Match

I saw it, the day it all began,
The day a champion was born.
I beg my memory not to fail me
As I attempt to recount –
Allie Vassar vs. Megan Prince
Allie – winner of too many tourneys to name,
Who first swung a racquet at age 4,
And heroine of Stoneybrook High.
Megan – her first match on varsity
Never won a tourney, never played in one,
Nobody.

Cool crispy October day.
Rows of empty courts, watching, waiting.
The sky, blue as Megan’s eyes, was clear.
There was only a tense, excited, silence.
The two teams faced each other
Avoiding gazes, adjusting strings.
Allie and Megan shook hands,
Exchanged the usual formalities,
And set off alone to decide their fates.
They strode proudly, each to her side of the court.
Allie spun her racquet on its head –
“P” she read, and Megan Prince accepted the serve.
HISS…CRACK…as the can of balls was opened –
Megan held the ball in her hand,
Feelings its prickly fuzz.
She smiled and gripped her racket –
Her sole weapon.
Allie waited, calmly on the other side.
Arm up, release…SWING!
And the match began.

ACE!  Megan had won a victory
She relaxed, let down her guard
But at the other end Allie was ready for more.
15 love, SMACK!  Forehand winner down the line
Threw Megan off balance.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
15 all, double faulted,
Failure compounded failure
And Megan was struggling to keep her head above the rising tide.
She struggled back tears,
Restrained herself from hurling her racquet down at the concrete battleground.
Unforced error after unforced error
Kept pushing her down under.
Allie battered her with brutal backhand winners
Always keeping herself composed and cool.
She shattered Megan’s fragile will,
Kicked her cowering self-esteem again and again.
Before long she brought the score to 5-0
(Not much time left)
And that’s when Megan started fighting back.

Allie decided to mix it up,
Flourished her racquet and let the dropshot do its work.
With a sudden burst of energy,
Megan shot to the net.
Time slowed – the ball b o u n c e d
And spun crazily in another direction
But Megan was there, ready,
Froze.  Short backswing.  Fixed glance and
FIRED the one-handed backhand volley
Into the alley with a guillotine angle
Allie watched as it bounced one, two, three, fourfivesixseveneight times.
Megan stood at the net stupefied.
She met Allie’s eyes, then walked back to the baseline.
She moved fluidly as if she could do it all in her sleep
She felt no pride, no discouragement
She had never felt so much a part of the game,
While Allie was struggling, confused,
Yelling silently at herself, kicking her racquet
Her consistency and calm, GONE –
It was suddenly a different match.

Megan smashed overheads all over the court,
Tallied up 20 winners
But remained calm and cool, never overconfident
Until finally, it was done –
Game.  Set.  Match.
Shaking Allie’s hand as her mouth stumbled over words,
As her vision fogged up and her legs could no longer support her,
But there were screaming teammates pressing in to catch her
And lift her high, high above their heads
As Megan Prince became a champion.