Tin.  My squash dreams always ended with me heading tin. You can hear that horrible sound in your sleep and you’d  swear that the person sleeping beside you  could hear it too. The worst sound on earth; like  nails on a chalkboard or the thud of a car accident. The sound is so specific to a squash court and has no other place or purpose. Where else  does rubber hit metal in such a way? The sound could easily be used for torture, in repetition. I could imagine being tied to a chair, listening to that sound over and over again. Clank…clank…clank….clank….clank….

The sound of the tin woke me up and I lay in bed looking at the ceiling and glancing over at Susan. She  was  enjoying a deep sleep and because she did not play squash, she did not understand squash dreams. She  enjoyed the usual dreams like  falling, being chased by a crazed lunatic, flying, anything involving snakes, tornados, winning a baking contest, teeth falling out, candle making, and/or holding an oversized lottery cheque while your teeth fell out.

Mine  became squash dreams after getting the squash bug at my old job. I loved sports as a teenager, but  was  lacking in any drive or talent. My claim to fame was  being cut twice during the same High  School basketball tryout. They called my name twice, once and the beginning and once at the end. “John Dupont, CUT.” Squash was  not  like  other sports. It is an addiction and a unique culture, discovered by accident. It is a secret individual pursuit of obsession. It was  personal and social all at once. I blame a guy  from my old job for spreading it like  a virus throughout the office.  That was  the only good thing to happen in that office, before and after the meltdown.

Thankfully, squash had the advantage of not  being a team sport, so no cuts. My coach was a good-natured Aussie pro  named Chris Ross. Chris enjoyed power-drinking beer, getting “cained.” I am  still not  sure what “cained” is, but  it seems to be a useful, handy and flexible verb. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound right when I tried to use it in a sentence. Chris also  liked my commitment to spending money on private lessons. In exchange for beer and cash, we both silently agreed to pretend that I had a hope in hell.

Lessons included chats in the bar about my length or my inability to volley. He’d say: “You’ve got to control the middle mate!” or “order me a pint and I will explain why your offensive drop is absolutely hopeless.” Chris and I had also  bonded when he got in some serious hot  water with the squash association. Along  with other things, it involved leaving a kettle full of his  urine to boil, in the kitchen at a private club.  They had stiffed him on tournament prize money and it was  an almost successful attempt at revenge. I helped him out  of that jam  and I admitted that I admired the creativity of his  crime. His thought was that the boiling urine would make the entire dining room smell like  pee.  “It will soak into the wallpaper mate. They will never get the smell out.”

Chris was  an old school Aussie. He described his  playing style as “desperate”. I once found him smoking behind the club.  I asked him how  that he could, as it would not  help being squash fit. His answered by outlining his  theory of being too fit; “when my lungs are about to explode, I get mentally sharper and I go for my shots.” Truth was, that Chris was fit. He would carry a small waste paper basket into the gym, in case he puked doing mile repeats. He was desperate.

Squash is about lasting, trying and not  giving up. It is fighting and winning ugly, but  just short of peeing into a kettle. It seems to attract obsessive types. Walk into a room with someone and hit and ball back-and-forth until someone wears out. It is progressive confrontation, like  a playful shoving match, that gets out  of hand over an hour and a half. At a decent level the rallies are insanely long and steady. You feel in oxygen debt during the whole process and there is no slam-dunk, just subtle errors, which quietly add up. The draw is that squash is an easily accessible test of your endurance, character and mental toughness. It is that rush that makes it addictive. There is nothing in an agreeable adult life of compromise, which can compare. It is a rush like  climbing a mountain, but  within the confines of a little room. It pushes you out  of middle ground, to test you  three times a week. I’m not  sure that comes across when you watch it.

My specific challenge was  the club  in-house league. It had run for 10-weeks and I was  in the final of my division. I was  playing a guy  named Fernando Alberto, a master of gamesmanship, arguing calls, blocking and double bounces. He is also  the guy  in your office, who  everyone hates. He’s that driver, who  doesn’t let you  merge into the exit lane on the highway. He uses the express checkout at the grocery store, even though he has a full cart. He doesn’t hold the elevator. He cheats on his  wife. He also talked a big game, a sin  in squash culture. Real  squash players know that you  are one match away from being destroyed, so you  learn to stay humble. Defeat was  direct and unmistakable when it happened. It was on you.

Susan arrived in the kitchen, and laughed to herself. “Squash dream?”
I didn’t answer, the fact that I was  re-gripping my racquet at the breakfast table was answer enough.
“There’s coffee”  was  my only response
“I’m going  to get ready for work, good luck tonight.”
“Good luck with those buyers.”

Susan took her coffee  and headed upstairs. Our relationship was  comfortable. I think she liked that I played squash, and that I would excitedly recount matches. It’s nice when your partner is excited about something. Especially after three years of financial struggle and tough career choices, which had kind of left  us both beat up. We were coming out  of it, but  we needed something more than just keeping on. I’m sure that at least squash kind of brought out  that side of me Susan knew before all of the settling in and surviving. I wondered what Susan’s squash was  or what our relationship squash was.

After 30 minutes of visualization, which involved looking at my  squash bag,  Susan emerged in her business clothes. We met in the hall and kissed goodbye for the day.
“I’ll try and make your match, but  we may to take those buyers out  for dinner afterwards”
“Ok, text me if you  plan to be there. I don’t want to be digging a ball out  of the corner and catch sight of you.”  I said with too much urgency.
“My beauty will distract you?”
“Yes, of course, I’m distracted and dizzy, just looking at you  right now,”  I
replied.
Susan paused and squinted a smile. “What a nice thing to say. Empty the dishwasher and you  will be officially on a roll.”

I did my morning routine and was  out the door in twenty minutes flat. My first meeting was  not  until 10am, so I avoided morning rush hour. I did miss my exit, when someone would not  let me change lanes. I checked to see if it was  Fernando. Would not be surprised. Jerk.

I was  basically called into a sales meeting regarding a new  product launch. The sales meeting was  led by our national sales manager, named Blake Penney. He was  a typical senior sales guy,  who  had an ABC attitude and general sense of social interaction including and not  limited to golf talk, recounting sports events and strategies to improve numbers. He was  not  a bad  guy  although he had a few annoying quirks like  saying, “Why don’t you  go ahead and…” whenever he wanted you  to do something. He would also  mark success by using the phrase: “so-and-so crushed it”.

I sat through the meeting looking through the window at a cold late October day. I could hear “crushed it” and “go head and do that” as white noise, as I watched the leaves blow off the trees. I liked fall, as it meant sweater weather, fall colors and the start of squash season. This  was  not  my ideal job, but  it was  work and it felt  lucky to be employed given the state of things. For  now,  I would sit slightly, quietly and bored. Later, I would go ahead and crush Fernando.

I arrived at the club  around 5pm. I left  early, having phoned in the rest of the day, surfing PSA, squash365. I check out  the Black Knight website. The parking lot at the club  was packed and I drove around looking for a spot only to offer one  to a family in a mini van. They looked late for swimming or tennis lessons. People in mini vans always seemed to look like  they were late or desperate. I drove into another lane and saw  an empty spot at the far end. I moved forward and suddenly a black Range Rover grabbed it. Frustrated, I drove on looking in my mirror. Of course, it was  Fernando.
He had no idea what awaited him on court. Jerk.

I found a spot on the street and arrived to a busy squash area. There was  friendly chatter and the sound of ball hitting the wall.  The sound of referees shouting scores above the drone of the lively crowd. There was  the sound of tin. Chris spotted me and yelled across the gallery, “you  are on court 1, get changed.” This  was  a suitable favor, giving me a chance to play on the main viewing court.” It was  a chance for public victory or humiliation. Everyone would watch and it raised the stakes. You could solidify your improvement as a player with an epic  win on the main court. I walked excitedly to the change room; I bumped into Fernando, who  made no effort to move the side as he walked out  of the locker area. Super Jerk.

The match on court one  was  in the fifth, so I jumped on a bike. I motioned to Chris that I would be on a bike. He nodded. I got my heart rate up and swung my arm to get it lose. After a while a junior player came over and told  me that I was  on. I jumped off the bike and headed to the court. I stepped over feet, towels and squash bags. I smiled to some friends in the crowd. The first rally was  at least forty strokes. I won  the point. I gathered the ball in the back right and saw  Susan finding a seat with her clients. I smiled and flicked the ball into my hand. Walking to the service box,  I felt  like  everything was  back in place. Susan did look great, things were going  to be ok and poor Fernando was  about to be crushed.