Redefining racquetball
I can’t play racquetball. But that doesn’t stop me from playing racquetball.
As far as I’m concerned, if I’m hitting a racquetball with a racquetball racquet in a racquetball court, I’m playing racquetball.
Never mind that I don’t know the first thing about racquetball. Wait, I DO know the first thing about racquetball: hit the ball with the racquet before it bounces too many times. How many times? Unless it bounces where? Don’t ask me. Because I don’t know the second and third things about racquetball.
The other thing I know about racquetball is DAMN THOSE GUYS HIT THAT BALL FREAKING HARD AND IT’S GOING TO PUT MY EYE OUT. When I thought I might like to try playing racquetball, I watched others play to see what a game was like. It’s a good thing games only last like 15 minutes, otherwise they’d all be dead! The players (always men) were fast, loud, ruthless and competitive, out to kill each other. I expected to see blood spattered all over the glass, like something out of a horror movie.
If I try to play racquetball with guys, I will be turned into raspberry jello in short order. I’m slow, quiet, forgiving and noncompetitive. Apparently other women have gotten the Racquetball Memo, because I NEVER see other women in the racquetball courts. If I can’t play with guys, and the gals stay away, how am I going to play it?
