Play

Run. Stop. Couple steps. Hit the ball. Run back to the line. Split step. Run. Stop. Hit. Back to the line. Run. Stop. Hit. Back. Run run run run run run run ru… Stop.

Ball drops out of bounds. Take a deep breath. Run back to the line. Lift the racket up. Wait for the serve. Hit the ball back. Move to the center. Run. Hit the ball. Run and keep running.

Don’t stop won’t stop can’t stop. Can’t stop.

On and on it goes. A game that, by its own rules, might never end. Why would anyone want it to? It’s continuous action. It’s triumph and sorrow. It’s a connection, bringing people together.

Why would anyone want it to end when the world beyond it is so much more complicated? When nothing else has ever felt so simple?

Run. Hit. Run. Hit.

It’s just a game, people say. They’re wrong. It’s a rhythm, a cycle. It’s reliable when nothing else is. Hit it crosscourt, keep the rhythm, keep the cycle. Until you want to break it. Then, down the line it goes. If it comes back, restart the clock, restart the cycle, fall back into the rhythm. Until it’s broken again.

How long the cycle lasts, how long the rhythm stays unbroken, depends on the players. Sometimes, it’s one shot, and it’s over. The cycle never starts, no rhythm develops. Disappointment throbs through you.

So… run back to the line, lift up the racket, wait for the next point to start.

Run. Hit. Run. Hit.

Then, sometimes, the cycle never seems to end. Back and forth over the net the ball goes. Five, ten, twenty, maybe even thirty shots, and still, it persists. Neither player breaks the rhythm, both are a servant to it. Your heavy panting fouls the air, your racket seems to weigh more with every swing, your feet burn from skidding and sliding across the court. Your whole body begs you to stop.

Inwardly, though, you are ecstatic. With each shot that goes by without the point ending, your excitement grows. The rhythm pulses through you, demanding perfection. Your body tightens up with the thrill. It’s no longer about winning. All you want in the world is to keep the point going. Your legs may burn, you may start to cramp, you might not be able to breathe, but you keep running, forever and ever. Anything to keep the point going, anything to keep it from ending, anything to maintain the rhythm in your head. Anything.

And when the point finally comes to a close, when the rhythm finally stops, whether you emerge victorious or not, you head back to that line and wait for that next serve. Because no matter how long the point lasted, no matter how many amazing shots there were, no matter how far or long you ran, it is still just one point. So… lift up that racket, take your ready stance, and begin anew.

Run. Hit. Run. Hit.

Is it just a game? Is any game ever just a game? Or do games have meanings beyond just who wins and who loses? What about the stories that are behind each and every game and match? Each is its own story, and every player on that field, on that court, has their own story that led them to this moment, playing this game. Some of these stories are known to all, while others are unseen and unheard.

Two sisters, taught by their father, who came from nowhere and went on to change the game, and the world, forever. A rich boy, playing the game since he could hold a racket and acting like it too. A former baseball player, learning a new sport, then making that sport his everything.

What’s your story, playing the game you love? How has it changed you? What does it mean to you?

Whatever your answers are, keep running back to the line and lifting up your racket. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

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