I would make a great sports-caster.

“You never know what happens in Southern California tennis.” The announcer said. I didn’t know how true that was until the game started. SOMEBODY must know what happens in a game of tennis, but it certainly isn’t me.

My French class got together today in the freezing wind of VC to cheer on our classmate in the men's singles. We sat on benches outside the court and cheered in French, and made the other tennis player feel very lonely. Well, he didn’t bring his class so it was his own fault. We watched the players serve practice shots for what felt like a very long time... and learned, fifteen minutes later, that the game had already started.

For an hour and a half, we sat and watched, trying to figure out who was winning and who was losing. A few of the girls were over-zealous and cheered during the points, until a fellow with a beard came over and told them to hold off until after a point. The French guy who wasn't playing, Thomas, seemed to be the only one who knew the rules, so we waited to cheer until he cheered. That worked out alright.

It got really, really cold on that bench. I had tried to learn about tennis before the game; I had asked my parents what they knew. All I learned was that “love” meant zero. I don’t know why. I suppose that love just isn't very important to tennis players. I watched and tried to keep up with them, but I occasionally had to ask Thomas who was winning. The players were all pretty good, and though I was confused, I was impressed. When I was young, my dad took me to the park to teach me tennis. I hit the ball out of court or into the net each time I served. I have since learned that tennis is not my game.

I began to think of Eskimos and wonder why they are never cold. They're lucky.

There was no one yelling, “love-fifteen!” or any of the things you expect to hear at the court. No one kept score on a board. I suppose they thought we all knew the game. Silly people. So, I watched the players run back and forth on the court, making crazy shots look easy. Romain hit the ball somewhere and everyone clapped.

“Who won the point?” I asked someone, clapping my hands.
“I think the other guy... but I'm not sure.”

So it went. The best I can figure is that if the other player hits the ball, and it goes out, you get a point. If you hit the ball out, he gets the point. If you hit the net, people groan and you go get some water. If you have a loud class yelling at you, you get embarrassed. And still, I wonder why zero is called “love”.

Someone said it was “match point”. We watched the ball go back and forth, back and forth, until Romain hit it out of the court. Thomas groaned. We groaned after him. The game was over, and we all ran out of the icy wind. My hands were so cold! My mom called me to say she was waiting, and she had a nice treat for me: ice cream.