Thursday 18 April 2013

The return of ...It Must Be Love!

“The blogs are great” says Dan the Man, “but you need something to brighten them up occasionally: any more tennis stories?” Who does he think I am? Jeremy Clarkson? I don’t race across Africa or interview celebrities. I play tennis with some other blokes, and if we were supermarket products we’d be labelled “Best before 1990”; or in some cases “before 1970”; or in others “Not applicable”. We seem to have picked up a few injuries recently. It started when I was playing with Jonathan the slice against Barry the Beard and the Reverend Ian. They had played quite a few drop shots in front of JtS which he had got nowhere near, so when they played another one cross-court I decided to go for it. Unfortunately, JtS decided to go for it as well. I actually thought it was quite an achievement to deliver a body check on my partner that a NHL ice hockey player would have been proud of, and which put him out of action for three weeks, whilst at the same time completing a backhand down the line for an outright winner. BtB, being Barry, claimed he was “too busy watching you to kiss and cuddle to attempt to go for the ball”. Fortunately, I remembered an earlier moment when BtB’s momentum when going for a shot on the baseline had sent him careering off towards the next court where he met Roger the Backpacker running in the opposite direction. “You can talk” I said. “At least I didn't run off the court to do it. You were like a schoolgirl who’s just seen Justin Bieber”. Unfortunately I’d forgotten that Barry’s knowledge of 21st Century cultural references couldn't exactly be described as encyclopedic. “Who’s Justin Bieber?” I've also heard that Barry the Beard has had a nasty injury when he ran off the side of the court into a brick wall the other side of the netting. Apparently the netting was too close anyway and he’s considering legal action. Our group is known as “The Doctors” because there were originally two doctors in it, although we now only have a retired anesthetist. We do have two retired solicitors, so when someone’s lying on the ground injured there’s invariably a call of “Let me through, I’m an injury compensation lawyer”. And then last week I looked across to the next court after hearing some kind of commotion. Roger the Backpacker was holding his nose in some discomfort. For some reason, the thought occurred to me that his partner, The Reverend Ian, had completely lost it and punched RtB in the face. I immediately dismissed the thought and assumed that the two had collided accidentally. It turned out, however, that Roger had contrived to hit himself with his own racket. It was one of those unifying moments when, as the blood started to seep from RtB’s nose, the rest of us were clearly thinking the same thing: “If only we’d had a video camera to record that”. Because it is a truth, universally acknowledged, that there are few things more enjoyable than watching someone else carry out a completely self-inflicted injury. It was as if Richard the Poke had carried out his trademark “stroke” (for want of a better word) in reverse. But that wouldn't have carried sufficient force even to reach the nose, let alone break the skin. No, this was made with the full swing of the racket, which makes the achievement of following through right in the middle of your own face all the more remarkable. So I’m going to start wearing one of those cameras that are used to determine what elite sportsmen are looking at. Of course I shall say it’s in the name of research, but I will actually be hoping that history repeats itself and I can sell the video. All those channels that just endlessly repeat old shows could replace them with an endless loop of RtB attempting to rearrange his own conk. Not only would viewing figures soar, but the World Database of Happiness (believe me – there really is such a thing) would show Britain soaring up the happiness league table. Someone should tell David Cameron. David Donner

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