Court Summons

          I drive by the open tennis courts of Mount Tahoma High School close to home and every time, the lure of pounding hard on the yellow balls gets so strong that I must walk back later with Wilson and Penn. But as I grow older, the comforts of home get more appealing than court appearances. 
          I am Novak. I mean, no Nadal, nada. And Federer, never. While them GOATs play for prize money and endorsements and hoard pretty much all the Grand Slams and Masters hardware among themselves, I play for a good time and camaraderie. I feel fortunate though to have witnessed their epic head-to-head matches in my lifetime.
          I guess once you’ve played and fallen in love with the game, you never lose your grip on the racket. I can still serve the ball across the net, although…the last few times I’ve been to the courts, nobody was there to return it. Nobody but memories….
          It was during Bjorn Borg’s and John McEnroe’s era in the early 80s when I got hold of my first tennis racket, a gift from a brother-in-law visiting the Philippines—a wood Kramer. Not sure how to actually play it for the first time, I had to learn the rules and mechanics of the game. I took a ten-hour on-court lessons spread in five Sundays. I then joined the tennis club in the company where I worked, trading groundstrokes with fellow members in preparation for the year-end tournaments and dual meets versus other companies. Some weekends, I met with a couple of friends on our favorite shell court (a modification of European clay courts whereby crushed seashells are overlaid on the dirt) for not-so-friendly games, then headed to a nearby beerhouse for pints and Crispy Pata.

When the family immigrated to the U.S., poor old Kramer was left behind in Manila. It took me years to get settled down in Washington State. Finding a stable job rekindled my passion for tennis and the love affair produced Kennex, Prince, Head, and Wilson. Then retirement, and that meant parting with my playing buddies at the Lab. No more quickie on the hard court during lunch break.           

          Eventually, and just so as not to “waste” my tennis muscles due to inactivity, I go indoors every now and then at Lakewood YMCA, punishing its racquetball walls with topspin forehands, backhand slices, and even lobs and volleys.

            Le Badiable, from the Philippines, is a longtime Washington resident who is still summoned to one kind of a court or another. Tennis courts…among others.  

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