Wow. That was an impressive shot. A nice backhand right up the line. Poor Baxter over there never had a chance. Perhaps I should offer him an encouraging and patronizing “Nice hustle!” Hmm. On second thought, he’ll live. With another defeat, that is! Oh, I do give myself a good chortle at times.
Rightio, my serve. What is it now? 5-2, serving for match. Excellent. Wait, but what do my eyes reveal over yonder?
Ah! Fellow tennis players! It is, after all, an illustrious day here in this Minneapolis Public Park. What a day for a father to teach his young daughter how to play this game of champions. How delightful! Perhaps I should shout something encouraging to her.
No, tennis is a game which must be learned the hard way. She must receive the same education I have been providing Baxter over there. Although she could probably teach Baxter a thing or two as well. Ho ho ho! There I go again!
It is indeed a fine day today. No better day for a tennis match has been seen in many a fortnight. But why are we four the only ones enjoying a tennis match this fine day? Hmmm…Let’s look around.
Some youngsters playing softball to the left.
Ahead are some urban youths playing basketball.
Some Somali immigrants enjoying some soccer – or dare I say football – on the lawn.
And some little scalawags in the pool too. Should I make the requisite joke to Baxter about Black people in a swimming pool? No, Baxter probably wouldn’t get it. I must remember he is not the quickest of my associates.
But why are the only White people in the park on the tennis co-? Oh no…
I’m a dork.
[Editor’s Note: Much love, James Blake.]
Rites of Patches 
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