The Pigeon With the Tennis Elbow (7 page)

Luck seemed to return to Chuck during the rest of the game. He took it with Kevin not scoring a point. Chuck 3; Kevin 1.

You're choking up, O'Toole. You're supposed to take this match. Remember? You promised yourself and Charlie that you would.
Let's get on the ball, shall we?

Chuck took the next one, too.

Kevin, determined to make a better showing, bounced back with two wins in a row. Chuck 4; Kevin 3.

And then it happened. Chuck went after a hard smashing drive to his left side, swinging at the ball with a backhand stroke.
He never touched the ball. His swing was half-way through when he stumbled, fell and stayed down on the court, writhing with
pain.

10

T
HE ANKLE SEEMED
to be sprained. Ben Switzer made the judgment after feeling it and finding it slightly swollen. It was really sore, too,
according to the way Chuck twinged when Ben squeezed it.

“I'll take you home,” Ben said. “A cold compress right away will help it a lot.”

“My parents are here,” said Chuck, a pained look on his face. “They'll take me home.”

Kevin saw a tall, heavy-built man stepping down through the widely scattered fans, the boards bending under his weight. He
approached Chuck who was standing up now, favoring his injured ankle.

“Tough luck, son,” the man said, picking Chuck up in his arms like a toothpick. “What happens now, Ben? Does he lose the game?”

“We have a rule in our by-laws,” said Ben. “If the match isn't continued within four days after an accident or an injury,
it goes to the opponent.”

“You mean that if Chuck's ankle doesn't heal up in that time the O'Toole boy wins the game?”

“That's right,” Ben said.

Kevin, overhearing Ben's answer, knew right away what a certain kid would think if Chuck's ankle didn't heal up within four
days.
What an easy way to win a match, O'Toole. But you'd like to win 'em all that way, wouldn't you?

“Mr. Switzer,” said Kevin, “can I say something?”

“You sure can, Kev.”

“I'd rather wait for Chuck's ankle to heal than to win the match by a forfeit,” he said, looking directly into Ben Switzer's
eyes. “I don't care if it takes a week, or two weeks.”

Ben's eyes lit up and a smile spread across his face. “Well, that's mighty big of you, Kevin. But the rule says — ”

“Then I won't play Roger Murphy,” Kevin broke in. “I won't play him unless I beat Chuck — if he doesn't beat me, that is,”
he added softly.

The men looked at each other. “Well, I guess that decides it,” Ben said. “But let's hope that it won't take more than a few
days for Chuck's ankle to heal. Suppose that I leave it up to you, Ed, to call me when you think Chuck's ready to play again?”

Mr. Eagan's face cracked into a broad smile. “I'll do that. And thanks, Kevin. You're a real square-shooting boy.”

Ben announced to the fans that the match had to be discontinued because of an injury to Chuck's ankle, but that it would continue
after the ankle had healed. They applauded briefly, then started to leave the stands, an air of disappointment hanging around
them.

“Isn't there a four-day ruling governing injuries?”
asked Kevin's father as they walked home together — he, his wife, Kevin and Ginnie.

“Yes, there is,” answered Kevin. “But I told Mr. Switzer that I wouldn't take the game on a forfeit.”

“Why not? You'd be breaking the rule if you didn't, wouldn't you?”

“Well — I told him that I wouldn't play Roger Murphy unless I played the match out with Chuck.”

Gee, Dad, did you have to squeeze it out of me? You make me feel like a Boy Scout shooting for a merit badge.

“Oh, so that's it,” said Mr. O'Toole. “Hmmm.”

A call from Ben the next day revealed some good news. Chuck's ankle had not been sprained. It had just twisted enough to make
it painful. “Chuck will be ready to play in a couple of days, Kevin,” Ben said.

“Gee, that's great, Mr. Switzer,” said Kevin. “Then we can play out the match on Saturday?”

“That's right. Saturday. Four o'clock O.K.?”

“Four o'clock will be fine, Mr. Switzer. When will the winner play the winner of the Murphy-Monroe match?”

“A week from Saturday. Also at four o'clock.”

“Thanks, Mr. Switzer,” said Kevin. “Mom!” he yelled, after hanging up. “That was Mr. Switzer! Chuck's ankle wasn't sprained
after all! It was just twisted! We're going to play off the match on Saturday at four o'clock!”

“Good,” said Mrs. O'Toole, coming into the kitchen from the dining room. “And I'm not deaf. At least, not yet.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Maybe Dad will get there in time after work to see at least one set. He thinks you're pretty good, you know.”

“He does?”

“Uh-huh.” She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He hasn't been able to see you play much, and was surprised
how well you handled yourself in those games against Chuck.”

“I wish Chuck hadn't hurt his ankle,” he said
dismally. “If I beat him now, everybody will say he was handicapped.”

“But he won't be,” said his mother. “He'll be as good as if nothing had happened to him.”

“I know. But everybody won't see it that way, Mom.”

She squeezed his shoulder and kissed him on the forehead. “Don't worry about it. And don't think about it when you're on the
court with Chuck. Play to win, and you will.”

He grinned weakly.
You're something, Ma, you know that? You're really something.

He went out on the porch where he kept Charlie safe and warm in a box, and found him asleep.

“Hey,” he said, giving the top of the box a rapid tattoo. “Are you going to sleep all day?”

Charlie jerked awake, shook his head and focused a sleepy eye on Kevin. “Dummy,” he said. “You ruined a beautiful dream.”

Kevin laughed. “Sorry about that. What were you dreaming?”

“That's my business.”

“Boy, you're sure friendly this morning. What can I get you?”

“Steak,” said Charlie. “With all the trimmings.”

“Rare, medium, or well done?”

Charlie cocked his head around and focused his other eye on Kevin. He chuckled.

“You know, Kevie, if I didn't know you better I'd think you were really serious.”

Kevin laughed again and ran a hand over Charlie's velvet-soft head.

“Corn coming up, Charlie,” he said, and walked away to get Charlie's lunch.

11

T
HE TENNIS MATCH CONTINUED
where it had left off, with Chuck Eagan leading Kevin four games to three.

The eighth game started with Kevin serving. His first try was good, and so was Chuck's return. As the ball shot back and forth
over the net, Kevin took notice of Chuck's moves. Nothing in the way Chuck got around and batted the ball indicated that he
had injured his ankle at all.

But I can't ignore the fact that he has injured it,
Kevin told himself.
Chuck can be a hard-headed kid at times. Maybe he still feels a little pain but won't admit it.

Nonetheless Chuck won the game, game-30. It was 5-3 now, in his favor.

Kevin came back hard and took the next two games, making it 5–5. The next game went to deuce then advantage for Chuck. And
finally a win.

What am I doing wrong?
Kevin asked himself.
Chuck isn't that good to be beating me like this.

He glanced briefly at the top of the post at the southwest corner of the court. It was an automatic move. Charlie's wing had
not healed up well enough yet for him to fly around to tennis matches to offer sage advice to a certain nephew.

Nephew? Am I still considered his nephew even if he's in the form of a pigeon? Man! What a nutty relationship!

Chuck won the next game to capture the set, 7–5.

“Charlie said that Chuck was weak in his serves and backhand shots,” Kevin said to Ginnie. “It didn't look like that to me.”

“You've been giving him the points,” said Ginnie, speaking like an authority. “Most of his points were won on your poor returns.”

“Then I'd better make sure of my returns. Right?”

“Right.”

Chuck served as the second set got under way. Kevin returned it neatly. Then Chuck's stroke, a bullet drive, carried far to
Kevin's right side. Kevin bolted after it, leaning far over to hit the ball just before it struck the court. The ball loped
over the net, bouncing just in front of it. Chuck started after it, then stopped, knowing he could never reach it in time.
Love-15.

Though tense and anxious, Kevin kept up the good start and wound up winning the game.

He went into the next one with fever pitch.
I cant go home and tell Charlie I blew this match and wont be playing Roger,
he thought.
He'd probably leave me and never come back again. Y've got to win it.

He did. He won the next one, too. Chuck
made a bid by taking two games, but that was all. The ovation, as Kevin won the set, 6–2, was no overwhelming thing. You'd
think that the crowd wasn't too surprised about it.

“One more to go,” Ginnie said.

“I wish you wouldn't say that!” Kevin snapped.

“Sorry,” she said and lowered her eyes.

Man, take it easy! It's just an old tennis game. You don't have to bite her head off.