Two Against One...Hopelessly Outnumbered.

Mom and Dad used to play a lot of tennis while I was growing up. Dad was never what you might call a natural athlete, but he absolutely loved sports like baseball, kart racing, water skiing, bowling, golf, and tennis. He might not have been the best athlete, or the most graceful, but the man didn't have an ounce of "can't" in him, so he continued enjoying his activities long past the time when his cronies had given up such things. And he made his opponents look bad almost every time.

Two of my uncles (on Mom's side) were in their early thirties while Dad was in his early fifties, and they had tired of the butt-kicking they had been getting from him on the tennis court in recent months. They finally hatched a plan: one brother would start off the game and do his best to tire my Dad out, and then the other brother would jump in and finish him off. They chose a hot summer day that they felt would stack the odds in their favor (surely, that old man can't play for long in this heat!), and set up the game.

Uncle #1 started the game, and Dad starting winning. Nothing fancy, nothing pretty...just winning. Sweat was pouring off of them both, and Dad could not have been happier. He used that odd, gangly footwork of his to run down every ball, no matter where it flew, and sent it zooming back to Uncle #1. It was a tough game, and the hot sun beat down on them both.

Eventually, Uncle #1 reached his limit, and signaled for Uncle #2 to jump in to take his place. Uncle #1 barely made it to the shade before he collapsed. I don't remember if anything was said about the switch, but I do recall that it made absolutely no difference to my Dad. He'd have played against the devil himself that day. Hey, that's just how he rolled.

Uncle #2 was fresh and ready to go. I recall he had a smirk on his face when he tossed the ball up in the air and slammed what I assume was his best serve towards Dad. TH-WACK!! The ball came back like it had been shot out of a cannon, bounced just inside the baseline on Uncle #2's far side, and got stuck in the chainlink fence beyond. Uncle #2 turned to Uncle #1, who was still flat on his back in the shade, breathing heavily, and hollered at him.

"Hey, I thought you were supposed to tire Willie out?!"

A lazy wave from the shade accompanied the wheezy response.

"Look, I did the best I could!"

And Dad laughed that laugh of his, and told Uncle #2 to stop bellyaching and get back to the game. They had forgotten that Dad had spent much of his youth working manual labor jobs in the hot sun, and later spent many years working in the magnesium cells at Dow Chemical in Freeport, TX. He worked in rooms that processed molten magnesium. You know, "molten"...like hot lava from a volcano? Dad was not only accustomed to the heat...he LOVED it!

My poor uncles never had a chance. He kicked the crap out of them that day. They should have brought Uncle #3 with them, I think.