venus & mars
I’m going to be contentious. Squash is for men. There, it’s out.
In a mo, I’m off to play a squash match. Something I do several times a week. I’ll dig out some old kit, check my racquets & grips, fill my water bottle with a strange home-made concoction of orange, Ribena & salt and hop on my trusty two-wheeled steed. Unfortunately, my well-practiced pre-match preparation won’t leave any time for stretching and the post-match warm-down will involve pride only. London Pride. Tonight’s opponent is Saffer-Kyle and it should be a good match: he’s way younger than me, fitter and, following promotion last month, is playing at his highest-ever level. One of us is on the rise and it isn’t the ginga midget. He’s a really, really nice guy and we’ll have a great laugh. Did I mention Saffer-Kyle’s from South Africa?
Good, as that’s all I know about him. I don’t know where he works or what he does. I don’t know where he lives or if he’s married with kids. I don’t know what he drives or if he plays any other sports. I have no idea what his ambitions in life are or if he’s already planning his bucket-list. He could be pro-Putin or anti-austerity for all I know. And for all I care. Saffer-Kyle is also the rule not the exception as I know equally little about the vast majority of my fellow combatants. But what I will be able to tell you about following our titanic 45 minute tussle is far more about his personality.
From the fifty guys who play at the club (and one woman) I can tell you who listens & learns and who repeats their mistakes of old; who chases lost-causes and who’s far too charitable; who relies on brain and who has only brawn, who goes for their shots and who stays in the rally; who picks-up the double-bounce and who’s too timid to say otherwise; who knows the rules and who thinks they do; who’s colour co-ordinated and who’s colour-blind; who you’ll have to remind the day before and who’ll be late even when you do; who motivates and who moans; who has all the ability and none of the effort; who’s been coached and who should be on the coach home. And in 45 minutes’ time I’ll know more about Saffer-Kyle…
Phew, told you it was going to be great fun. I know it’s a cliché but that was just about the most fun you can have in civilised society with your clothes on. The spectator on the balcony may see two guys cavorting around a small ball about but in our minds we’re living the sporting dream. And yes, the older I get, the better I used to be. Over the years, most people close to me have politely enquired as to whether it’s time to cut back a little, or God forbid, call it a day? But, as a heart surgeon pal once explained, it’s the things we give-up that kill us, not the things we persevere with. It’s often the small things that keep us alive, literally and metaphorically. Sport can be physical, psychological, social and ritual in equal measure.
This is where the battle of the sexes comes in. Sport can be intellectual, and emotional, but squash isn’t. Yeah, it’s oft referred to as sweaty-chess but I want nothing more than what it offers at face value: a gladiatorial battle where everything takes place in a 10m X 6.5m white plaster-walled amphitheatre. No quarter asked and none given. One combatant survives to fight again another day. The more emotionally mature, intelligent and developed of our species would not be content with this. It’s too black & white and it offers no alternative, either during battle, or after. Tonight, I won, easily. And we had a great laugh and enjoyed a cold-one afterwards. And though I don’t know much more about Saffer-Kyle, I do now know he chases everything, everywhere, that he doesn’t always learn from his mistakes, that he can panic a bit under pressure, his backhand is way weaker than his fore and he’s prone to try a little too hard, that I can get into his head, and that he will beat me in a few short years!
But until then, we who are about to play, salute you…
Just a couple of errors in your essay:
1) you do not play “several times a week” – more like 4 or 5. I don’t think I have been down the club on any weekday night since God created squash without finding you there or having already been, played, had a few beers and back on your trusty steed.
2) “Enjoyed a cold one”? – more like 3.
other than that, I agree, although I suspect Nicole David or Laura Massaro might disagree with you.