tonymoschetto.com

The story of my life is this: I haven't got what I want out of it thus far. Is this the story of your life? That's right, “your” is in bold and italics for emphasis. I will assume the answer is yes for most of you. For me, my goal in life is simple, quite simple actually: beat someone in tennis that you have no right beating. Defeat someone so good it defies logic. Win a match so epic it equals the 1980 Men's Olympic Hockey Team's victory over the Russians. Something like that. Is it too much to ask for? I say, no. Anything is possible.

I've had this dream/goal for several years now. Ever since I stopped playing competitive tennis twenty years ago it's been eating at me. Like termites crawling around inside the walls of a house, chomping away, not satisfied until the roof caves in. I don't want my “roof” to cave in so I decided, five years ago, to make a comeback. And even though I'm realistically past my prime, I still feel I have some great, solid years left in me. I believe I can get better and play at a high level yet again, for my age that is.

Yes, I am middle aged. That doesn't mean I can't beat someone younger or defeat a man, or woman, my own age with world class ability. No, it doesn't. Again, anything is possible.

Last June, I started “the comeback”. I felt good, physically. Mentally, I was present and accounted for. My forehand, however, atrocious. My confidence, low. I carried on though, sallied forth, that sort of thing. My so called tennis tour started in, all places, Cincinnati Ohio. Which is quite the tennis mecca and I'm not being sarcastic. The following excerpt is from last June's pilgrimage to Cincinnati. In the very near future, there will be other excerpts from that trip and my tournament experiences from last summer. I will definitely explore my state of mind and try and explain the train wreck that was my forehand. Yes, was my forehand. All of this leading up to the big tournament in Brewster, Mass., this June.

June 20, 2011

After an eleven hour drive I stopped in Akron. It made sense because it's on the way to Cincinnati and they have a comedy club. I'd camp out for the night at an Econo Lodge about nine miles west of the comedy club and closer to Cincinnati. It was a nice break from the travel and I'd do a spot at the club.

I was concerned about the bed bug epidemic sweeping the nation. Before my trip I checked out the bed bug registry and to my delight, no bed bugs at “the Lodge”. But, concentrating on one issue/problem, like bed bugs, you take your focus away from other things, oh, um, like stains. Yeah, peculiar stains. Stains that sneak up on you when you least expect them. Because I'm checking the bed looking for any sign of a bug, I miss the huge white stain on the blanket. It made the blanket quite crusty in fact. I didn't notice as I was laying on it until I got up from my nap. Again, too busy looking for bed bugs. I thought the worst immediately, “Did I just nap on some other mans seed?” No, this stain was too big for it to be that. If it was gizz then I give this guy a round of applause because it was massive. Then I thought, could it be from a woman, the remnants of a night of loving? I didn't know if I should've been grossed out more at the thought, but I wasn't. Rational thoughts were creeping into my brain by now, what if it's just soap and they didn't rinse it well enough, makes more sense right? All I had to do to prove it was to smell it. If it smelled like soap it was cool. I smelled it. My conclusion: I don't know what it is. I mean, it smelled somewhat sweet and fruity but I don't know. I slept on the opposite side of the stain, that was my solution.

Next was the bathroom and the blood stain on the rim of the bath tub. A small little drop, yes it was. I also found what looked like a pubic hair near where you put the soap. I didn't put my soap there. What happened in this shower? I've seen enough crime shows to make me believe I've stumbled upon a crime scene. Rational thoughts again, the cleaning woman was working so hard scrubbing the tub she cut herself. The pube is just a pube.

Oh, I forgot to mention, there were two bars of soap in individually wrapped plastic. One of them was open and had a small shard of soap in it. Just like we all do at home. Take the old small soap and attach it to the bigger full bar. Is Econo Lodge trying to save money?

This hotel room would be great if I were a forensic student. If I wanted to be CSI, this room would be heaven. Perhaps this is how they test forensic wannabes, put them in an Econo Lodge in Akron Ohio where there are strange stains on the sheets and blood spatters and pubic hairs in the bathtub.

Of course I was a wimp and didn't request another room.