During my freshman year, many of my lunch periods were spent outside on the tennis courts and the field playing soccer. Each day, there would be a new order of games and teams, with close-matched and tightly-fought games being played each day, leaving me excited to return every lunch. Though I was demonstrably outmatched at every game, from soccer and tennis to full-court play, I always had one or two good shots and passes every game or so. The times I was not among the spectators eating good grub along the fence or getting crossed up in-game and did have some good performances, however, were the matches I would put hard effort into each tackle, pushing whoever I was locking up to the nets, and taking advantage of each chance for a decent through ball I saw. There was really no other feeling like leaving the tennis courts while finishing the last of my tex-mex bowls and entering seventh-period geometry immediately after, sweaty and red in the face after dropping a world-class performance like none other this world has seen.
One day, in the midst of a lively game of 7v7, play for the day would prematurely end after a LASA teacher came outside to inspect the commotion. Promptly ending the game and getting our attention, he announced that we would have to stop the tennis courts’ games immediately as we were not cleaning up after finishing lunch. Calling attention to the overflowing trash cans and the benches full of backpacks and used trays, he warned us that future incidents and failures to properly clean up would result in referrals. From then on, I cannot remember returning as many times the rest of my freshman year to the courts. In fact, it was not until recently that I would see court play again.
One cloudy lunch, for old-time’s sake, sophomores Diego Elizondo, Julian Quirk, Michael Scaramuzzi, and I went out to the tennis courts once again. As it was only us four, we started a game of 2v2 soccer tennis, with Diego and I pitted against Michael and Julian. We ended up losing count and point tallies, but I am mostly sure we won. With Diego covering the left wing and me the right, we would respond to Julian and Michael’s ‘serves’ with chips and even a header each. Before we properly designated a zone for each other, however, our opponents had made well-placed chips of their own down the middle of the court, leaving us confused about who to allow the ball to and winning the rally.
After Diego made an uncontrolled shot towards Julian’s side of the court, the ball went flying out of the court and into nearby Arthur Stiles Road. As punishment, we made him go running to retrieve our ball. Shortly after successfully retrieving it and a couple more rounds of tennis soccer, we began a new game of 2v2 soccer, again with the same teams, with a space between two of the fence’s poles on each side being marked as a goal. While I was out-skilled by JV-A warriors Jacob and Michael, not being able to defend against or stop their dribbling, Diego held his own against the two, scoring some goals off of a couple of solo runs as well as some assists of my own. We had lost track of scoring again, but this time it was harder to tell who the victor was.
With about seven minutes to go until the start of our next period, we had ended our game and made our way back to the main building via the athletic wing. While I was unable to replicate the feeling of being drenched in sweat after a world-class performance, it was nonetheless a fun experience that reminded me of older, simpler times.
