Road Warriors Go to Richmond and PSA World Series Finals John, Shubho, Dan, with Jonathon Power at the Westwood Club
Everyone knows you have to pay the price to be the
best. But who knew you had to pay such a price just to see the best?
The eight best squash players in the world are in
Richmond this week for the Power Courts PSA World Series Finals. So a
few months ago three of the biggest squash fans in the world made plans
to fly there to see them, but a late winter blizzard changed our plans.
The trip was saved by a Hertz rental car; a driver,
Dan Cullen, with the stamina of Nick Matthew; his trusty chief
engineer, Shubho Banerjee, with his Smart Phone and Ashourish
creativity; and their backseat passenger, me, reading aloud from a copy
of James Willstrop's “Shot and a Ghost” to keep them awake and alert.
To get anywhere these days without paying an arm and
a leg you must, of course, play airline roulette. There is no direct
service from Memphis to Richmond. We scored a bargain direct flight to
Baltimore and a bargain return flight via Detroit. We rented a car for
the 130-mile drive from Baltimore to Richmond. Mid-March, weekend
traffic, plenty of time, should have been a snap.
And it was, until a storm blew in Sunday night and
dumped eight inches of snow on Baltimore and Washington D.C. By Monday
airports were closing, flights were being canceled, and we had visions
of Atlanta a month ago when a lesser storm gridlocked the roads and
stalled drivers for hours.
In homeward travel as in squash, standing still is
usually not a good option. Dan had to be back in Memphis Tuesday
morning. If we didn't make it to Baltimore, or if the flight left too
late to make the Detroit connection, he was screwed. Better, we
decided, to take matters into our own hands and drive home – 823 miles
and 13 hours if all went well.
Snow was falling when we left Richmond heading west
and falling faster when we hit the mountains. After two nights of
insomnia and watching CNN and Fox News obsessing over the Malaysian
mystery flight, I had conspiracy theories on the brain. If we got stuck
and abandoned the car, searchers would find some tantalizing clues:
footprints in the snow, unused airline tickets, a GPS set for Memphis,
Shubho's nasty-looking green smoothies in glass jars, my undecipherable
notes scrawled on the sports page of USA Today, and a dog-eared copy of
Willstrop's book.
“A carjacking? Pitifully under-dressed travelers
lost in the woods? Vegan terrorism? Suicide by squash?
Investigators haven't ruled out anything. Details as they emerge.”
In the driving equivalent of a five-game marathon,
we made it home before midnight (so did our scheduled flight, as it
turned out). Thank you Richmond's Westwood Club for being classy hosts.
Thank you Jonathan Power for stepping in as sponsor and for visiting
with us. Why they didn't introduce you before each session is one for
Ripley's. Thank you Boars Head Sports Club in Charlottesville for
letting us play on the glass-walled court at the McArthur Squash Center
and thank you Mark Allen for turning on the closed-circuit cameras.
Thank you pros, for playing hard in the best-of-three round-robin
format. And thank you James Willstrop for writing an honest book, a
rarity in the world of sports biographies. A callused thumbs up, never
mind the potshots at journalists. Despite your facetious suggestion,
you're going to be remembered for a lot more than your sportsmanship.
(John Branston is a freelance writer who lives in Memphis. jbranston@bellsouth.net)
What's On My Mind is a column by rotating writers.
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