Is this Pro Shot Sufficiently Ridiculous?
I'm talking about over-conceptualization (OC) as a 100 per cent sure weapon to finish things off. Despite what most people think there may be a place for OC in tennis.
Earlier in the same point, Burgle the famous car designer glided about the court, keeping the ball deep and hard with excellent shape. He moved like a fluid dream. To call his mind "thought free" would be sad understatement.
In fact, his loved ones conspired to take his car away. He simply collided with too many hard objects. There were dents here, the divot in the telephone pole there, the auto paint on the front boulder, the crushed bird feeder.
Not that he didn't fight back. Before they took his car he hung long cords, bright orange bearing red ribbons from the ceiling of his garage and placed with total exactitude to correspond with the bright grid of orange tape on his cracked windshield. The cords and the tape were a single siting mechanism good enough to bring a huge ferry boat or space capsule into its predesignated slip.
No more of that. The cords would come down. But his wife and son did not succeed-- at least not yet-- in taking his tennis away.
And so he chipped deep, came into the net, muffed his overhead so that his opponent was able to reach it.
Didn't matter. His opponent still was on defense, and now the old car designer got the ball he wanted, short and close to the right net post.
His composite grip took his racket down and up to the side. His step out was square with left toes pointed at one p.m. on the giant clock, mental, overhead.
The racket fell. Then rolled in such a way as not to stay in place but glide toward the target.
The roll melded into arm swim and slight shoulders variation off of alignment with the target to extend his followthrough.
A winner.
Even his opponent, nasty as they come, had to applaud.
I'm talking about over-conceptualization (OC) as a 100 per cent sure weapon to finish things off. Despite what most people think there may be a place for OC in tennis.
Earlier in the same point, Burgle the famous car designer glided about the court, keeping the ball deep and hard with excellent shape. He moved like a fluid dream. To call his mind "thought free" would be sad understatement.
In fact, his loved ones conspired to take his car away. He simply collided with too many hard objects. There were dents here, the divot in the telephone pole there, the auto paint on the front boulder, the crushed bird feeder.
Not that he didn't fight back. Before they took his car he hung long cords, bright orange bearing red ribbons from the ceiling of his garage and placed with total exactitude to correspond with the bright grid of orange tape on his cracked windshield. The cords and the tape were a single siting mechanism good enough to bring a huge ferry boat or space capsule into its predesignated slip.
No more of that. The cords would come down. But his wife and son did not succeed-- at least not yet-- in taking his tennis away.
And so he chipped deep, came into the net, muffed his overhead so that his opponent was able to reach it.
Didn't matter. His opponent still was on defense, and now the old car designer got the ball he wanted, short and close to the right net post.
His composite grip took his racket down and up to the side. His step out was square with left toes pointed at one p.m. on the giant clock, mental, overhead.
The racket fell. Then rolled in such a way as not to stay in place but glide toward the target.
The roll melded into arm swim and slight shoulders variation off of alignment with the target to extend his followthrough.
A winner.
Even his opponent, nasty as they come, had to applaud.
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