Hunger for Honor and Renown

“This time we’re going to beat those guys,” he said through a diabetic slur. Mike really needed a drink - of orange juice. He had caught me walking past his house on the way to the store. I hadn’t seen him since his trip to visit some libraries in Chicago and Princeton. His last book, ‘Truman & MacArthur: Policy, Politics, and the Hunger for Honor and Renown,’ published by Indiana University Press, had sold at least a thousand copies – if you’re keeping score.Bur he didn't have very much to say about it.

All Pearlman could talk about was not letting those guys get away with it this time – the way they pretended that they weren’t keeping score every time we got a point, but when Milo and Libby, those two tail waggers - were on their side the counted every one. Quite frankly, Sam and Zach counted a lot of points they never got.

“Saturday,” Pearlman repeated. “Ten o’clock.” He stumbled back to his front porch, and stepped back through his screen door, telling me to wait. Then he came back outside with two packets of mix for latkes that he’d brought back from his favorite delicatessen in Chicago – Manny’s. Just add eggs and water, it said on the front of the box. Mike said that Lisa from down the street had promised to make them for us after the match.  He would provide the sugar-free popsicles.

At one minute to ten on Saturday morning there was a knock on my front door. It was Sam – or maybe it was Zach – they were identical twins. Who could tell? Mike was already half-way down the street to the courts at Central with Libby on a leash. Milo apparently couldn’t make it. He had the shortest legs of all of us, but he hustled like a dog. Maybe we had a chance – this time.

Back and forth. Over and back. We played our hearts out. Mike and I, on one side, were old and slow. Sam and Zach were inexperienced and wily. After nearly an hour, we were finally able to get Zach and Sam to concede that the score might at least be tied.

We lined up for the tiebreaker. Mike and I were as close to beating those guys as we would ever come. Back and forth. Over and back. I saw the tennis ball clear the net and bounce in front of me. In a single mental lapse, I swung my racket as hard as I could and shouted, “Home run!” as the ball rose over the back fence.

Pearlman and I trudged slowly back to Lisa’s. Defeated. Again. Even Libby’s tail was dragging a little.  Sam and Zach were merciless in flaunting their triumph as usual. At least Mike was right about Manny’s – those latkes in Lisa’s hands were the best.

Photographic evidence: http://walktokawap.blogspot.com/2013/07/tennis-latkes_2234.html