Welcome back to the Williams Tennis Spring Break 2011 Blog, especially to Messrs. Hammond, Meyer, and Reich. I was going to write earlier, but then I heard how impatient you all were getting, and I decided it couldn’t hurt to let the anticipation build a little bit longer. So sit back, strap in, and enjoy the show because this post will rival in excitement Charles Woodson’s ’97 season, a beignet-filled afternoon at the Cafe Du Monde followed by a bourbon-filled night on Bourbon Street, and a Sunday trip to the Westfield Home Depot and possibly the Darwood Bed, Bath, and Beyond (if there’s enough time)…
But wait, before we really get going, I’ve been respectfully forced to set the record straight regarding a few Coach Greenberg-related aspects of my previous blog entry. So here you go, Dan, you hat-spiking motivator you: you are only slightly more neurotic than a stereotypical Jewish mother and only slightly less cool than your own Jewish mother (we miss you, Mrs. Greenberg!); you are more than reasonably socially aware, as was made clear by the interaction you had outside of the women’s restroom you used at the Conoco Phillips gas station we went to; you and your van are not the least bit creepy, no matter how creepy you look when you park the thing horizontally across four parking spots behind the GoodNite Inn and lean up against it in your sweatpants and hat as Hershey’s Bars and Tootsie Pops and Starburst peak out of the backpack slung over your shoulder; and finally, you are definitely not insane, even though we have numerous examples suggesting otherwise.
(Note: No one may use this information against Mr. Daniel Robert Greenberg in any way at any point in the future — especially anyone affiliated with Williams College. We love our coach. He more than deserves to keep his job. After all, he’s lost his dignity and in his team’s estimation, that’s punishment enough.)
In addition to learning a little bit about our coach over the last week, we’ve also played a lot of tennis. We ended up getting to play our opening match against Point Loma despite the threat of (and actual) rain in the San Diego area. We lost in a 6-3 battle, a match punctuated by the presence of Ben Davidson, an Eph Tennis alum and future History PH.D program-crusher, and Matt Micheli’s studly comeback from a set down to notch his first collegiate dual-match victory. After demolishing a post-match Chipotle dinner, we cruised back to Claremont for our showdown with Pomona-Pitzer the following afternoon. We won the doubles point convincingly, but with the exception of Dylan from “Pool Abs with Dylan” (link to come) and B. Chow, who clawed back from a set and 4-0 down, we struggled in singles and lost the match.
After a day off to re-group, we took it to Pacific University, and an anonymous donor treated us to a delicious Mexican dinner, complete with celebratory shots for Kevin “Are you kidding me?! Of course Mila Kunis will age well…almost as well as Niralee Shah, obviously…” Shallcross and me. Dan almost lost his mind when the waiter put the glasses in front of us, so we had to quickly reveal that they were filled with water. But seriously, thank you very much for the surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Anonymous. If you’re reading this, you can expect a thank-you note from an anonymous tennis team soon.
On Saturday, we played Redlands University. When Kev and I were freshmen, they swept us in doubles and then held on for a 5-4 victory, despite the fact that Rick “The Diesel” Devlin (’09) dug the trench of all trenches to pull out his singles match. Needless to say, we had a score to settle with the Bulldogs. Also needless to say, Rick flew from San Francisco to watch the match. Buoyed by our bad memories and the extra support, we jumped on them in doubles and then carried the momentum on into singles. Zach “Zachtose” Weiss clinched the 6-3 victory for us and propelled us on to our dance with California Lutheran the following morning. We had a lengthy rain delay before Cal Lu, but the match was well worth the wait. Jack and Charlie French, brothers of Taylor “Spunk-Master” French (of the three-time defending National Champion Williams Women’s Tennis Team) and natives of nearby Calabasas, came to the match and spurred us on to a satisfying victory. We were down 2-1 after doubles, but we swept all six singles matches in true Eph fashion. Felix Sun’s opponent, for example, barely made it to the net to shake hands before collapsing to the court, where he remained on his back until we left the facility half an hour later.
On Monday afternoon, we played Westmont College, our last stop in southern California before heading up the coast. They were tough, and we lost 6-3, but don’t worry, we’re done losing. We have two more Spring Break matches — against UC Santa Cruz (Thursday afternoon) and Sonoma State (Friday morning) — and we’re going to bring it. We have two days off for the first time all trip, so we’ll be rested and ready tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.
Now, for some other random, non-tennis highlights: Matt and Adam, bedmates for the first nine nights of the trip, literally divided their bed into two halves with a jump rope so that they could measure who encroached into whose territory over the course of the night. This bit of insight, spawned by a combination of unfreshmen-like ingenuity and frustration about the nightly war of attrition, worked like a charm. Adam “This is completely voluntary” Reich (link also to come) began to aggressively sleep-shout German-sounding monologues at 3:30 am that woke and terrified everyone in the room except for himself, and the two continued to do battle over the bed pad, the sheets, and next layer of sheets, the blanket, and the comforter, but the arguments about the validity of the various trespassing accusations subsided.
Last night, our first night in San Francisco, we dropped our stuff off at the Micheli’s lovely home in the city after a day of driving up the beautiful California coast, and then headed out to an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant in North Beach, The Sushi Hunter. We were there from 7:10 until 9:40, two and a half hours of absolute carnage. When the dust settled, everyone hated us. And we all hated ourselves too. So naturally, we solved the self-loathing issue with an immediate trip to a self-serve frozen yogurt shop. We’ve gained some valuable experience at these Yogurt-Lands over the last week and a half. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the phenomenon, these stores have a number of different flavors of frozen yogurt from which to choose. The customer selects a cup, targets a flavor or ten, fills up, adds toppings accordingly (or discordantly), weighs the conglomeration, and then pays the disgusted cashier some amount, usually determined per ounce. The place we went to last night, for instance, charged 42 cents for every ounce of yogurt and topping. So, one-by-one, we surveyed the options and made our moves. The more rational, level-headed members of the team filled their cups with reasonable amounts of dessert. A select few applied the foolish logic that since they’d already gone so big at sushi, they might as well finish strong too. And one individual — the author of this blog? — arrogantly allowed himself to be goaded by the rest of the team into asking for the flat-fee $11.75 (bath)tub, which he filled with 42 ounces of chocolate frozen yogurt, crushed oreos, and assorted other toppings. Why? It’s possible that he loves frozen yogurt. Or maybe he really likes to eat a lot. Or perhaps he was just compensating for something.
On that note, I’ll bring this post to a close. Thank you for reading, and please look forward to another eventful entry soon. Its title will probably be something like this: “Installment Three: Crouching Bryan, Hidden Felix…”
Will
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