In my favorite match ever I showed up to this swanky tennis club playing singles because we were stuck and I had gotten a last minute call. I had mistakenly worn my old shoes which had become grass cutting shoes. The shoes had holes with my socks sticking through. My shorts were paint stained from earlier in the day and my shirt had some inappropriate logo on it.
My opponent was perfectly decked out with a bag that matched his tennis outfit. He walked onto the court, saw me and walked off to complain about my shirt. I agreed to switch it with a dirty shirt that was worn in my last match and had not been cleaned out of my trunk. It was dirty, sweaty and certainly smelled poorly.
I beat him solidly to win the match (breadsticks). At the end of the match after he curtly shook my hand and was putting away his rackets one of my students, who was working there, walked up and said high Dr. McWizzl ... I smiled thinking that my student had stuck the knife in a little deeper.
Then as I was loading my stuff into my used dilapidated Prius ... he fired up the new Jaguar and left a strip of rubber in the parking lot. My victory seemed a little more sweet that day.
"You should be playing linebacker, not singles."
Last edited by dizzlmcwizzl; 12-13-2012 at 09:55 AM.