Email Tennis

A little known internet sport

Dark Chickens:
First Serve - Smack

NorbertD:
Net

Dark Chickens:
Second serve - Thwack - over the net and in court

NorbertD:
... but not as powerfully as the first service. Like a girls serve, and not Tracy Austin or the Williams sisters, more like Victoria Wood in a dinner ladies outfit (but using a tennis racket, not a frying pan). The ball moves gracefully and slowly, and then rockets back over the net, raising chalk as it hits the base line.

Dark Chickens:
Unfortunately for you I have cunningly disguised myself as a ball girl and have a racket hidden up my small pleated tennis skirt. I spring forward, pulling the racket out of my skirt and hit a back hand shot across the court and heading towards the corner of your half. The crowd ooooh in anticipation of a point, very much similar to the anticipation felt went fatty Arbuckle raise his 65th hotdog to his mouth during the "1987 hot dog eating world championships".

NorbertD:
Momentarily distracted by the pleated tennis skirt and a recollection of the smell of onions cooked outdoors on a portable stand, the receiver stumbled as he launched in desperation towards the corner of the court. "Aagh" turned to "Ah" and winces turned to wonderment as the racket at last made contact by the merest of margins. The sound heard by the ball boy and a privileged few in the front seats was that of ball hitting racket rim. The ball glanced up at an unusual angle, dropped like a stone and trickled across the net as if it was morning dew. Surely, this would not be returned.

Dark Chickens:
Despite the excessive ground between my standing position and the net, I instantly stick my excessively long foot out and hoof the ball up over the net, in a similar style to Chrisy Waddle England penalty in the World Cup defeat to Germany. The ball head out over the court and into the neighbouring court, where LambPie waits poised like an mountain lion on a crevice. To everyone surprise he carries on the game and the first ever version of two court tennis begins.

LambPie:
Still hung over and suffering from post alcohol abuse shakes LambPie makes a feeble attempt to play the ball and skews it 90 degrees which results in it floating like a dandelion head on a calm summers day heading towards NorbertD. There's a hush, there's a lull, heads in the crowd fall, the point is over the ball is not going to pass over a net so surely, even in 2 court tennis (where according to rule 134b.2 the ball may be played back to any opponent so long as it passes over a net) it's point over, but wait what's this. The faces in the crowd are aghast, a team of doozers (of Fraggle Rock fame) emerge from a sprinkler head and rapidly construct a new net between the 2 courts, the new net cord is pulled tight, doozer no. 375 polishes the top of the net post and then tips his helmet as at that moment the ball passes the line of the net - the crowd go wild, it's game on and NorbertD has got but a few moments to finish autographing that female fans inner thigh, pick up his racket and "play ball".....

NorbertD:
Wondering what the crowd are wild about, NorbertD turns around and sees the ball heading in his direction. It's not often he gets to practice his tattooing skills and for an instant weighs up whether to finish the autograph or return to the game. If he tries and fails to return the ball, his admirer might decide to discontinue her autograph collection. However, if he ignores the ball and finishes his work, other members of the audience might leave the queue that has formed. He almost hesitated for too long and had time only to throw the racket at the ball. Miraculously, it colided with the ball just as it was about to hit the floor. The audience held its breath as the ball rose, cleared the net and landed in centre court. Two more people joined the queue as NorbertD leapt to his feet to retrieve the racket amid rapturous applause.

Dark Chickens:
Despite the extraordinary delay the tennis ball which had been caught by an Eagle suddenly dropped to the ground, whistling like a twenty pound bomb as it fell to earth. The ice coating which had encrusted it's surface in the high altitude melted and with a Ka-pong the ball hit the court surface and rebound violently upwards... the pressure was on, it was hit this or the point would be lost... the bragging rights gone... tennis court cred left in tatters. The ball started to turn towards the earth and with an almighty swing, much large than the one experienced in the 1997 general election, the racket and the ball headed for a collision... time slowed as the anticipation built... could I hit it at such a speed. Wham... the racket whizzed past the ball, contact had been missed... the shot was fluffed. The speed of the shot pulled be over and as I headed for the ground my legs went up into the air. From nowhere I remembered Rene Higuita's scorpion kick in 1994 and luckily managed to pull it off and connect with the ball. It limped over the net and into my opponents court like and injured Gazelle. I lay on the floor bruised, battered and humiliated as I realised that I had forgotten to put my pants on underneath my small pleated tennis skirt and my opponents had had a full flash of my undercarriage. Would this be enough to scare them into submission? The crowd had already started a chant of "New balls please".

Sorry, photograph censored.