed myself against the fence and yelled at the top of my voice...

"UMMMM, EXCUSE ME?! WE'RE ON THIS TEAM TOO AND WE'RE STILL PLAYING!!!!!"

My coach looked up, baffled and confused, in my direction. "Oh, uh, right," she muttered sheepishly. She gathered the team to our court, and they cheered us on - although no one actually bothered to put their bags down or take a seat.

During a change in courts, I called my competition over and asked them to make the rest of our match as long as possible. They complied, and we engaged in a marathon of rallies, second serves, replayed points and lost balls. I was fuming and sent each balls whizzing across the net to try and release some of my frustration (note: "whizzing," when you're the 17th ranked player would make Maria Sharapova ashamed).

When we finally finished (even more fitting, we lost, which almost made me feel even better), we loaded the bus to go home. My coach didn't speak to me, nor I to her. As I took my seat, I realized that maybe I wasn't made for tennis; I should have been a cheerleader after all.