“Name?” questioned the shrill voice. I answered abruptly, unwilling to stray into conversation with it.
“Paul.” Its eyes pierced my soul and I trembled like a leaf in the wind. Its eyebrows rose.
“P-P-Paul Earle” I stammered eventually and it crossed me off the list, the pen digging into the paper and tearing it. She was short and her skin was an olive colour. Very wrinkly. She had short grey hair, wore all black and her old breath smelt like sour milk. She eyed me cautiously when I walked past her and took a seat in the “Player’s Room”. Now I just had to wait. I watched patiently as the second hand spun around the clock, then the minute hand. It was five minutes before Dad came back. He noticed my anxiety as he sat down next to me. I felt better already.
As all the other badminton players arrived and took their places, the first round draw was called out for the U13 Boy’s Singles. That was me.
He was younger and much shorter than me. He wore bright orange shoes and socks, and knew I would remember them. It was very distracting, like having an annoying younger brother you had you keep an eye on. I lost a few points but then quickly got my act together. I was sailing through to the next round with an easy win of 21-5. Next thing I know I’m in the quarterfinals. A buy and another easy draw! What luck! It would inevitably end soon.
I met my next challenge. A boy 1 year older than me, with the height of a giraffe. It was hard to pull of any lobs. Just 4 people left now. I hadn’t dreamt I would reach this far. Any hope abandoned me as I saw my next opponent. He was the friend of the boy I beat in the quarters…the bigger and better friend. Before I knew it I was losing 13-2. I looked up at Dad. He just shrugged. It seemed he had accepted my defeat. I gritted my teeth. I was not going to lose. I flicked a switch in my body and won the next 18 points. Match point! I had done it…surely?
The shuttlecock was returned high to me – perfect for me to smash it and end this. As I used all my strength to bring the shuttle down the same strength was reflected back at me as the shot was parried back to me off his racket. The shuttle just clipped the top of the net and toppled over it. I knew in my head that I would never reach it, but my heart was determined. I lunged dangerously towards the shuttle but it was already on the floor and I followed suit. Disaster struck like lightning on a tree. I crashed down onto the net support and fell awkwardly on my wrist, the burning tree shaking its head with disappointment. It was the same wrist I had broken three times in the past two years. I grimaced in pain but clenched my non-racket hand into a fist, confident I could get through this, confident I could win. I was within touching distance of the final, of the trophy. I took my position hopefully, as my opponent took his serve. I wasn’t sure if it was pity, or just a terribly horrifying shot, but the shuttlecock bounded harmlessly into the net like a kitten wearing gloves. I had done it.
I watched by the sidelines of the other semi-final. Both players played amazing shots that I could only dream of. I couldn’t decide on who I would rather play. The intense match finally ended as a close battle and now just the final remained. Hundreds more spectators piled into the stadium, all waiting for one thing. My opponent and I both took our places on the centre court. I won the toss and was to serve first. I held the wet and slippery handle of the weapon of my choice.
A bit of the tension in my muscles was relieved when I won the first few points easily enough. I started to enjoy myself and took a huge lead of ten points, but then I began to ache and the strain I put on my injured wrist was immense. He started to edge back into the game and won nine out of the next twelve points. He was now winning. I was losing. I used my signature move a couple of times and next thing I knew, I was winning 20-16. Championship point…
Life went in slow motion as the crowd cheered and my opponent threw his racket at the floor in frustration. I didn’t even know what had happened until I was awarded with the trophy and scooped up into the arms of Dad. Once all the official business had been taken care of I slid on my knees in front of the crowd. They loved this and applauded loudly and cheerfully. Everyone was happy.
Apart from my opponent.
