A champion again

03.02.2003

My mom just emailed me. Some good and bad news.

Good news first: My dad won his racquetball tournament. He's extremely proud, and extremely sore (he's been using lots and lots of Bengay). Dad's played racquetball for as long as I can remember - though in Bolivia he played mostly fronton (a Basque game more like squash than racquetball).

It was my dad who taught me to play raqueta on long, late nights in Santa Cruz. I started playing in the traditional long fronton court (there's no back wall) and with the heavy ball. The return must also hit above a specific line (one meter up) - which makes the game very difficult. I made it my goal to someday beat my father, throw my racket in the air with a two fisted howl in triumph.

That day finally came, years ago. We sealed ourselves inside a comparatively tiny glass-walled racquetball court. The bounce of that light blue ball echoed as I prepared for that first serve. "This is it," I thought. "I'm young, sprite. He's old, slow." I was so wrong. I needed my speed and agility in that small court, chasing each blue blur as the echoes boomed and the glass walls shook. Dad was slower, more graceful, and the years of experience meant each return, each shot was deadly accurate.

I knew my father wouldn't let me win. He never let me win at anything. I had to earn it. My dad was old, but he was a contender. He'd been captain of his champion team in Bolivia. He had game. I threw my body - literally - into every serve, every return. Shoulder crashing against the wall to hit those tight shots my dad loves so much. Knees burning from sliding, naked, across the hard floor. And all the while, my chest bursting for air.

I won that game. Barely. There was no victory howl. I was too tired. I gazed at my father from under my sweat-soaked hair, gasping for breath. He, too, was tired. And incredulous. Our eyes met for a moment, and then he spoke: "You played well."

Well, now my dad's a champion again - at 54. I'm sure he'll want a rematch soon. I hear he has a new racket. And I've not played in over a year.

The bad news: My parents' untrusty computer fried, literally. My mom heard a noise and then smelled something burning. After years of limping through viruses, bad hard drive configurations, a Windows operating system, it finally died a typical wintel death. I've been asking them to buy an Apple for a while, and I almost have my dad convinced.

Posted by Miguel at 10:34 AM

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