See? I'm winning!

I played a tough racquetball match this morning. There may be some who don’t yet know the story; I’m locked in a best-of-seven struggle to determine who will represent the Downtown YMCA in the cross-town tournament in November. After months of high expectations that I would crush my opponent in straight games, we split the first two. After that, my opponent has claimed to win the next four straight.

Many told me that it was over. “You can’t win a best-of-seven after losing four,” they told me. But I’m a fighter, not a quitter. Besides, I won more of the important points. And the game that I won was really the only fair one. And if we had used rally scoring (as is sometimes done in volleyball), I’d have more points in the other games, too. Also, many of the people watching owe me more than they owe my opponent. They say I’m winning, too. Some of them have defected and are supporting my opponent. They are traitorous, bad, filthy people, and when I become cross-town champion, they will be in the outer darkness, with much gnashing of teeth and rending of garment!

Though my opponent also thought he won, I insisted that we had not yet played seven games. What is he afraid of? The remaining games deserve to be played. My opponent agreed to continue playing, and guess what: I won again! Now it’s 2 games to 4. I’ve got him on the run now. The important thing to remember is that the Downtown Y needs to send its best possible player to the tournament. Our opponent will be Cliff, of the South Suburban Y. I think we can all agree that either Cliff or I would be a suitable cross-town champion, but is my opponent really the stuff of champions?

A number of people were hanging out with my opponent and talking about how much better the YMCA is than the Des Moines Racquet Club. Did my opponent say “Downtown Y representin’”? No. Was he wearing his “The Y rulez – DMRC drulez!” shirt? No. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen him wear it at all recently, and my friend Smitty heard him say that he thinks the shirt is a little “sophomoric.” What an elitist jerk! Is that the guy you want in the tournament?!

Yes, my game has some weaknesses, but Cliff has already seen them and knows which ones he will mercilessly exploit should we play. But we don’t yet know all of the hidden problems my opponent may have. His knee could blow out at any time. And I’m hoping that when I’m finished with him, he won’t be able to walk, much less play.

We ran out of time today, but we’ll finish up the series with the seventh game tomorrow. All but my most rabid fans have been telling me there’s no way I could win. We must stay the course. To do otherwise would embolden Cliff from the South Suburban Y. Only I can beat the South Suburbanites. I am not a quitter. And who knows? In tomorrow’s game, a strange flicker of the court lights could trigger a seizure in my opponent. He could bang his head into a wall and slip into a coma, thus forfeiting the match before we’ve finished all seven games.

Don’t forget that many of the points that my opponent already won have probably changed their minds. And when I continue winning some of the time, I’m pretty sure I can convince many of the remaining points to be on my side, as well as the existing points that have already gone to him. If I say that the rules permit that, it’s true. And that’s not to mention the number of “dead ball” rallies where neither one of us was awarded the points. If a majority or all of those points had been awarded to me, I would have won at least one more of those games, and my case to the remaining points would be stronger, too.

So I just want to let all of my fans know that I’m not quitting until this is over. I will continue on with my successes until I am declared the victor. I’m ready to be the cross-town champion on day one. So please give generously to sponsor my continuing quest for the championship, because it’s getting expensive to fund it all myself. Hello? Wait…. Where are you going?!