Entry No. 11

Squash in the Age of Social Media: A Love Story

by Rod Symington

“Bill, I have booked a court tomorrow at 5 p.m. Can you play?”

“I think so – but let me check with my wife first.”

“Hi honey. Can we eat dinner at 7 p.m. tomorrow? I have to work late at the office.”

“I suppose so! But you have been working too many long hours lately.”

“Yes, I realize that – and I am sorry. This new boss, Janice, is clearly ambitious and very demanding.”

“Hi Samantha. Sorry, can’t meet you tomorrow at 5 p.m. for you know what (nudge, nudge, wink, wink!). My wife has arranged a dinner party for my new boss and her husband, and I have to be home early. Let’s plan our tryst for the following day. Love you. Bill. XXX.”

“Bill, the tender document for the new shopping-mall is due on Friday. I’d like you to stay late tomorrow and we can go over it together.”

“Janice, I realize that the tender is important, but the next couple of days I have urgent family matters to deal with and cannot stay late at the office. However, I am willing to work on it over the weekend.”

“John, I’m O.K. for squash tomorrow. I assume we’ll play for 45 minutes, then go for a couple of beers?”

“Bill, great! Looking forward to it! Loser buys the beers, O.K?”

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“Bill, how long were you at the hospital? Once the bleeding had stopped, I figured you would be OK and just waiting for a couple of stitches, so I slipped away.”

“John, I waited in Emergency another hour after you left. Three stitches over the left eye. First time I have been hit with a racket during the warm-up! I thought you had been taking lessons to control that wild follow-through. Don’t worry about the glasses: I was planning to buy a new pair soon anyway. They gave me an eye-patch to protect the stitches. When I got home, my wife was furious (ruined dinner, etc.) – until I told her I had been mugged on leaving the office. After that, it was all warmth and kisses, hot chocolate, aspirin, and so to bed.”

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“Bill, how’s the eye? I assume you’ll be OK for this Thursday?”

“John, the eye is coming along fine. Of course, I’ll be fine for Thursday! I can take off the patch to play. How could you doubt me for one second?”

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“Bill, I hope it’s just a slight sprain and nothing serious?

“John, don’t worry. I’ll just wear a knee brace for a week. You know, when your opponent is in the way, you are supposed to stop and ask for a let, not try to run over him.”

“Bill, Yeah, sorry – but it was just a reaction in the heat of the moment: I couldn’t stop my forward momentum. What did you tell your wife?”

“John, I told her I fell down the stairs at work and twisted my knee, so the doctor recommended I wear the knee brace for a week and avoid activity that puts pressure on it. Samantha doesn’t mind: she prefers to sit on top. I should be OK for this Thursday again. ”

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“Bill, sorry about the bruise in your butt, buddy, but you know, you are supposed to give me the entire front wall to hit to, not just 60% of it. If you got out of the way, you wouldn’t get hit with the ball.”

“John, that’s OK, you gotta take your licks in life. The only problem is, the bruise is getting bigger by the day: blue, red, yellow – it’s pretty ugly! I kept my shorts on in bed and told my wife I felt I was getting diarrhoea and kept my shorts on as a precaution. The only problem was Samantha. “What the hell is that?” she asked when I undressed. I told her I slipped on the ice in the parking-lot and landed on a concrete divider. What with the knee-brace on my left knee and the bruise on my left cheek, I had to do it lying on my right side. There’s a first time for everything: Samantha seemed to enjoy the variety, too. See you Thursday at the usual time.”

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“Bill, well, you know, you do have a rather large nose – quite a beak, in fact. And you were crowding me and preventing my backswing. Sorry about the injury: at least, the nose isn’t broken, is it?”

“John, no, it’s not broken, but the cut over the bridge of the nose is pretty painful – and the stitches will leave a scar. You have ruined my good looks! I told my wife and Samantha that I was getting my briefcase out of the trunk of the car and the lid fell down and hit me in the face. I was lucky I wasn’t more seriously injured! Janice has said that with the eye-patch and the bandage over my nose I had better not meet any clients face-to-face for a while. She also asked why I was walking with a limp and was working standing up for most of the day. Told her it was the stress of the job – and she said I had been working too hard and should take it easy for a while. Fine with me – makes it easier to get away to play squash next Thursday!”

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“Bill, you seemed to play OK despite complaining about a bad back.”

“John, the medication helped, thanks. Gotta stop the sexual gymnastics with Samantha – they are ruining my squash game!”

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“Bill, I’ve been telling them for three months to fix that door to Court 3: it needs to be rehung and the latch replaced so that it closes properly. Good job it was your left hand that got jammed in it! At least you’ll still be able to hold a squash racket and your pecker – and your cell- phone, which is far more important nowadays! How long will you have to wear the cast?”

“John, the middle three fingers of my left hand got pretty mangled, but the surgeon said that there shouldn’t be any long-term nerve damage. The cast should come off in a couple of weeks. I’ll just have to compensate for the extra weight on that side when I play. The squash club has offered me a six-month membership free as compensation (I think they are afraid of a law suit for negligence). With my whole left side incapacitated and only one useful hand, my sex life is now on hold, so I’ll be able to play squash even more often!”

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Bill, waited for you at the squash courts for half an hour. Figured something must have come up. You OK for next week?”

“John, sorry about that. On Wednesday my wife borrowed my car to run some errands. At the supermarket she opened the trunk and found all my squash gear, plus a month’s dirty laundry. I had some explaining to do. Told her I was hiding your squash gear in my car because you didn’t want your wife to know you were playing squash when you told her you were working late. However, later that day when I was at the office the Squash Club phoned to check some personal details for that free membership they gave me and my wife said: “But he doesn’t belong to a squash club!” That’s when the shit hit the fan. I had to confess: I told her the squash business was all a smokescreen – to hide the fact that I was having an affair with Samantha. “Thank goodness,” she said. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you wasting your time playing that stupid game!” Do you think we could change our regular game to another day?”