By Alex Akins ’18
On January 8th, 2016 it happened again—the freight train made its return to the squash courts.
Once again, the University School Squash Team played against Gow School. If anyone remembers my last article, “Squashing the Beefs on the Freight Train,” you will know that the last time we played Gow in squash I invented Chicago Rules Squash (no blood no foul) and made a seventh grader cry.
Before the ‘B’ squash match began, I was eating complimentary cookies in the squash court area and was not at all concerned or aware with what would happen in the next twenty minutes. . .
While in mid crush of my second cookie I was called into the third court to participate in “Intros”. Intros is the opportunity you get to meet your opponent and the last chance you have to see any worth in them as a person before you go on to destroy them mentally and physically. The two teams lineup on each side of wall with the better players standing next to the coaches and the puny amateurs standing closer to the door. The captain announces your name and the opposing captain announces your victim’s name. On the third intro, I locked eyes with the seventh grader who I battered in all aspects other than squash. I could tell in his eyes he was having flashbacks of pain, tears, and (sadly) victory. I quickly dismissed his attempt at any form of communication as I knew that I would be playing him again.
I had begun to prepare myself to act civilized but I knew that the train, if it were to start chugging, don’t stop [sic]. It was finally my turn to be introduced and I was informed that I would be playing a different seventh grader with whom I had no quarrels.
I had begun to prepare myself to act civilized but I knew that the train, if it were to start chugging, don’t stop [sic].
Nonetheless I was disappointed as I had finally perfected Chicago Rules Squash and was ready to redeem myself and get my revenge. My match was very uneventful . . . but someone else’s was not. This someone will be called Mickey X.
Mickey X started off his match by losing 3-11 out of the gate. Mickey X would not lose again. The second game was an all-out bloodbath. The game started off looking a lot like the first, but Mickey X was not going to go down that easy. He quickly took the lead and went from Michael Jordan playing baseball to Michael Jordan playing basketball against an inept child.
It was a two-point game when the only rule of any sport played in the Greater Chicago Area was severely broken. I guess Mickey X had completely ditched the well-known Chicago Rules and was trying to invent his own style of play deriving from his hometown of Flint, MI. The style of play is so innovative and from such an obsolete, isolated, lead-polluted area that no one even knows the rules. Mickey X was winding up when his opponent was right behind him—then his opponent grabbed at his bleeding face.
The style of play is so innovative and from such an obsolete, isolated, lead-polluted area that no one even knows the rules.
Mickey X looked back at the ref and signaled for a stroke (a stroke is when your opponent is in the way and preventing you from hitting the ball; I normally call one before swinging but Mickey X is a risk taker). His opponent left the court bleeding profusely from his lip. Mickey X apologized, left the court, made sure his opponent wasn’t going to die, and then sat down and talked— so clearly no rules in the “Flint” variation of squash were broken. I never knew someone could bleed so much until I saw the state of Mickey X’s opponent. His entire mouth was filled with blood. The match was delayed by 10 minutes and Mickey X’s opponent came back swinging. Mickey X, upset that his innovative style was not working, lost the next two games.
“He played badminton professionally in Indonesia for 8 years, so he deserved it”
– Mickey X (Citation Unavailable)
“I will do unnamed violent things to you”
– Mickey X (Citation Unavailable)
The train doesn’t stop for anybody or anything, even if you are a professional badminton player from Indonesia.
Oh and West Ham is winning again, Andy Carroll has braided his hair and is now scoring, and our lord and savior Payet is back and is doing Payet things (#justpayetthings).
