×
×
homepage logo
STORE

Poetic License: Five days in the life of Wilson One

By Staff | Aug 19, 2015

Day Two

Betrayal! What price love and loyalty!

Mr. Topspin’s turned us over to seniors!.

I thought when he put us back

in the can, with me on top of my brothers,

that he’d use us for some heavy practice games.

Who can ever understand players? I admit

we lost some fuzz during the match and maybe

we weren’t bouncing as high at the end

but we had still had some good kicks left —

most of which will now be wasted

on these seniors who are a real trip.

There is not one original knee left among them,

some even have new hips and shoulders

and one of the players sips oxygen

from a portable tank between changes.

There’s one who is wrapped and taped like a mummy

and another who tells time with his pacemaker.

Still another can’t read our name and number

and keeps throwing one of us to the players

on the other courts after every point.

Many of the points are endless

and go on for minutes and then

none of the players can remember the score

and they waste two or three minutes more

arguing and trying

to remember the previous points.

No more center sweet spot hits for us,

these seniors use every part of the racquet

except the strings, —the frame, the throat

and even the handle mishit

and send us flying in all directions.

For a while I’m in a panic.

They’ve hit me into the other court

and two full games go by

before anyone notices I’m missing!

Then one of the seniors

on the other court puts me in play

for a few points until an error

put me back into my original court

and someone remembers

they started out with three Wilson Ones.

Whew! That was close.

Good to be back with my brothers again:

it’s the first time we’ve ever been separated.

No smashes, topspin or crisp volleys —

the seniors get tired and my brothers and I

begin to get real friendly with the net

as they keep banging us into it.

It must be a senior net

because it has patches and two holes in it

and a player mishits me through one hole

but the players can’t agree

whether I passed through or over the net

and so they play me over.

(To be continued)