By Alex Akins ’18

I take my position on the ‘B’ squash team extremely seriously and so does H. That’s why every other day H and I go out for Potbelly before practice. With H ‘driving’ and me holding on for dear life and aggressively backseat driving, we make a better team than Shaq and Kobe Bryant. The only thing we need to work out is time. We have been known to miss around 40 minutes of practice due to Potbelly’s, but nothing prepares us better for squash than a Dr. Pepper and a large Wreck with Bacon.

Nothing prepares us better for squash than a Dr. Pepper and a large Wreck with Bacon.

On Wednesday we had been particularly late and every other member of the squash team was fed up with our lack of dedication. It especially angers them when H and I sit in the chairs in the Football Facility and refuse do to work.  We say “Gotta let the Potbelly’s sit a lil’ while longer” and then continue to blast 80’s music out of H’s speaker. The only real problem with going to Potbelly’s is that H and I are running out of funds. 9 bucks for a sandwich and a Dr. Pepper every other day is taking its toll.

So, in honor of Pete Rose and all Baseball Players who cheat and gamble we took it upon ourselves to decide who will pay for the next round of the ‘Bellies. We decided to keep a running toll of points in “King of the Court” (which is really all of practice) and whoever has the most points gets free Potbelly’s the next time we go. The combination of free food and squash turned out incredibly deadly. I can honestly say I’ve never tried harder in Squash than I did against H.

H plays a “Des Moines” style of squash. No one outside of Des Moines knows how to pronounce the name, and no one but H can play the way he does. H manages to walk around the court holding his phone in his left hand and just hit drop shots. But H doesn’t have the time to practice drop shots, so he bounces it off of one wall just above the OB line on the front wall. To say the least, it’s just as annoying as people from Des Moines thinking their town is of any relevance.

The war started when I said, “Hey H, who ever wins this next point buys the winner Potbelly’s [just the sandwich].” H responded with, “You got your self a deal, feller” (trying desperately to act like a cowboy, but what cowboy lives in Pepper Pike, plays squash, and drives a Jeep).  I lost the point, but my hard earned nine dollars would not be spent that easy. Angrily I said “That doesn’t count, we add up the points at the end of the day to see who wins.” H responded, “Absolutely not” (but he was later pressured into accepting my proposition with some physical force).

H and I had trouble matching up against each other, so we packed 20 pounds of beef into two separate 5 pound bags and moved to an empty court. The score went from 3-0 to H, to 18-17 to myself. I had won the first day, and as soon as I had the lead I rolled heavy out of that court.

H wanted a rematch, and I accepted (being called a “Yellerbelly” in a horrific southern accent had gone long enough). The second day was the most intense squash match I had ever played. I now understand why Pete Rose gambled, having an incentive to win really helps you play your best . . .I was only playing for nine dollars.

This time H and I shared a court with the rest of the, “B” team starlets ft. Muck, Mickey X, and Scramble. Scramble was the referee, Mickey X was Mickey X and not drinking water (“I don’t work well with power” – Mickey X), and Muck was doing all he physically could to ruin H’s day. Thank god for me I was behind Muck in the rotation, and every time Muck played H, Muck would come off the victor. Muck normally plays like his name, but today he brought his C+ game: better than his average display of an F-. Muck was serving the ball better than anything I’ve ever seen. Muck had a 100% victory rate over H, and most of them were Aces. Mickey X, who is the best out of us, would lose to H. Then Muck would step on up and ruin all of H’s dreams. The score was 5-2 in my favor, and through accident I won a game. That meant I wouldn’t be behind Muck anymore in the rotation. I actually had to play H and couldn’t hide behind Muck anymore. I told H I would leave at 5:30: it was now 5:20. I step up, serve it, and H hits the ball at rocket speeds. H looked at me grinning and said, “5-3 feller, I’m getting’ me that Potbelly’s now”. To say the least I was furious. It was time the freight train ran right off the tracks. I step back up, serve the ball as hard as possible and H sends an easy shot right back to me. I slam the ball as hard as right at H, and through miracle he puts hits racket right in front of his face, the ball hits the rim, and comes off as a perfect drop shot. H probably said something aggravating but rage had taken over my hearing. The only quote I know of that can come close to describing my rage is “I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds” – Dennis.

I don’t remember what happened for the rest of the day but apparently I lost.

The score was 1-1 in games and it all came down to the next Monday because on Friday we didn’t get a chance to play each other.

There we were, standing off like (according to H) “The Man with No Name” and “Sundance Kid” (even though one of these characters is completely fictional). I’ve never felt such pressure in any event anywhere, and this is just for nine dollars. Originally the game was supposed to go to 5 points, but the stakes were far too high. We decided to play to eleven (and when the decision was made I was down 4-2). I came back to 7-8, it was my serve. I had a chance and blew it—the serve went out of bounds. It was at this point that the train went off the tracks. 9-7 to H, he rockets a serve right at me but the freight train don’t stop for anything. I hit a perfect shot and I was right back in the game. 8-9 and it was my serve. Serving takes precision, not force, and the freight train is all force. I served it out and I knew the game was over. I had given up hope and I lost the game.

Double or Nothing.

It was at this point that the train went off the tracks. 9-7 to H, he rockets a serve right at me but the freight train don’t stop for anything.