Read Online The Secret Life of a Ping-Pong Wizard by Henry Winkler - Free Book Online

answer.
    â€œThere is nothing like a good game of Ping-Pong at the end of the day,” he said. “Have you discovered the Ping-Pong Emporium over on 81st?”
    I nodded. How did he know about our club?
    â€œThat’s a great place,” he said. “I’ve been playing there for a couple years.”
    Wow, it was lucky I hadn’t run into him the day before.
    â€œIt gets pretty hot in there by the end of the night. I like to wear a tank top and sweats, but when I get really sweaty, I peel off my sweats and rally in my Speedos.”
    At that thought, I almost bit his finger off. I’m not kidding. Dr. Crumbworthy doesn’t know how close he came to having eight and a half fingers.
    â€œYou should try it,” he said. “Just wear Speedos under your sweats.”
    I didn’t have the heart to tell him, and he wouldn’t have been able to understand me, anyway, but I’ll play Ping-Pong in my Speedos on the day the Mississippi River flows backward.
    â€œI’ve got a great backhand,” he went on. “Even Maurice can’t get anything by me when I unleash my wicked topspin.”
    This was so weird. Two days ago I would have thought this conversation was crazy, and now I’m understanding everything he’s saying.
    Wow, Hank Zipzer, when did you become a Ping-Pong know-it-all?
    â€œI’m thrilled to see you taking up the sport,” Dr. Crumbworthy went on. “Not a lot of young people your age understand the excitement that Ping-Pong has to offer.”
    Suddenly, Dr. Crumbworthy took his hands out of my mouth and spun around.
    â€œI’ve got a great idea!” he said. He went to a keyboard he keeps on a shelf in his office and started to type.
    One thing I haven’t told you about Dr. Crumbworthy’s office is that there’s an electronic banner running along his wall that flashes the news of kids in his practice. It’s like the runner you see at the bottom of a TV screen if you watch a news channel, which I never personally do. But instead of flashing news about the president’s trip to Europe, or the baseball scores, his flashes contain news like “Congratulations to Heather Payne for trying minty dental floss.” Or, “Hats off to Luke Whitman for using a toothbrush instead of his fingers.” My sister Emily’s name is always flashing up there for getting the “Clean Teeth Award.” Not only for her but for Katherine, which isn’t that easy since iguanas have 188 teeth to keep clean.
    As Dr. Crumbworthy typed, I watched the red letters flash up on the screen. I recognized my name, of course, as it rolled by. But since I’m not the fastest reader in the world, the message had to scroll by a couple of times before I could read the whole thing. It said, “Congratulations to Hank Zipzer for exploring the excitement of Ping-Pong!”
    I have to admit, it felt pretty good to see my name up in lights, flashing like one of the Mets’ names on the big scoreboard at Shea Stadium.
    Even when Dr. Crumbworthy started poking around in my mouth again, I didn’t mind. My brain was busy. I was thinking that if I won some tournaments, I could get Dr. Cumbworthy to post my scores. Everyone in my school would see, even Kim Paulson. She’d think they were cute. I’d get famous and people would ask for my autograph on the street. I’d go to the Olympics on the American Ping-Pong team. My picture would be on a box of cereal, with a tiny Hank Zipzer doll inside, wrapped in cellophane.
    â€œOooowww.” The sound came flying out of my mouth before I could stop it. I held the red side of the paddle up in the air.
    â€œI’m sorry, Hank, did I nick your gums?” Dr. Crumbworthy asked.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I told him, “because I want my teeth to look really good when they take my picture for the cereal box.”
    Dr. Crumbworthy looked confused. He didn’t know what I