Tennis

Keeping my eyes riveted on the fuzzy yellow globe speeding towards me with frightening force, I greet it a foot away from me, pounding it across the court with tremendous power. I quickly regain my balance to see my ball skid on the baseline. "Out!" As I stare in utter disbelief, I forget the game for a moment. Limping to the sideline, I tenderly maneuver my ailing body, seating myself on the wobbly, splintered bench. I feel overwhelmed: my shirt is pasted to my back with unceasing perspiration; sunscreen glides down my skin, stinging my eyes like sulfuric acid; my chest heaves, screaming for oxygen, as the energy is sucked out of my hot, sticky body. The sun is tromping me, each one hundred and three degrees hitting me simultaneously from every direction. My head throbs as I instinctively raise my water bottle for the eighteenth time, forgetting it is as empty as my moaning stomach. Now this lousy call. I feel like crap.
Oddly enough, I am still happy.
Tennis is a...