THE SQUASH POET #10

Do you remember your first ever competitive squash match? I do. And it was 35 years ago. Not for the physical agony of running around a court – because I was 6 years old and getting tired isn’t an issue at that age – but for the life-long mental scarring it incurred. I remember the venue, the court, and the day of the week, and the nerves. I also remember my opponent had on a white shirt with blue trims. Funny how certain things stick in your mind in times of mortal peril. I lost that day 9-0; 9-0; 9-0. It was a junior travel league match and I was clearly out of my depth. It was also the only time I have ever been bageled three games in a row. The Squash Poet relays his experience here, although he obviously wasn’t a young child, or in peak physical condition.

Watching the pros it looks uncomplicated

But that could be because I was intoxicated

A step or two with a lunge and a swing

How hard can it be to hit that black thing?

So a friend of mine bet me over a beer

That an old man with arthritis would hand me my rear

I won’t have an issue, I’ll be quickly succeeding…

…Holy crap! Who would have thought it’s entirely misleading!

The Squash Poet

“My First Match”

It can’t be that hard

When it looks so damn easy

I’m a fat tub of lard

And running makes me queasy.

But smacking a black ball

With a racquet light and long

Seems an elementary call…
…How could I have been so wrong?!

The court appeared bigger

Standing on the inside

Do I have enough vigor

To last the whole ride?

Five minutes had passed by

I felt so fainthearted

The lack of oxygen supply

And the match hadn’t even started!

The first rally of the game

I think I ran a marathon

Apart from shattering the frame

I couldn’t possibly go on!

Ignoring all health signs

And the pain that kept increasing

I’m sure I wrecked my spine

Is that blood me pores are releasing?

I also then found out

Muscles I never thought I had

Without a shadow of a doubt

I thought I needed a body-bag.

As if it couldn’t get any worse

The pain actually started to spread

I put in a call for a hearse

I was sure I’d soon be dead.

  

My knees began to swell

Followed by my ankles and my hips

So this is living hell?

Crap, my shoulder joint just ripped!

I even have a pain

In a muscle in my crotch

But I have to be insane

Because I loved the game so much!

I’m ashamed – it’s no farce

But the truth must be told
My opponent handed me my ass

And he was 80 years old!

I can’t believe I’m addicted

Despite the agonizing pain

It’s a sickness self-inflicted

I’ll do it tomorrow again!

The Squash Poet