Off With Their Heads

A total mystery.  The forehand of my game.  Gone in an instant.  This has happened before, you lose it, it comes back, small adjustments, minor tweaks, then back to groove.  But no groove is playing now.  No soulful rhythm, no jazz.  More like yell metal, or erratic cowbell, or dreaded silence.  The kind that makes you insane.  Music is not the answer.

The backboard beacons, or a brick wall.  For the basic breakdown.  Get the racquet out front, this is not a sideways form.  Elbow in, rotate the shoulders back, the left tucked under the chin a bit, then recoil on it.  No tentativeness.  Smooth, easy power.  Finish high so the spin will bite.  All the while, knees bent and bouncy and eyes watching the ball all the way to the impact of the strings.  You must be sure that the shot will be successful, you must be thinking of the shot ahead, what your opponent might do and your response, depending.  If all this doesn't go well or doesn't work or goes long or hits the net or your opponent hits an incredible winner, you must put it out of your mind and attempt again.  Impossible.  Which leads to emotions and even magnified emotions, the kind with vulgarities and equipment abuse.  This forehand must be fixed, really think I need to finish higher.  Coach Vita has a drill for that.

KOtC9 in under 24 hours.  Eye on the Duke.  This time last year we played for the French after those terrorist bastards went on their cowardly Paris rampage, this year we play for the U.K. as they endure this evil.  The King has declared, the Prince agrees.  The Duke has the axe, and the Earl of Nantucket is on the way.  Off with their heads.  Mahut!!!