My Racquet | Teen Ink

My Racquet MAG

By Anonymous

   I would never have imagined that what started as a Wilson's child racquet wouldtransform into what it is today.

My racquet has undergone a metamorphosisinto a powerful yet gentle instrument. I can feel its power flowing into me, andI can detect my own energy draining into it. My strings form an intricate griddesign: a perfectly placed sweet spot. My racquet: the Prince Synergy26D.

The grip has started to wear away; it is used well and often. I startwith the handle, transforming this racquet into my weapon of choice. It couldbecome a legionnaire's blade of sharpened steel, or an archer's arrow. Deceivingand destroying, these are my only options.

In England, 1048 AD, the firstrecorded tennis match took place. These players could not have fathomed that aracquet fashioned from animal hide and a branch would evolve into what it istoday. Now we use strings for specific playing strategies, and bodies aredesigned from lighter and lighter materials. Racquets are designed for everylevel of play. My racquet is for players with true potential, those who have whatit takes to play the game.

Pow! I can sense the ball hurtling in mydirection. It seems to take an eternity to arrive. My choice must be made in aninstant. Within this instant eternity I must decide what to change my racquetinto - either it must contain the power of a great army, or the cunning of askilled assassin. Like a master general, I must control this battlefield. I willuse the knowledge of this ancient art to defend my title, and conquer myenemies.

Just like the great King Arthur, if I allow this weapon toleave my arsenal, I will be in an impossible situation. Like Excalibur we areone; if separated, I will be destroyed. No one but I can understand the truepower of my racquet.

On the battlefield of the tennis court, your weaponcan make all the difference between victory and defeat. With my racquet I willnot - cannot - lose. I will stand tall and true. I shall prevail. And as thebattle rages, one thought echoes in my mind: It is not the warrior who choosesthe weapon, but the weapon which chooses the warrior.

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