The Kid From Courage (Touchdown Edition)

Chapter 1: A Funny Old Man

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jimmy bellowed, glancing from side to side at an imaginary crowd, "the championship match is set to begin! Players ready?"

"Bring it on," I called out, ignoring my friend's usual theatrics. I took a deep breath, trying to convince myself that there was no reason to feel any pressure. After all, I wasn't supposed to beat the best player at Courage High. Jimmy was a year older and I was only a fourteen-year-old freshman. I reminded myself to relax and play with confidence.

As our practice match got under way, Jimmy hit a spin serve that bounced shoulder high, immediately putting me on the defensive. I tried to counter with an aggressive return, but my backhand landed just beyond the service line, much shorter than I had intended. Quickly moving forward, Jimmy loaded up his big lefty forehand and ripped the ball crosscourt for an outright winner.

I knew that Jimmy Ellis didn't take tennis--or anything else--seriously, but it was undeniable that he was a great athlete. As the match progressed, he hit a dazzling assortment of well-placed, penetrating shots, seemingly at will. Although I did manage to string a couple of good games together late in the match, I was unable to overcome Jimmy's sheer power and skill on the tennis court. The scores were 6-1, 6-2.

After crushing a serve right down the middle for a clean ace to seal the victory, Jimmy strolled lazily up to the net and shook my outstretched hand.

"You were hitting the ball pretty good out there, Bryan. I'm gonna have to keep my eye on you." He was always being sarcastic.

"Yeah, right, you were just toying with me, as usual. Dude, if you started working hard on your game, you could probably hang with the best sixteen-year-olds in the nation." It was true, he had so much potential, but tennis didn't seem to be much of a priority for him.

Jimmy grinned widely, "You sound just like my dad." Reaching into his tennis bag, he retrieved his Kansas Jayhawks baseball cap and put it on, partly covering up his blonde, unkempt hair. Jimmy's wild, ever-changing hairstyles were legendary at Courage High. Also contributing to his fashionably disheveled image was a very thin, scruffy-looking goatee.

We were a true study in contrast. With my clean-cut features and short brown hair, I had a look that could best be described as neat and stylish, maybe even a bit nerdy. Of greater importance was my slight, five-foot-eight-inch frame, whichwas clearly in need of some strength and extra pounds.

As Jimmy started to walk off the court, I hesitated and then asked, "Wanna keep playing, or do some drills?" I always wanted more, especially after taking a loss.

Jimmy seemed a little amused. "Naw, dude, I gotta roll. The guys and me are going to the football game. They're picking me up in an hour. We're gonna destroy Lincoln High tonight! Hey, you can come with us if you want."

This was a tempting offer. Here it was, only the middle of November, and I had a chance to hang out with sophomores who normally wouldn't associate with a lowly freshman. Still, I turned him down in favor of some extra practice.

"Um, thanks, it sounds cool, but I kinda need to get a little more work in."

"I should have guessed." Jimmy shook his head, "Man, I've never seen anyone play as much tennis as you. I always see you hanging out here. Does it really mean that much to you?"

"Yep." I picked up my racket and waved it in the motion of my forehand. "I may not have your athletic ability, but I'm still gonna try to compete for the top spot on the team." I joked, "The word around school is that the number one player is a real flake with crazy hair."

Jimmy smiled, "Well, freshman, it seems like you're catching on pretty quick." Flipping his hat off, he turned it around, putting it on backwards. He casually said, "Maybe that's why Kim Coleman asked about you. Man, you're lucky. She is so hot."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Kim Coleman askedabout me?"

Jimmy burst into laughter, "Yeah right, and the weather report says, 'cloudy skies tonight, then look for hell to freeze over!'"

I grinned sheepishly and admitted, "You got me. I guess I do have a few things to learn."

"It's cool. Just stick with the man and it'll be all good." Jimmy comically raised his arms and adopted the swaggering stance of a boxing champion, "I'm the king of Courage High!"

"Jimmy," I chuckled, "you've got problems."

"Hey, you really do catch on quick!" Jimmy grabbed his tennis bag and his racket. "I'm out, Bryan. See you at school tomorrow."

"All right, Jimmy, thanks for playing."

After getting a drink from the water fountain outside the court, I sat down and thought about the match. My performance had been downright terrible and I was extremely unhappy about it. It wasn't much of a consolation that Jimmy was an older and more experienced player--the bottom line was that I simply didn't get the job done out there.

On a brighter note, I felt good about having a friend as cool as Jimmy. Socially, things never came that easily for me. I guess you could say that I was pretty shy. This was my first year of high school and I was trying hard to fit in. I began to wish that I had accepted Jimmy's offer and gone to the football game with the guys. Instead, I grabbed a bucket of balls and practiced my serve.

Later that night, I lay in bed unable to sleep. The severe thrashing I had taken from Jimmy was still fresh in my mind and I just couldn't shrug it off. I should have gone to the netmore. My serve was awful. Images of the match raced through my head like I was watching it on television. This wasn't unusual, though, because nothing--absolutely nothing--was more important to me than tennis.

I lived in a very small town in Kansas, where dreams of becoming a professional tennis player at times seemed beyond reach. I was ranked twenty-third in my state in the fourteen-and-under division, but I knew that this wasn't a particularly meaningful statistic--Kansas wasn't among the powerhouses that traditionally dominated junior tennis in the United States. In many other states I wouldn't even be ranked in the top hundred.

I sat up and leaned against my pillow, wondering if I actually had a chance to succeed in one of the most competitive sports in the world. Although I sometimes had my doubts, I was certain of one thing--nobody wanted it more than me. So even if the best juniors were training in places like Florida or California, I was determined that Bryan Berry, of Courage, Kansas, would find a way somehow. Maybe my town was so small that it only had one movie theater, but still, it was my home and I had no complaints. Anything would have been an improvement over those years in Wichita, before the divorce. I had been too young to understand what was going on, but it was impossible to forget the loud arguments, the slamming doors, and a hundred images of Mom crying.

Happily, the struggles of those earlier years gave way to better times, especially after our move to Courage. It was tough living two hundred miles away from Dad, but my younger brother, Brandon, and I took to small-town life immediately. Weadjusted to our new schools, making friends quickly and getting involved in lots of activities. It was around that time when I went rummaging through a box of Dad's old stuff and found a tennis racket and a can of used balls. After spending a few hours hitting those yellow balls against our garage door, I was hooked. Discovering tennis changed my life forever.

Tennis had always been popular in Courage, prompting the construction of a public club twelve years earlier. It was named The Courage Courts and Recreation Club but was known to everyone simply as "The Courts." With six tennis courts, a gym, and a pool, this indoor facility had become very popular. I had practically lived there for the past three years. I went to The Courts every day after school and stayed until I had to be home for dinner. On weekends, if I wasn't entered in a tournament, I could be found there most of the day.

In between matches, I spent my time in the lounge area, watching TV, doing my homework, or sometimes just listening to the men chat. Whether the subject was sports, politics, or the latest gossip, the discussions were usually loud and very colorful. I chuckled softly as the image of a funny old-timer named Henry Johnson suddenly entered my mind. Johnson was an old man who hung out at The Courts more than I did--if that was even possible. Whenever the conversation turned to tennis, his voice always resonated loudly and passionately. He had declared many times that the champions of his era were superior to modern players. His opinions were usually met with ridicule and scorn.

"Give me a break, Henry!" The men always argued, "Players today hit the ball harder than those old guys could haveeven dreamed about!"

But Johnson would stand his ground and break out some of his outlandish tennis stories, like the time that A. J. Bradford hit a serve at Wimbledon that was so fast, nobody even saw the ball as it whizzed by his opponent. According to Johnson, a big cloud of dust right on the line was the only evidence that the ball was good. Another tale recounted a doubles match in which Danny Crawford, a superstar of the 1940s, dealt with the trash-talking of an obnoxious opponent by nailing him square in the stomach with his famed topspin backhand.

Although I had doubts about whether or not his stories were true, I enjoyed hearing them. And, although I respected Johnson for his obvious love of tennis, it was easy to dismiss him as a strange old man. Apparently he had once coached a young tennis player who was on the verge of stardom when his life ended tragically. Johnny Matthews's death had such a devastating effect on Johnson that he never coached again. Instead, he'd been a teaching pro for many years, until finally retiring in Courage.

I had always accepted the fact that Johnson's knowledge of the game was totally outdated. The buzz around The Courts was that Johnson was slightly senile, maybe even crazy. I had no way of knowing if any of that stuff was true, because we had never spoken.

I leaned my head back down on my pillow, wondering why I was lying awake thinking about Henry Johnson. I certainly had more important things to worry about than a strange old man who hung around at The Courts.