Anyway. Lisa’s been doing the heavy lifting on the posting lately, but I’m on an airplane with limited options soooo… yeah. When last I checked in, I had been suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Terrence Mc Sherry. Actually it was a racquetball, but what the hell. The end of that story is that we played again a couple days later, once my concussion symptoms had abated, and he beat me soundly until my youthful stamina and vigor managed to outlast him – I stole our last game. Seriously, once he got over the difference in rackets and balls from his squash playing, he was a great player. (And if you think I haven’t heard about the fact that I haven’t updated since that day, well… dream on.)
An artist tries to recreate the scene of the attack.
Thanks in large part to these racquetball blog posts, Terry (Lisa’s father) has expressed an interest in playing together when he came out to help with Lisa’s chemo recovery. “How nice,” thought I, “a little guy bonding with my quasi-kinda-father-in-law. Surely great strides in mutual understanding and respect will result from this adventure. Why, in the afterglow of the manly rites of physical contest, we might just come to see one another as family!”
History is rife with stories of fathers who disapprove of their daughters’ choice of mate. They’ve imprisoned the daughters, smothered them, had the men assassinated or transported to Australia… but never, NEVER, has a father tried to cause a fatal brain hemorrhage with a well-placed racquetball.