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Post by inger on Feb 7, 2022 20:42:11 GMT -5
The DiMaggio tee shirt is my favorite. It fits perfectly and the cotton is so soft. I've worn it hundreds of times, and it still looks good. Somewhere buried on the Internet, there used to be a picture of me playing tennis on a cold winter's night with a long sleeve shirt under the DiMaggio tee shirt. The electricity blinked out for a few minutes, and we had to wait twenty minutes for the lights to warm up again. When the lights initially turn back on, there is a spotlight effect that is created, and someone took a picture of me in the spotlight, on one knee, using my tennis racquet as a microphone, singing like a crooner from the 1940s. My left hand in the air to illustrate a crescendo. I miss my tennis buddies in California. There was a great little Mexican restaurant we used to go to sometimes after playing. The owner of the place was an Elvis impersonator. He had the pompadour hairdo and mutton chop sideburns. Really nice guy. You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach.  Forty years or so ago, my brother told me that he and his wife were really into tennis and invited the ex and I to go. We bought some inexpensive tennis equipment and went out to give it a try. I should have known better. After standing at the net for what seemed like an eon listening to his wife (trying to) explain the rules, we started. His wife was to serve, which she did towards me and I rocketed a shot toward her that was in her reach that froze her. It turned out that they were used to hitting the ball back and forth softly and keeping score by seeing how many in a row they could hit. Then why talk about all these rules? Within 10-20 minutes I as so bored I started intentionally hitting the ball out of the court, anything to ruin the beautiful family get together… |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 7, 2022 21:32:42 GMT -5
The DiMaggio tee shirt is my favorite. It fits perfectly and the cotton is so soft. I've worn it hundreds of times, and it still looks good. Somewhere buried on the Internet, there used to be a picture of me playing tennis on a cold winter's night with a long sleeve shirt under the DiMaggio tee shirt. The electricity blinked out for a few minutes, and we had to wait twenty minutes for the lights to warm up again. When the lights initially turn back on, there is a spotlight effect that is created, and someone took a picture of me in the spotlight, on one knee, using my tennis racquet as a microphone, singing like a crooner from the 1940s. My left hand in the air to illustrate a crescendo. I miss my tennis buddies in California. There was a great little Mexican restaurant we used to go to sometimes after playing. The owner of the place was an Elvis impersonator. He had the pompadour hairdo and mutton chop sideburns. Really nice guy. You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach. When Sarah and I first moved to the Dallas area, I joined two tennis meet-up groups. Unfortunately, when I tried to serve, I could not raise my right arm above my shoulder, which is awful for a serve and volley player like me. The prior year, during the trip from California to Iowa, I had an accident trying to load my motorcycle into a moving truck (not as uncommon as you might think). Sarah had rented the first of four moving trucks for me, several weeks prior to our move. When I left to pick up the truck, the rude woman at the counter informed me that they had run out of trucks. I went through all the permutations - I had a confirmation number; I had paid; it was reserved - just like the famous episode of Seinfeld. Sarah had also arranged hotels and a flight back to California for me. The only truck available was nearly four hours away, and I had to pick it up the next morning at 6:00 AM. At the time, Sarah was having health problems that we thought were due to her MS, and she wanted to drive me to get the moving truck. I did not want her having to wake up and leave at 2:00 AM and then drive for eight hours there and back, so I decided to take my motorcycle and tie-down straps. I made it in plenty of time, but the truck that they had for me had no oil pressure, so I had to take another truck with a short ramp. Because my motorcycle was 1600 cc, there was no way to walk it up that steep ramp. There were no other trucks or ramps, and there was no ditch or low place nearby for me to decrease the grade of the ramp to load the bike. Four guys convinced me that they would help me walk it up the ramp, but we were unsuccessful on three attempts. I needed to drive four hours back and load the truck to leave the next morning, so I tried to drive the motorcycle up the ramp by feathering the clutch ever so lightly. As soon as the front tire hit the top of the ramp, the motorcycle started to tip, so I had to accelerate. When I did, the front tire came off the ground. About 75% of a motorcycle's braking is on the front tire; therefore, when I applied the brake, nothing happened and the acceleration shot me forward into the truck like a clown out of a cannon. I hit the back of the 27 foot truck head first (I had taken off my helmet and put it in the cab of the truck). My head and shoulder hit first, and I wound up upside-down with the motorcycle on top of me. The next thing I knew, an ambulance was there, and the four guys were picking me up. When I tried to stand, my knee that I had blown out years before playing basketball was re-injured and gave way. Three more tries, and it would not hold me up. My motorcycle, which did not have a scratch on it before, was trashed. The ambulance wanted to take me to the hospital, but I had to get back and to move. On one leg, I loaded the truck, drove to Iowa, and unloaded the contents into a storage facility. I flew back to California and did that three more times. Sarah used to say, "I have no idea how you did that by yourself." I explained that it was all about physics, angles, fulcrums, sliding friction, and anger. I was so mad at myself for wrecking my motorcycle and hurting my knee that had taken me years to rehab back to normal. To make matters worse, I could not take any pain medication on the drive cross-country. I really do not know how I accomplished it - somehow I thought it penance for myself and Sarah was counting on me. There is no way I could do that today. Anyway, I figure something in my shoulder was injured from the move, as I could not use my right leg, so my shoulders and back took the brunt of the force lifting and carrying each bin, box, appliance, and piece of furniture. If Hertz-Penske would have simply fulfilled my reservation and confirmation, I could have walked from my house to pick up the moving truck, my knee would be fine, my shoulder would be fine, and my motorcycle would still be in pristine condition. |
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Post by kaybli on Feb 7, 2022 21:50:47 GMT -5
You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach. Forty years or so ago, my brother told me that he and his wife were really into tennis and invited the ex and I to go. We bought some inexpensive tennis equipment and went out to give it a try. I should have known better. After standing at the net for what seemed like an eon listening to his wife (trying to) explain the rules, we started. His wife was to serve, which she did towards me and I rocketed a shot toward her that was in her reach that froze her. It turned out that they were used to hitting the ball back and forth softly and keeping score by seeing how many in a row they could hit. Then why talk about all these rules? Within 10-20 minutes I as so bored I started intentionally hitting the ball out of the court, anything to ruin the beautiful family get together…  classic inger |
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Post by kaybli on Feb 7, 2022 21:53:16 GMT -5
You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach. When Sarah and I first moved to the Dallas area, I joined two tennis meet-up groups. Unfortunately, when I tried to serve, I could not raise my right arm above my shoulder, which is awful for a serve and volley player like me. The prior year, during the trip from California to Iowa, I had an accident trying to load my motorcycle into a moving truck (not as uncommon as you might think). Sarah had rented the first of four moving trucks for me, several weeks prior to our move. When I left to pick up the truck, the rude woman at the counter informed me that they had run out of trucks. I went through all the permutations - I had a confirmation number; I had paid; it was reserved - just like the famous episode of Seinfeld. Sarah had also arranged hotels and a flight back to California for me. The only truck available was nearly four hours away, and I had to pick it up the next morning at 6:00 AM. At the time, Sarah was having health problems that we thought were due to her MS, and she wanted to drive me to get the moving truck. I did not want her having to wake up and leave at 2:00 AM and then drive for eight hours there and back, so I decided to take my motorcycle and tie-down straps. I made it in plenty of time, but the truck that they had for me had no oil pressure, so I had to take another truck with a short ramp. Because my motorcycle was 1600 cc, there was no way to walk it up that steep ramp. There were no other trucks or ramps, and there was no ditch or low place nearby for me to decrease the grade of the ramp to load the bike. Four guys convinced me that they would help me walk it up the ramp, but we were unsuccessful on three attempts. I needed to drive four hours back and load the truck to leave the next morning, so I tried to drive the motorcycle up the ramp by feathering the clutch ever so lightly. As soon as the front tire hit the top of the ramp, the motorcycle started to tip, so I had to accelerate. When I did, the front tire came off the ground. About 75% of a motorcycle's braking is on the front tire; therefore, when I applied the brake, nothing happened and the acceleration shot me forward into the truck like a clown out of a cannon. I hit the back of the 27 foot truck head first (I had taken off my helmet and put it in the cab of the truck). My head and shoulder hit first, and I wound up upside-down with the motorcycle on top of me. The next thing I knew, an ambulance was there, and the four guys were picking me up. When I tried to stand, my knee that I had blown out years before playing basketball was re-injured and gave way. Three more tries, and it would not hold me up. My motorcycle, which did not have a scratch on it before, was trashed. The ambulance wanted to take me to the hospital, but I had to get back and to move. On one leg, I loaded the truck, drove to Iowa, and unloaded the contents into a storage facility. I flew back to California and did that three more times. Sarah used to say, "I have no idea how you did that by yourself." I explained that it was all about physics, angles, fulcrums, sliding friction, and anger. I was so mad at myself for wrecking my motorcycle and hurting my knee that had taken me years to rehab back to normal. To make matters worse, I could not take any pain medication on the drive cross-country. I really do not know how I accomplished it - somehow I thought it penance for myself and Sarah was counting on me. There is no way I could do that today. Anyway, I figure something in my shoulder was injured from the move, as I could not use my right leg, so my shoulders and back took the brunt of the force lifting and carrying each bin, box, appliance, and piece of furniture. If Hertz-Penske would have simply fulfilled my reservation and confirmation, I could have walked from my house to pick up the moving truck, my knee would be fine, my shoulder would be fine, and my motorcycle would still be in pristine condition. Ouch! That's quite a story! Damn that Hertz-Penske!  |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 7, 2022 21:54:10 GMT -5
Forty years or so ago, my brother told me that he and his wife were really into tennis and invited the ex and I to go. We bought some inexpensive tennis equipment and went out to give it a try. I should have known better. After standing at the net for what seemed like an eon listening to his wife (trying to) explain the rules, we started. His wife was to serve, which she did towards me and I rocketed a shot toward her that was in her reach that froze her. It turned out that they were used to hitting the ball back and forth softly and keeping score by seeing how many in a row they could hit. Then why talk about all these rules? Within 10-20 minutes I as so bored I started intentionally hitting the ball out of the court, anything to ruin the beautiful family get together…  classic inger Does the term passive-aggressive come to mind?  |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 7, 2022 22:05:08 GMT -5
You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach. Forty years or so ago, my brother told me that he and his wife were really into tennis and invited the ex and I to go. We bought some inexpensive tennis equipment and went out to give it a try. I should have known better. After standing at the net for what seemed like an eon listening to his wife (trying to) explain the rules, we started. His wife was to serve, which she did towards me and I rocketed a shot toward her that was in her reach that froze her. It turned out that they were used to hitting the ball back and forth softly and keeping score by seeing how many in a row they could hit. Then why talk about all these rules? Within 10-20 minutes I as so bored I started intentionally hitting the ball out of the court, anything to ruin the beautiful family get together… With less experienced players, that is a good thing to do to warm up, but it's much more fun to actually play doubles. |
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Post by pippsheadache on Feb 7, 2022 22:28:08 GMT -5
You got to find that pic, Chris! Sounds like a classic. Do you still play tennis? I took tennis lessons but I was so bad at it. My instructor compared me to old women he used to coach. When Sarah and I first moved to the Dallas area, I joined two tennis meet-up groups. Unfortunately, when I tried to serve, I could not raise my right arm above my shoulder, which is awful for a serve and volley player like me. The prior year, during the trip from California to Iowa, I had an accident trying to load my motorcycle into a moving truck (not as uncommon as you might think). Sarah had rented the first of four moving trucks for me, several weeks prior to our move. When I left to pick up the truck, the rude woman at the counter informed me that they had run out of trucks. I went through all the permutations - I had a confirmation number; I had paid; it was reserved - just like the famous episode of Seinfeld. Sarah had also arranged hotels and a flight back to California for me. The only truck available was nearly four hours away, and I had to pick it up the next morning at 6:00 AM. At the time, Sarah was having health problems that we thought were due to her MS, and she wanted to drive me to get the moving truck. I did not want her having to wake up and leave at 2:00 AM and then drive for eight hours there and back, so I decided to take my motorcycle and tie-down straps. I made it in plenty of time, but the truck that they had for me had no oil pressure, so I had to take another truck with a short ramp. Because my motorcycle was 1600 cc, there was no way to walk it up that steep ramp. There were no other trucks or ramps, and there was no ditch or low place nearby for me to decrease the grade of the ramp to load the bike. Four guys convinced me that they would help me walk it up the ramp, but we were unsuccessful on three attempts. I needed to drive four hours back and load the truck to leave the next morning, so I tried to drive the motorcycle up the ramp by feathering the clutch ever so lightly. As soon as the front tire hit the top of the ramp, the motorcycle started to tip, so I had to accelerate. When I did, the front tire came off the ground. About 75% of a motorcycle's braking is on the front tire; therefore, when I applied the brake, nothing happened and the acceleration shot me forward into the truck like a clown out of a cannon. I hit the back of the 27 foot truck head first (I had taken off my helmet and put it in the cab of the truck). My head and shoulder hit first, and I wound up upside-down with the motorcycle on top of me. The next thing I knew, an ambulance was there, and the four guys were picking me up. When I tried to stand, my knee that I had blown out years before playing basketball was re-injured and gave way. Three more tries, and it would not hold me up. My motorcycle, which did not have a scratch on it before, was trashed. The ambulance wanted to take me to the hospital, but I had to get back and to move. On one leg, I loaded the truck, drove to Iowa, and unloaded the contents into a storage facility. I flew back to California and did that three more times. Sarah used to say, "I have no idea how you did that by yourself." I explained that it was all about physics, angles, fulcrums, sliding friction, and anger. I was so mad at myself for wrecking my motorcycle and hurting my knee that had taken me years to rehab back to normal. To make matters worse, I could not take any pain medication on the drive cross-country. I really do not know how I accomplished it - somehow I thought it penance for myself and Sarah was counting on me. There is no way I could do that today. Anyway, I figure something in my shoulder was injured from the move, as I could not use my right leg, so my shoulders and back took the brunt of the force lifting and carrying each bin, box, appliance, and piece of furniture. If Hertz-Penske would have simply fulfilled my reservation and confirmation, I could have walked from my house to pick up the moving truck, my knee would be fine, my shoulder would be fine, and my motorcycle would still be in pristine condition. That is one harrowing story Rizz. Had me on the edge of my seat. Although I managed to not actually land on the floor. I hear you on tennis. In my late teens through my late twenties I played fanatically, albeit with more energy than skill. My senior year in college, when I typically set the alarm for 1130 so as not to miss lunch, on Saturdays I set it for 6:30 so that I could get to the courts when they opened at seven and our pickup league could play. I was so happy with my old Wilson Jack Kramer wooden racket. Plus per your comments on mixed doubles, it was a great way to meet cute girls in their little whites. Inger, it doesn't sound as if you got into the spirit of the thing. |
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Post by inger on Feb 7, 2022 22:29:20 GMT -5
classic inger Does the term passive-aggressive come to mind?  That is my last remaining brother. He’s now 75, 76 next month. He was never book smart, and never took and interest in sports. His wife was and still is one of those “prissy” gals. But my brother had told me they were getting very good at tennis, beating this of that couple, etc.. Other than the pussy lobs they were hitting, I was better at the actual game than they were, which is to say that as horrible as I was, there were definitely at least two other players that were worse in the world. They weren’t ever going to “beat” anyone at tennis… |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 7, 2022 23:00:15 GMT -5
When Sarah and I first moved to the Dallas area, I joined two tennis meet-up groups. Unfortunately, when I tried to serve, I could not raise my right arm above my shoulder, which is awful for a serve and volley player like me. The prior year, during the trip from California to Iowa, I had an accident trying to load my motorcycle into a moving truck (not as uncommon as you might think). Sarah had rented the first of four moving trucks for me, several weeks prior to our move. When I left to pick up the truck, the rude woman at the counter informed me that they had run out of trucks. I went through all the permutations - I had a confirmation number; I had paid; it was reserved - just like the famous episode of Seinfeld. Sarah had also arranged hotels and a flight back to California for me. The only truck available was nearly four hours away, and I had to pick it up the next morning at 6:00 AM. At the time, Sarah was having health problems that we thought were due to her MS, and she wanted to drive me to get the moving truck. I did not want her having to wake up and leave at 2:00 AM and then drive for eight hours there and back, so I decided to take my motorcycle and tie-down straps. I made it in plenty of time, but the truck that they had for me had no oil pressure, so I had to take another truck with a short ramp. Because my motorcycle was 1600 cc, there was no way to walk it up that steep ramp. There were no other trucks or ramps, and there was no ditch or low place nearby for me to decrease the grade of the ramp to load the bike. Four guys convinced me that they would help me walk it up the ramp, but we were unsuccessful on three attempts. I needed to drive four hours back and load the truck to leave the next morning, so I tried to drive the motorcycle up the ramp by feathering the clutch ever so lightly. As soon as the front tire hit the top of the ramp, the motorcycle started to tip, so I had to accelerate. When I did, the front tire came off the ground. About 75% of a motorcycle's braking is on the front tire; therefore, when I applied the brake, nothing happened and the acceleration shot me forward into the truck like a clown out of a cannon. I hit the back of the 27 foot truck head first (I had taken off my helmet and put it in the cab of the truck). My head and shoulder hit first, and I wound up upside-down with the motorcycle on top of me. The next thing I knew, an ambulance was there, and the four guys were picking me up. When I tried to stand, my knee that I had blown out years before playing basketball was re-injured and gave way. Three more tries, and it would not hold me up. My motorcycle, which did not have a scratch on it before, was trashed. The ambulance wanted to take me to the hospital, but I had to get back and to move. On one leg, I loaded the truck, drove to Iowa, and unloaded the contents into a storage facility. I flew back to California and did that three more times. Sarah used to say, "I have no idea how you did that by yourself." I explained that it was all about physics, angles, fulcrums, sliding friction, and anger. I was so mad at myself for wrecking my motorcycle and hurting my knee that had taken me years to rehab back to normal. To make matters worse, I could not take any pain medication on the drive cross-country. I really do not know how I accomplished it - somehow I thought it penance for myself and Sarah was counting on me. There is no way I could do that today. Anyway, I figure something in my shoulder was injured from the move, as I could not use my right leg, so my shoulders and back took the brunt of the force lifting and carrying each bin, box, appliance, and piece of furniture. If Hertz-Penske would have simply fulfilled my reservation and confirmation, I could have walked from my house to pick up the moving truck, my knee would be fine, my shoulder would be fine, and my motorcycle would still be in pristine condition. That is one harrowing story Rizz. Had me on the edge of my seat. Although I managed to not actually land on the floor. I hear you on tennis. In my late teens through my late twenties I played fanatically, albeit with more energy than skill. My senior year in college, when I typically set the alarm for 1130 so as not to miss lunch, on Saturdays I set it for 6:30 so that I could get to the courts when they opened at seven and our pickup league could play. I was so happy with my old Wilson Jack Kramer wooden racket. Plus per your comments on mixed doubles, it was a great way to meet cute girls in their little whites. Inger, it doesn't sound as if you got into the spirit of the thing. The early 1980s was arguably the most popular time in the US for racquet sports. I recall at LSU waiting with my friend Lance for a tennis court for more than two hours. We had to wait even longer for a racquetball court. Lots of people played badminton in the field house, too. Growing up, we had a wooden Jack Kramer racquet and the wooden frame with wing nuts to protect it. There was also a Don Budge racquet, too. I have no idea where they came from or who bought them. I coached junior high school tennis for four years, which made me a much better player. Because I had to demonstrate proper technique and mechanics, my game improved markedly. Doubles is so much fun when everyone is around the same level or the teams are equal in talent and proficiency overall. I enjoyed playing mixed doubles, too, especially when the girls were better than the guys. Singles is the better workout, though. I am a much more gracious player in doubles, as I am very positive and encouraging to my partner. Playing singles, I am much more hard on myself and can brood sometimes if I am not playing well. The great thing about tennis is that it is ageless - once you get a USTA rating, there are so many opportunities to play those of equal ability - for fun or in tournaments. I remember when I was in my 20s, a friend of mine and I would play doubles against these two guys in their late 60s or early 70s. They played so well together, they used to kick our butts. We never beat them in a match. We might win a set if I was serving lights out and killing at the net; otherwise, they just didn't make unforced errors and they played smart, hitting lobs on the line, volleys at your feet or right at your pockets. Their racquets were strung like trampolines, and they never wasted any movement on the court. |
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Post by inger on Feb 8, 2022 0:04:42 GMT -5
That is one harrowing story Rizz. Had me on the edge of my seat. Although I managed to not actually land on the floor. I hear you on tennis. In my late teens through my late twenties I played fanatically, albeit with more energy than skill. My senior year in college, when I typically set the alarm for 1130 so as not to miss lunch, on Saturdays I set it for 6:30 so that I could get to the courts when they opened at seven and our pickup league could play. I was so happy with my old Wilson Jack Kramer wooden racket. Plus per your comments on mixed doubles, it was a great way to meet cute girls in their little whites. Inger, it doesn't sound as if you got into the spirit of the thing. The early 1980s was arguably the most popular time in the US for racquet sports. I recall at LSU waiting with my friend Lance for a tennis court for more than two hours. We had to wait even longer for a racquetball court. Lots of people played badminton in the field house, too. Growing up, we had a wooden Jack Kramer racquet and the wooden frame with wing nuts to protect it. There was also a Don Budge racquet, too. I have no idea where they came from or who bought them. I coached junior high school tennis for four years, which made me a much better player. Because I had to demonstrate proper technique and mechanics, my game improved markedly. Doubles is so much fun when everyone is around the same level or the teams are equal in talent and proficiency overall. I enjoyed playing mixed doubles, too, especially when the girls were better than the guys. Singles is the better workout, though. I am a much more gracious player in doubles, as I am very positive and encouraging to my partner. Playing singles, I am much more hard on myself and can brood sometimes if I am not playing well. The great thing about tennis is that it is ageless - once you get a USTA rating, there are so many opportunities to play those of equal ability - for fun or in tournaments. I remember when I was in my 20s, a friend of mine and I would play doubles against these two guys in their late 60s or early 70s. They played so well together, they used to kick our butts. We never beat them in a match. We might win a set if I was serving lights out and killing at the net; otherwise, they just didn't make unforced errors and they played smart, hitting lobs on the line, volleys at your feet or right at your pockets. Their racquets were strung like trampolines, and they never wasted any movement on the court. Recalling a story our high school band teacher told us about a Korean octogenarian in his table tennis club that was able to stand statue still other than his racquet and had never been beat. The racquet moved very little. It was all about angle, spin and uncanny accuracy. His opponents often had difficulty even making contact. |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 8, 2022 0:09:20 GMT -5
The early 1980s was arguably the most popular time in the US for racquet sports. I recall at LSU waiting with my friend Lance for a tennis court for more than two hours. We had to wait even longer for a racquetball court. Lots of people played badminton in the field house, too. Growing up, we had a wooden Jack Kramer racquet and the wooden frame with wing nuts to protect it. There was also a Don Budge racquet, too. I have no idea where they came from or who bought them. I coached junior high school tennis for four years, which made me a much better player. Because I had to demonstrate proper technique and mechanics, my game improved markedly. Doubles is so much fun when everyone is around the same level or the teams are equal in talent and proficiency overall. I enjoyed playing mixed doubles, too, especially when the girls were better than the guys. Singles is the better workout, though. I am a much more gracious player in doubles, as I am very positive and encouraging to my partner. Playing singles, I am much more hard on myself and can brood sometimes if I am not playing well. The great thing about tennis is that it is ageless - once you get a USTA rating, there are so many opportunities to play those of equal ability - for fun or in tournaments. I remember when I was in my 20s, a friend of mine and I would play doubles against these two guys in their late 60s or early 70s. They played so well together, they used to kick our butts. We never beat them in a match. We might win a set if I was serving lights out and killing at the net; otherwise, they just didn't make unforced errors and they played smart, hitting lobs on the line, volleys at your feet or right at your pockets. Their racquets were strung like trampolines, and they never wasted any movement on the court. Recalling a story our high school band teacher told us about a Korean octogenarian in his table tennis club that was able to stand statue still other than his racquet and had never been beat. The racquet moved very little. It was all about angle, spin and uncanny accuracy. His opponents often had difficulty even making contact. That’s exactly what it was like. I swear they never took a swing, just used our pace against us, angling everything right on the lines. |
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Post by inger on Feb 8, 2022 0:16:23 GMT -5
Recalling a story our high school band teacher told us about a Korean octogenarian in his table tennis club that was able to stand statue still other than his racquet and had never been beat. The racquet moved very little. It was all about angle, spin and uncanny accuracy. His opponents often had difficulty even making contact. That’s exactly what it was like. I swear they never took a swing, just used our pace against us, angling everything right on the lines. To make it even more amazing, he said the guy was on of those little 4’6” or so guys. Every body that could would gather around to watch him… 🤓 |
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Post by pippsheadache on Feb 8, 2022 9:54:24 GMT -5
I'm laughing at the remembrance of the wooden frame with wing nuts for the Jack Kramer racket. Yep, that's the one. It was the most popular model of the day, with Jack's all-business visage watching you play.
You're right, I don't believe there was ever a more popular time for racket sports before or since. Both men's and women's tennis coverage exploded in the 1970s -- Bud Collins was almost as much of a fixture as Curt Gowdy or Pat Summerall -- and there was an enormous growth of public courts, much as golf had taken off in the 50s and 60s.
Singles tennis is such a great workout, and I agree it demands a completely different mental approach (ruthless versus good sportsmanship.)
In the late seventies the paper I worked for sent me to cover the US Indoor Tennis Championships at The Spectrum in Philly. I think it was 1978 that the angle of the network coverage had me showing up on camera for much of the afternoon. Oblivious in my burnt orange turtleneck and corduroy jacket. Lots of "was that you?" calls the next day.
Plus the "pleasure" of being part of the press crew attempting to interview the likes of Jimmy Connors and Ilie Nastase. Smart-assery at levels I had never previously encountered.
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 8, 2022 15:57:26 GMT -5
I'm laughing at the remembrance of the wooden frame with wing nuts for the Jack Kramer racket. Yep, that's the one. It was the most popular model of the day, with Jack's all-business visage watching you play. You're right, I don't believe there was ever a more popular time for racket sports before or since. Both men's and women's tennis coverage exploded in the 1970s -- Bud Collins was almost as much of a fixture as Curt Gowdy or Pat Summerall -- and there was an enormous growth of public courts, much as golf had taken off in the 50s and 60s. Singles tennis is such a great workout, and I agree it demands a completely different mental approach (ruthless versus good sportsmanship.) In the late seventies the paper I worked for sent me to cover the US Indoor Tennis Championships at The Spectrum in Philly. I think it was 1978 that the angle of the network coverage had me showing up on camera for much of the afternoon. Oblivious in my burnt orange turtleneck and corduroy jacket. Lots of "was that you?" calls the next day. Plus the "pleasure" of being part of the press crew attempting to interview the likes of Jimmy Connors and Ilie Nastase. Smart-assery at levels I had never previously encountered.  Is this close, or did it have textured ridges? |
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Post by rizzuto on Feb 8, 2022 16:00:41 GMT -5
 How is this in comparison? Darker shade, perhaps? |
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classic inger
classic inger
