more.
Accordingly, he stayed back on the baseline and ran Tony back and forth from corner to corner. It was all Tony could do to
make returns at all. He couldn’t use any of his tricks, and he looked more and more tired.
Finally, when Tony started across court too soon in anticipation of a shot, Steve hit one behind him and won the game. He
had the lead, three games to two.
Tony was able to hold his own serve, although each point was long and the game went to deuce five times before he put it away,
evening up the final set at three games each. As soon as he won the game point, Tony bent over, hands on knees, breathing
hard.
Steve thought to himself, I have to keep forcing him to run. He doesn’t have as much energy in reserve as I do … I
hope
.
14
I n the next game, Steve kept Tony on the defensive by forcing him to use his two-handed backhand a lot and making him run constantly.
Steve knew that, at this point in the match, he
had
to hold his own serve.
Steve had the game at forty—love when he hit a ball too deep, giving Tony a point. Angry with himself for the unforced error,
he lost concentration on the next point. Tony tipped a drop shot over the net for a winner, and suddenly it was forty—thirty.
Hoping to catch Tony by surprise for an ace, Steve hit his next serve to Tony’s forehand side. But Tony managed to catch up
to it and send the ball rocketing straight back. With a grunt of exertion, Steve stretched far to his right and made a clean
return.
Tony hit cross-court, coming to the net as he didso. Steve attempted a lob, but it wasn’t high enough. Tony reached high and hit an overhand smash to Steve’s left.
Steve dove and just got his racket on the ball. He skidded along the hard surface but made a decent return. He quickly rolled
to his feet and sprinted across the baseline to return Tony’s next volley. This time his lob was better and Tony had to back
up to reach the ball. Steve tried a drop shot of his own. It ticked the top of the net and fell for game point. Steve led,
four to three.
He set himself to receive Tony’s serve, but the umpire called out, “Just a minute, please.” Steve stared at him, puzzled.
The umpire leaned down from his chair and asked, “Are you all right, son?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Look at your leg,” suggested the umpire. “How do you feel?”
Steve looked down and saw blood running from a scrape on his left leg. He realized it must have happened on that last diving
shot. He hadn’t felt a thing, hadn’t been aware of the scrape at all. Even now, he didn’t feel much of anything.
“Are you all right?” the umpire repeated. “Can you go on?”
“Go on?
Sure!
” Steve replied. “Absolutely! I mean, I’m fine, it’s nothing, just a little scrape.”
The umpire nodded and studied Steve for a moment. “All right, then, but I think we should take a moment and clean it up.”
Play was stopped and a tournament official appeared with a first aid kit. He cleaned the scrape and applied a disinfectant.
Steve winced;
that
stung a little. The official then put a bandage on and patted Steve’s shoulder.
“You sure you want to keep playing?” the umpire asked.
Steve was surprised. Who, he wondered, would default from a championship match on account of a little scratch?
He
definitely wouldn’t, that’s for sure.
But since the umpire seemed genuinely concerned, Steve flexed his knee to prove it was all right. And it was. The bandage
restricted his movement a bit, but otherwise he felt normal.
“Definitely ready to play,” Steve announced.
The umpire nodded. “Then let’s go. The score is three games to four in the third set, Zaras to serve.”
There was polite applause from the crowd in the stands.
Steve felt a slight twinge in the leg as he bounced in place, waiting for the serve. It came whizzing to his left. He sidestepped
to reach it and felt the twinge again. His return was wide of the
Accordingly, he stayed back on the baseline and ran Tony back and forth from corner to corner. It was all Tony could do to
make returns at all. He couldn’t use any of his tricks, and he looked more and more tired.
Finally, when Tony started across court too soon in anticipation of a shot, Steve hit one behind him and won the game. He
had the lead, three games to two.
Tony was able to hold his own serve, although each point was long and the game went to deuce five times before he put it away,
evening up the final set at three games each. As soon as he won the game point, Tony bent over, hands on knees, breathing
hard.
Steve thought to himself, I have to keep forcing him to run. He doesn’t have as much energy in reserve as I do … I
hope
.
14
I n the next game, Steve kept Tony on the defensive by forcing him to use his two-handed backhand a lot and making him run constantly.
Steve knew that, at this point in the match, he
had
to hold his own serve.
Steve had the game at forty—love when he hit a ball too deep, giving Tony a point. Angry with himself for the unforced error,
he lost concentration on the next point. Tony tipped a drop shot over the net for a winner, and suddenly it was forty—thirty.
Hoping to catch Tony by surprise for an ace, Steve hit his next serve to Tony’s forehand side. But Tony managed to catch up
to it and send the ball rocketing straight back. With a grunt of exertion, Steve stretched far to his right and made a clean
return.
Tony hit cross-court, coming to the net as he didso. Steve attempted a lob, but it wasn’t high enough. Tony reached high and hit an overhand smash to Steve’s left.
Steve dove and just got his racket on the ball. He skidded along the hard surface but made a decent return. He quickly rolled
to his feet and sprinted across the baseline to return Tony’s next volley. This time his lob was better and Tony had to back
up to reach the ball. Steve tried a drop shot of his own. It ticked the top of the net and fell for game point. Steve led,
four to three.
He set himself to receive Tony’s serve, but the umpire called out, “Just a minute, please.” Steve stared at him, puzzled.
The umpire leaned down from his chair and asked, “Are you all right, son?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Look at your leg,” suggested the umpire. “How do you feel?”
Steve looked down and saw blood running from a scrape on his left leg. He realized it must have happened on that last diving
shot. He hadn’t felt a thing, hadn’t been aware of the scrape at all. Even now, he didn’t feel much of anything.
“Are you all right?” the umpire repeated. “Can you go on?”
“Go on?
Sure!
” Steve replied. “Absolutely! I mean, I’m fine, it’s nothing, just a little scrape.”
The umpire nodded and studied Steve for a moment. “All right, then, but I think we should take a moment and clean it up.”
Play was stopped and a tournament official appeared with a first aid kit. He cleaned the scrape and applied a disinfectant.
Steve winced;
that
stung a little. The official then put a bandage on and patted Steve’s shoulder.
“You sure you want to keep playing?” the umpire asked.
Steve was surprised. Who, he wondered, would default from a championship match on account of a little scratch?
He
definitely wouldn’t, that’s for sure.
But since the umpire seemed genuinely concerned, Steve flexed his knee to prove it was all right. And it was. The bandage
restricted his movement a bit, but otherwise he felt normal.
“Definitely ready to play,” Steve announced.
The umpire nodded. “Then let’s go. The score is three games to four in the third set, Zaras to serve.”
There was polite applause from the crowd in the stands.
Steve felt a slight twinge in the leg as he bounced in place, waiting for the serve. It came whizzing to his left. He sidestepped
to reach it and felt the twinge again. His return was wide of the
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