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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15 Responses to “Girl Fight”
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See, this is why I no longer play tennis.
Now that’s off my virtual chest, I’d bet you ten bucks (if I actually knew you and you lived nearby and I had ten bucks), that she calls and asks you to play with her again. To that kind of beyatch, winning is all.
Loved the photo, loved the post, loved the attitude. Bring it on indeed. Glad also that the kneecaps are intact.
i love that last line.
you rock.
i’d love for you to teach me to play.
looks like you startled her with a dose of her own meds.
hee hee hee.
besides, kneecaps are overrated.
Wow… good for you.. I wish tennis was in my life. Can’t hit the ball. Will you teach me? You have to be VERY patient.
the pigtailed third grader isn’t looking so tough anymore
I’m sure she’s one of those women that expects to be pushed back. It’s a mark of respect and self-respect. Now, on to a more important topic. What tattoo are you considering? You’ll have to get one if you keep winning matches with Lippy Linda. You know, to keep up your street cred. I suggest something that wraps around your serving forearm, perhaps Chinese characters that translate to “Bring it, bitch”.
Bring it, indeed.
If you are ever in AZ we’ll play racquetball.
Wow. This is just another example of how exercising can be hazardous to your health. I’m now relishing my couch potato lifestyle feeling all safe and warm inside while I flip channels and watch the equally as hazardous evening news.
This is me laughing out loud.
So, one of two things, as near as I can tell.
1, she, as Moshizzle suggests, admired the fact that you could broadcast at her wavelength. You have earned her respect. or …
2, she shares your assessment of your ability to take her. So, she merely grimaced out a smile for now, waiting for Laura’s return so that she has a tag team partner when she goes after your knee caps. You may want to send your ex-tennis playing partner roses this weekend, reconciling with her in preparation for soliciting her support in this parking lot variant of doubles.
You could ensure 1 and obliterate the odds of 2 with one simple act, though. Get a tattoo on your shoulder - a series of tough looking townie women with cross hatches through their startled faces, like the old score keeping of aces across the nose of their planes in World War. I think four would be a good but credible number. And below their faces, written in that thick, faux-medieval font popularized in prisons, “Bring it bitch.” Speaking on behalf of your blog reading fans, we will definitely need to see the picture of that.
Ron, thanks for finally giving me the tattoo idea. I’ve kinda always wanted one but just couldn’t decide on an insignia that I’d want on my body for the rest of my life. I have enough trouble committing to bumper stickers. Forget about tattoos. But now, now I’ve got the real deal. Only one question - right shoulder or left.
It’s hard to imagine you as a right-winger, cce. In fact, I think that you’d lose some of your allure if you were. Left shoulder it is.
(P.S. most people think that I am not the kind of guy to get a tattoo, but I have. And I wear it in plain sight. Everyone thinks that this is a mole on my cheek.)
CCE, is it inappropriate that I have a little girl crush on you at this moment? Such a badass, you are.
I think you earned her respect.
Do you watch The Real Housewives of New York (yeah, I’m admitting to my trash TV watching)? There was a tennis match that yours reminded me of.
Jennifer H, awww I’m flattered. Crush Away. Someone just told me about The Real Housewives of New York…I’m dying to watch it. What station is that so I can DVR it?
Bravo. You totally belong on their Hampton courts. You rock. I bet you earned her respect. Probably the only person who has ever stood up to her.
I used to work with a doctor that was a beast. Always screaming at people and throwing tantrums. He came unglued on one of my employees one day. I marched back there (knees shaking) and told him that my employees weren’t paid enough to tolerate his yelling and if he needed to scream to call me. Our relationship changed instantly. He suddenly respected me. Who knew!?!