Geriatric Tennis

Every day, my commuter bus takes me past the beautiful Elizabeth Park tennis courts. Once the nets go up in the spring, a group of female senior citizens descends on the eastern court during the early morning hours for some “spirited” doubles action. Now to the untrained eye, “action” may seem a bit of a stretch, but through the lens of The Captain’s Camera obscura, what appears to be four old biddies standing in place in slow motion randomly swatting flies with racquets is, upon closer inspection, an intricate and incredibly complex set of behaviors that, in the end, qualifies as a tennis match.

I will attempt to illustrate by mechanically describing the dramatic activity of the players and then interpret what is actually happening. This harkens back to my collegiate days as an English Literature major and being required to read the novels of Henry James. One or two mundane physical events occur over the course of several hundred pages, making it seem on the surface like an incredible waste of time and ink. Ah, but then there is (and I am now quoting from memory the same lecture I heard for an entire freakin’ semester) the “dramatic action – what is happening psychologically in the minds of the characters”. And much like The Captain, James could write a sentence that drags on for pages and pages…and pages. (Listen folks, I know my random sidebars are pure bullshit, but the act of comparing a geriatric tennis match with a Henry James novel is just the sort of disjointed and bizarre existential connection that floats The Captain’s boat, pun intended).

So move over Henry James, here comes The Captain’s Ode to Geriatric Tennis!

Mechanical Description: Ping, boing, dribble.

What Really Happened: Delores serving an ace and, in a shrewd attempt to preserve her energy, thinking to herself but not verbalizing, “Take that Saggy Tits!” (Ping – ball hits racquet; boing - ball bounces and hits the court surface; dribble – the ball dribbles between the legs and beneath the drooping bosom of Gertrude, the bitch who bedded Dolores’s third husband at the nursing home)

Mechanical Description: Ping, boing, dribble, slurp.

What Really Happened: Saggy Tits Gertrude returning the favor and having the incredible wherewithal to slurp up her drool in one fluid motion and thinking thus about her tryst with Dolores’s husband, “I’ve had better.” Amazing.

Mechanical Description: Grunt, whiff, dribble, waddle, waddle, waddle, grunt, dribble, expletive, waddle, waddle, waddle, grunt, waddle, waddle, waddle, whiff, dribble.

What Really Happened: Edna double faulting on her serve for the 3,762nd consecutive time. (Grunt – Edna tossing up the ball for her serve; whiff – Edna swinging and missing the ball with a feeble wave of her racquet; dribble – the ball dribbling a few feet away; waddle, waddle, waddle – Edna ambulating to the ball; grunt – Edna bending over to pick up the ball; dribble – the ball dribbling a few more feet away after being struck by her drooping breasts; expletive – Edna uttering “shit”; and to save on typing, the rest simply documents her unsuccessful second serve and stubborn refusal to retrieve the dribbling ball, thinking, “Who am I and who are these strange women?”

Mechanical Description: Gulp, gulp, gulp.

What Really Happened: That’s Beatrice sucking down her “Old Fashioned”, possibly the first alcoholic drink to be called a “cocktail.” This is a bourbon drink invented in the nineteenth century, possibly after her birth. Beatrice isn’t the least bit interested in playing tennis, so she forfeits her serve every time. She’s there simply to complete the foursome to satisfy the rules. The racquet she holds in her left hand isn’t for tennis but acts as a counterweight to the large tumbler of booze she holds in her right hand. Without the weight of the racquet, she is forever in danger of “tipping” over (my God I love to pun!). The tumbler is constantly being refilled by Lars, the hunky young male visiting nurse who, much like a ball boy at Wimbledon, is forever sprinting on and off the court – only instead of retrieving tennis balls, he’s either topping off Beatrice’s “medicinal” tonic or, like a NASCAR Pit Crew member, executing a quick Depends change.

Mechanical Description: Slurp, slurp, slurp.

What Really Happened: This is Gertrude cleaning up her drool in anticipation of her private Physical Therapy appointment this afternoon with Lars.

Mechanical Description: Ping, boing, ping, expletive, clop, clop, crack, shriek, siren wail.

What Really Happened: Delores actually returning Gertrude the Slut’s serve and screaming “Holy Shit” and hopping up and down in wild celebration only to break her hip and fall to the ground in a howl of pain while Lars, who’s seen this before, speed dials the ambulance.

Mechanical Description: Waddle, waddle, waddle, waddle, waddle, string of expletives, whack, string of expletives, mad howl.

What Really Happened: Edna ambling over to the ambulance and unleashing a torrent of profanity after the EMT informed her, “I’m sorry Ma’am but this is not the Good Humor Ice Cream Truck,” followed by the sound of Edna’s first ever successful strike with her tennis racquet as it finds its target at the base of the EMT’s skull, who promptly returns the volley with his own string of naughty words, punctuated by the howls of laughter from the other EMTs.

Believe The Captain when he says: Playing mixed doubles with old ladies can be hazardous to your health.

Yours staying safely on the bus,
The Captain

Illustration of Camera Obscura entitled "Peeping Thomas" circa 1890. Note the female tennis players are fully clothed.

The Captain's Ethical Dilemma

When The Captain takes a vacation, things never seem to work out as planned. Take the other day for example. I took two of my legitimates to the beach for a day of sun, surf and relaxation. Little did I know that I would be confronted by an ethical decision that threatened to strip away the social fabric of a family outing at the beach.

Settling down in our favorite spot on a private beach sheltered by sand dunes adorned with sea roses and sweet peas in bloom, I ushered my kids off to their day of fun with the words, “Go and play in the strong undertow.” Then things got interesting. A young couple, adorned with tattoos and piercings, spread out just to our right. The woman was trim and very tan – all over. And when I say all over, I mean all over, for she seemed to have lost her top. I wasn’t expecting to see pierced nipples, but there they were, just pointing at me in the afternoon sun, casting shadows in the fashion of ancient Mayan sundials (it was about 2:30). Don’t ask me to describe the guy – the details of his appearance escape me.

So being the responsible parent in charge of my 14 year old daughter and less than innocent 10 year old son, I realized that I must do something about this. But what? Should I ask her to practice some modesty and put her bikini top back on to protect the precious morals of my offspring? Should I just pretend that I never noticed and go about my business? I was unsure about what to do, so I resolved to try and read the tattoos artistically placed above, below and upon the chest of the young woman. I squinted and focused on the words, which were difficult to decipher in all that glare; but I persevered and after several minutes of concentration, I was able to conclude that no naughty words were written across her bosom. After the brief distraction of her boyfriend massaging her with suntan lotion, I relaxed a bit. She was using, I thought, an appropriate SPF rated lotion. I had been worried that my son or daughter would see her using second rate lotion and ask to do the same.

Right about then, my son got up from his sandcastle and approached. After several violent pokes to my ribs, he got my attention and asked me: “Dad, why is that woman naked?” Thinking quickly, I stammered. Then I reached for my gin and steeled myself as I prepared my fatherly response. Son, God brings us all into this world as naked as that scary looking hairless dog. I think that this young woman is just doing this to remind herself and anyone else within eyeshot that she is one of God’s creatures. It’s a way of thanking him for bringing her into the world. My son, used to such bullshit, simply moved on to his next question: “Why are her earrings on her chest?” I was ready for this one. “She must have been a bit groggy this morning and without thinking put them on the wrong body parts, kinda like how you sometimes put your pants on backwards in the morning.” This made sense to him, so he went back to his castle.

But no sooner had I breathed a sigh of relief than my daughter came successfully out of the undertow and up to our spot to get a beach towel. She caught a glimpse of God’s creation and mumbled “ooh, that’s gross” and headed straight back into the water. Her reaction helped me make up my mind about what I should say, which was nothing at all. Who am I to come between God and his creations?

Believe The Captain when he says: when confronted with naked breasts at the beach, praise the Lord.

Yours admiring all creatures great and small,

The Captain