Girl Fight
Posted on March 27, 2008
Filed Under suburban joys, snark, bat-ass crazy, tennis, girl fight |
I know you all are going to think me crazy, another day, another tennis story. I mean who are these people I find to accompany me on the court, you ask? Well, here’s another tale that I hope you’ll find amusing. I’m laughing about it too , until next week when I will either be stabbed in the back or blissfully free of the offense.
Since my regular tennis partner and I broke up a few months back, the tennis season has been sort of free form, each week a different partnership, a different challenge. Sometimes I play with my former partner as we are committed to remaining good friends but we are not exclusive anymore. I’m definitely seeing other people, playing the field. I’ve played tennis with six different partners since February vacation. I am officially a tennis whore. But hey, whatever it takes, my win record this past few weeks is 7 and 0. There’s something uniquely exhilarating about this dating game.
This week I was asked to play as a stand-in for Linda’s sister. Linda and Laura are a sort of townie duo, both hair dressers, both gum chewers, both tough talking women from the South Shore who often intimidate their more mild mannered, country club-type tennis opponents. Think Rizzo from Grease versus Nicole Kidman’s character from The Stepford Wives and you are conjuring the right dynamic. Linda’s sister Laura was away on a Vegas vacation yesterday with Mick her loan shark boyfriend, so I was Laura’s stand in. In an effort to play the part, I wore a tank top, I chewed gum, I considered getting a tattoo.
Linda is widely considered the better player when she takes the court with her sister. Laura can become emotionally unhinged, cursing and ranting and throwing her racket when things aren’t going her way on the court. There have been times when Laura has asked an opponent to step out to the parking lot with her after the match. No kidding. I’m not exaggerating. A forty year old woman threatening to drag another woman out into the parking lot and bang her face into the side of a dumpster. It’s good stuff. Fun to watch. As long as your not the poor person on the other side of the net.
Because of Laura’s quick temper, Linda is often charged with keeping her wildly unpredictable sister from throwing temper tantrums and threatening fist fights. She is accustomed to ordering Laura around and scolding her when things get tough. She is generally talking the ENTIRE match, a constant diatribe from one point to the next.
I anticipated some of this. I tried to grin and just sort of endure Linda’s patronizing rants on court position and suggestions about where to put the ball. I just nodded when she said helpful things like, just try to keep it away from their rackets. Instead of blurting out the first thing that came to mind like, Okay. Thanks, Genius. I didn’t know that was the point of this tennis thing. Even though I think I could take her if things were to come to fisticuffs, I do try to avoid physical altercations because I’m female and last I looked have fully grown beyond the influences of high school and all those hormones. I was really aiming for placating and patient. Really I was.
And all went well in the first set, given that we won six-love. At the start of the second set, I was still playing along, letting her feel all superior with her bad self. But as our opponents made adjustments, moving back to the baseline, chucking up lob after annoying lob, Linda grew increasingly befuddled and frustrated. She started to make errors which she tried to blame on me. She began analyzing each and every ball play to determine how we should approach the next point.
I’m an impulse player. I see the court. I see the ball. I react appropriately. I’m not big on the pre-game show, the plans and the plays. Her efforts to manage each point were cramping my style. Eventually, something just snapped. I turned to Linda, the tennis thug, and taking a serious risk, I said loudly, with purpose, “Oh just shut f*%# up, Linda and play tennis.” I half expected her to launch at me. I was ready for hissing and claws but she sort of quietly turned around with the shadow of a smile lurking on her face. We played the rest of the match on auto-pilot. We won the next five games and completed the second set in steely silence. I wondered if she’d challenge me to a duel in the parking lot once the match was over. I anticipated a little verbal abuse if nothing else. But as we left the court, Linda extended her hand for a shake. It appeared she was over it. The lion had been temporarily tamed.
I exhaled a great sigh of relief, happy that I would not have my knee caps broken just yet. I jogged out to the car, peeling out before she could slash my tires or key my door. Now I’m on pins and needles anticipating next week’s practice and the reception I will receive from Linda who will have had all week to stew about our on-court disagreement. Believe me, I’ll be watching my back. There will be some fall out. I know there will be. I’ll be on my toes ready to deflect her predatory advances. Bring it bitch.
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