Moose Tennis - Who's in Your Foxhole?

I have played many sports, but tennis is the one I have played throughout my life.

I have also had other endeavors: academically, artistically and business-wise.

Not to mention the camaraderie, patriotism and sense of mission I experienced in the U.S. Navy.

I'm no jock, for the record. This is worth stating. That's a mentality, but I do love sports and competition. There's an irony here. Perhaps, I simply love people competing and having fun.

The moments I cherish most and hold more so in memory are those times as a youngster. Those days will never be repeated, as we all grow older, not necessarily weaker. The mature and mental side of the game becomes the game. Sometimes it is a matter of fitness and endurance, except for the few youthful collegiate opponents, me (I'm still somewhat fit and mobile, ahem) and my elder brethren have taken down.

This is a somewhat long lead-in (for sound reason) to something I want to reflect upon, which happened today. Later I will, perhaps, speak of those people which have become part of your life, those you want to have in your foxhole, should such need occur.

Moose Tennis is a different format of tennis (game play is still by USTA rules) providing the opportunity for a wider variety of players and their skill levels to be matched with those of others. It's mostly fun, but can be very competitive - ask those who play with the herd. It's fun.

Today, as things got competitive (still, always friendly), one of ours lunged to return a well-placed and angled shot and his calf experienced the stress, of well, much stress. Sprain, tear, cramp? No one knew. Fortunately, two of the herd are nurses. They treated him as best they could, asked all the right questions for him to consider in regard to recovery. We got him to his car and hope for the best.

A few sets later, another member went down, hard, so-to-speak, while reaching for a well-angled shot. Look, no one at Moose Tennis is trying to cause another harm, but things happen. He was my partner at the time and he reached, rolled on his shoulder, and his face and head made slight impact with the court. He was well attended to by two of our resident nurses as I watched helplessly. Nightingales are so wonderful to have nearby. The victim seemed to enjoy the immediate care as if angels had descended upon his berth on the court - Shakespearean shit, I sometimes convey. Both attractive and angelic, well, no one's certain.

A few hours ago his wife reported, "He's doing fine, but looks like Frankenstein." This is not the first time he went to extremes to return a shot, but we all want him to continue to play. He continues to return and we love him, not simply for returning, but for his spirit. We do want him to be safe, though. Yet, we want him to not shy from something we know he enjoys.

I am not naive enough to say all people of a certain interest or group are just so damn peachy, but I have, by far, enjoyed most of my time competing against and socializing with tennis players. Have there been controversies and conflicts? Hell, yes. Worth mentioning? Even, for a writer? No. Well, perhaps. Later.

I have been through some not-so and more important issues in my life where I needed a little help and I want a tennis player in my foxhole should the shit get really bad, for many reasons.

I love tennis players and hope we all do well, on and off-court.

Mack: Rest and heal.

Harry: (It's up to Joni.) We want you back out if you feel able, whenever. Don't blame LeAnn, she knows no better, nor where she places her shots - she has not a clue - trust me.