It was the perfect month to play tennis. The month was May of 2006.. That tournament at San Jacinto College was my second tennis tournament. Butterflies were fluttering inside of me like crazy. I was extremely nervous, but I made myself go up to the check-in desk where the lady was working. Immediately, I recognized her from the day before. She was the same lady that checked me in for my tennis matches yesterday.

           “And you are?” the lady questioned not recognizing me at all.

           “Trinh, 14’ division, main draw finals,” I firmly stated even though I was still shaking on the inside.

           “Are you ready to play some tennis? Your opponent is already here,” she asked me.

           “Yeah, sure,” I replied while scanning the area for anybody who looked like a worthy opponent. I saw no one.

           “Bezhad Minavi!” she yelled. Then, I saw a little guy come out of his car and approach the desk with a confident smile. He didn’t look like the kind of guy that would play tennis, but this guy made it through four rounds of tennis matches too. Now, it all came down to this final match.

           “I’m here,” he announced confidently.

           The lady gave us three brand new tennis balls that shined with a radiant, yellowish glow. We warmed up under the hot afternoon sun. By now, all of the butterflies that fluttered around in my stomach had vanished as I concentrated on the ball. As we warmed up, I looked for a weakness in his shots. Which one is better? Your forehand or backhand? None of them seemed weaker than the other. I would just have to outplay him. It was obvious that he was sizing me up, too. We finished warming up our ground strokes, volleys, overheads, and serves. A line judge came over and pointed to me.

           “Call it, heads or tails,” he stated. I called heads and I was right. The first serve was mine. Come on Ernest! Win the first set! I told myself. Trying to be calm, I served the ball. A series of cross-court and down the line shots followed. Volleys and overheads streaked across the court. Whenever I hit the ball out, I would yell at myself for making such a dumb mistake. Then, I would mumble to myself reassuring comments as we started a new point. Don’t get frustrated. It’s one point out of many others. After a long series of strokes and swings, the final point came into play. Behzad was serving, and I had to make sure I got the ball back over the net. Here it comes! I slammed the ball back over, and he returned it with just as much force. We rallied and rallied for the longest time. Finally, I sighted a short ball; he had made a mistake. This was a perfect opportunity for a final win, so I smiled to myself. If you make this shot, then you win the tournament. I ran up to the ball, jumped into position, and smacked the ball with my racket as hard as I could. It seemed like it went at about 100 miles per hour. I landed back onto the ground and watched as the ball streaked down the court. I watched as Bezhad made a final attempt to get the ball and finally awaited the sound of the ball slamming against the back fence. He missed it! I had won 7-5, 6-4. The feeling was grand. After two days of being both excited and nervous, I had won. We both jogged up to the net to congratulate each other.

           “Good match Ernest,” Behzad gasped in exhaustion.

           “Good match,” I replied grinning. I looked at my dad now standing in the bleachers and could easily tell that there was a big, fat grin on his face, too. We packed our tennis bags and walked to the check-in desk to report our score. I watched as the lady put a finalist medal over Bezhad’s head. My grin grew even bigger as she finally turned her attention to me.

           “Congratulations Ernest! You’re a Champ.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ARE YOU READY TO PLAY SOME TENNIS

Ernest T.

Scholastic Writing Silver Key