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Which Court is Best?

by That Guy In The Silly Hat


Which court is the best court? Is the one with the best view? The fewest cracks? The most friends? The least sand?

Certainly it’s not court three — what, with all that lawn equipment and the constant threat that one errant lob will land your game ball in purgatory with the city’s backup weed whacker. All this advice, of course, assumes you’re not a mouse. If you are a mouse, court three seems like a pretty good court.

Perhaps the best court is the one for which you’ve waited. The one you camped out for, both paddle and person visibly leaned up against the gate, chosen precisely because of how sweaty the t-shirts are of these guys battling out some some singles. There will be no just started here.

Or maybe a court is like a dollar — sweetest when won. The court you’ve earned — with a gutsy hold of serve and, admittedly, some egregious let-cord-luck. This court is now yours… at least for one more set on weary legs. Let your laziness in this set be a trophy of your triumph in the last.

What makes a court a court? Is it the lines? Or the net? If you take both and move them to a parking lot during the pandemic, is it still a court? Or is it the fences that make a court a court? And if so, if half of the fence between courts is missing thanks to the nocturnal scissorhands people, is that one court or two?

If we’re being honest, the best court is probably the one with the best dogs. And not that one dog. That yappy one that, still, somehow, against all odds, seem unacclimated to the sight of a whizzing ball. I’m not talking about that dog — I’m only talking about those good dogs… the ones that make a court a home. That serve as emotion support animals after a bad loss. And especially about the ones trained to cutely scoot under the concrete benches for the mid-day shade.

No matter which court is your favorite — and again, in no way should it be #3 — we must never forget that each one of those eleven courts is a diamond on the beach. A free country club. Stage. Therapist’s office. Dance floor.

So don’t worry about which one you’re on. And close the damn gate.




photo  by Panos Lykidis