Extreme Mediocrity

I don't mean to brag here, but once upon a time I was extremely mediocre at playing tennis.  Nowadays it kinda stinks because I can rarely find anyone to play with.  So I am making it my mission to train Little Smoot to be my new competition.

At the pace we're going, she'll be getting really good right around the same time that I will be dead, but that's not going to deter me.  Actually, she has made some decent progress in these past few days, so I am rather encouraged.  She does have the world's worst teacher, after all.

I tried to teach Mrs. Smoot how to play tennis a number of years ago, and it ended up being one of those famous instances where we almost drove straight to the divorce lawyer afterward.  I am not a patient teacher when it comes to anything, let alone tennis.  I just expect that people should be able to pick up a racket and automatically know how to hit a ball over a net.  But that just doesn't seem to be the case.

Mrs. Smoot will also be more than happy to tell you about the time I attempted to teach her how to drive a manual transmission car, but that's an entirely different near-divorce attorney story.  And the heck of that story is that we were already in the car, and I'm sure she would have driven us straight to the attorney's office if she had any idea how to get the car out of first gear.

Anyway, I finally got a chance to play tennis this morning against my brother.  The two of us used to spend our entire summers on the court (the tennis court, not divorce court).  We'd ride our bikes all the way into town, play tennis for a few hours, and then go grab a bite to eat at a place that served food so greasy that it would easily counteract all of the exercise we had gotten.

I am happy to say that I was still able to play in a seriously mediocre fashion, judging from our matches this morning.  Unfortunately, my brother was able to play a level or two above mediocre, and he handed my butt to me on a platter.  Things went quickly downhill after I dove for a ball and did a very impressive face plant right into the net.

During this beautiful play I did manage to get the ball over the net, and with my nose still pressed on the ground I was still able to ask my brother whether I had scored.  Of course it turns out he was able to return the ball into my side of the court, in bounds, even while laughing himself silly.

At least I can still beat Little Smoot.  For now.