In tennis parlance, I had my friend Stewart on a yo-yo, pushing the ball from side to side, front to back, forcing him into ever more desperate, lung-searing wind sprints just to stay in the point. On the penultimate exchange, I gently slid the ball rightward into the open court, convinced he’d never recover in time. After all, we’d been playing for more than two hours, and he was red-faced, gasping for air. And yet, recover he did. With a thunderous groan, this 56-year-old former collegiate linebacker lashed at the ball, driving it down the line for a winner. I didn’t even move.
Source: latimes.com – Los Angeles Times