The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current, February 28, 1978, Image 7

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THE BATTALION TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1978 Page 7 ;ports I I By Paul Arnett T ennis... everyone? HEW WINKLER DAILY 7:35 9:35 netiufi the hit semestf majoiis My Sunday morning wake-up call bunded all too soon. It had been a wild weekend in lubbock, full of wining, dining and ninien. So after a moment’s reflec- ition upon my Saturday night ac- tiinplishmehts, I assaulted my alarm clock, turned my electric IJgiiket up a notch and prepared for another five-hour visit with the Idman. so I thought. fGet out of that bed and let’s go play some tennis, my roommate shouted from the living room. j'You’re going to snore off a perfect lay" A perfect day, I thought to my- If That means every guy and his Igwill he out there trying to find a ilirt. JYou think we can find a court?” I hirestjsked my roommate, hoping he blinds, would say no. •t Unii ISure, if you'll hurry up and get the |cly. Jifurry up and get ready, I said ’ents,sn myself in disgust. “Hurry back to lamland.. .good tune. jBut after five minutes of frus- led lyrics and shattered sleep, I se event nembered the commercial where for still guy molds into his chair because lack of exercise. Visions of a irded marshmellow danced in my id, so I said goodbye to the bed went playing instead. jVe drove to the tennis land of jJtas A&M in time to witness some CO H people fighting each other for a Lu [oiut Driving past the battle field, I jnembered when finding a place lay tennis was as easy as finding aptist in Texas. |\Vhy the hell are all these people here?” I asked Jamie angrily. >k at all those weekend hackers |ng to hit the ball.” [Yea, he replied. “Look at those ptfcvo idiots over on that court. It bakes me mad seeing those clowns ing ping-pong on tennis courts. ” Iter a ten-minute stay at Aggie- , we decided to try the Bee k courts. There were a lot of pie buzzing around the tennis i — fortunately two of them were rends. StUlfe harrassed them into submis- | and they soon left the court — Rgine letting the gallery get the Kt of you. We walked onto the sur- i'OU r. te preparing ourselves for the big reer Catch when two guys decided to y SKJflty us a visit. AV eVe been here Joilger than mguys,” a portly fellow said. “Me id my buddy have been waiting ^r;rc three years for this court. looked at Jamie, he looked at Elect wew ling (to jineeic me. We shrugged our shoulders and said they could have the court. Back on the road again, we told them off. “Man, I hate rich people, Jamie said. “Did you see the kind of car he was driving; it was a 78 Firebird. I wouldn’t have minded giving up the court if he had been driving a VW. But those rich guys are arrogant. They think they own the world.” “Yea, I know what you mean,” I replied. “You think that’s had, try washing your clothes around here. It’s hard enough to get a tennis court, but these people will cut your throat for a washing machine. Our next and last stop on the ten nis tour was A&M Consolidated. There, to our surprise, we found two courts open. We wondered how this could be, and in five minutes we found out. Two courts down from us a man and his daughter were dinking the ball back and forth. Most of their shots were wandering over to the next court, where two guys were trying to play. But that wasn’t the half of it. The dynamic duo held a running conversation that you could have heard in Bryan. Every time Jamie and I tried to concentrate, shouts of how great the other was playing boomed into our court. “Great shot, honey! the man yel led to his daughter. “But don’t think I’m going to let you win. I ll let loose my Jimmy Connors’ shot and kill you. Ha, ha, ha!” Well, this went on for an hour. Instead of a quiet tennis-like atmo sphere, the courts sounded like a Barnum and Bailey circus. If that wasn’t bad enough, right next to us some 10-year-olds decided today was the day they would take up the game. It was like trying to serve out of a foxhole, with little yellow missiles threatening our very lives. “Good show, Paul, Jamie would say. “You managed to sneak one over. Too had I mixed it up with these other three whipping through here. We had to stop every other volley to sort laundry. “OK, the bald ball belongs to the jerks three courts down, the two orange ones are the carnival bark er’s . . . who the hell’s playing with this racquet ball! We’ll keep this new one, we deserve it.” On one occasion Jamie tossed our Dunlop up iii the air to serve, lost it in the sun, and wound up catching a Wilson from the court next door. “I can’t believe it, Jamie said. “Everyone south of Hearne has de- jfHEAlE Cl AVjfjf Precision haircutting for men and women 209 E. UNIVERSITY DR. In the George Green Building 846-4771 it e i Buffet Specials Enjoy all the pizza / spaghetti, and salad you can eat for only $2.09 Noon Buffet Monday thru Friday 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Tuesday Night Buffet Every Tuesday night 6:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. ;1 PIZZA Q r-J Ul 5 RED LIGHT 29th ST. g OF BRYAN z UJ 2 V • L-J FED • MART S cn PC 1 TEXAS AVE. PIZZA INN OF C.S. ★ • A&M „ Pizza inn WL ve got a feeling youre gonna like us.’ 413 Texas Ave. (Across from Ramada Inn) 846-6164 » © 1803 Greenfield Plaza (Next to Bryan High) 846-1784 cided to play tennis. It’s like a circus out here.” It was a lackluster first set. But our hopes were raised when the carnival barker two courts down cut loose with this sentence. “Honey, your old man is getting tired. I’m afraid it s time to go home. “Oh you’re nothing but a Crun chy Granola bar, daddy, his daugh ter said. “Let s play two more games.” Damn, I thought to myself. Just when it looked like the barker was going home, his daughter talks him into staying. But what came next was a real heartbreaker. “I think I’m getting my second wind, the mouth said. “Let s play some more. Double fault for me when that sentence hit the airways. “I can’t, daddy,” she said. “I have a test tomorrow.” With that the dynamic duo went home. But the damage had been done. “Let’s go home and watch tennis on TV,” Jamie said. “The hackers have taken over the tennis world. We packed our gear and headed to the house. Our conversation was sparse on the return trip. It had been a long afternoon. “You know who said tennis, any one?” I asked my reflection in the window. “No, who?” Jamie replied. “Humphrey Bogart, I answered. “Well after today, I ll never play it again, Sam, Jamie joked. “Neither shall I. Back at the homestead I looked at my racket for the last time before placing it back upon the shelf, and in my best Bogie imitation said, “Here’s looking at you, kid. I silently shut the closet door, went into the living room, turned on the TV and settled back. 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