Chapter 17- Backspin lob
The next day, Derrick's tired legs navigated the bustling London streets on a radiant evening, he stole a glance at Veronica, his breath ragged. "Vero... Veronica.. wait, just wait," he managed between pants. Veronica, clad in her jogging boots, came to an abrupt halt and turned, offering Derrick a smile. "Are you tired?" she inquired.
"Hahah! You wish. I was merely showing you my home. Care for a drink?" Derrick quipped, gesturing towards his well-kept home, where everything, including the TV, was meticulously arranged. Veronica's eyes roamed around in appreciation. "Oh! What a beautiful house you have," she remarked.
"Thank you. Make yourself at home," Derrick responded graciously, heading towards the fridge to pour two glasses of dense opaque lemonade. "If you say it like that, I might just do that," Veronica teased, accepting the glass and flicking on the TV. It tuned into a sports channel broadcasting the U.S. Open, where Erick was poised to serve.
"Here's some natural electrolytes for..." Derrick began, only to be abruptly cut off by Veronica. "Look, your brother is playing," she interjected. "Yeah, I know. Just switch the channel, please," Derrick requested, observing Veronica's sour expression after taking a sip. "What the hell is this? You don't watch your brother? And you say you want to beat him. You are not serious. How will you beat him if you don't know his strengths and weaknesses?" Derrick responded, a hint of annoyance lacing his tone.
"I know him. I have played with him since we were kids," he added, trying to convey his familiarity with Erick's game. Veronica, however, wasn't convinced. "But that was then. Good players adapt, and great players evolve. Let's just watch. We might learn something," she remarked, her gaze fixed on the screen as the match unfolded.
Just as Veronica took her second sip, a bullet shot resounded from the living room speakers, causing her to startle mid-sip. The match was in full swing.
"Tennis enthusiasts, if you've just tuned in, this is the final set between the young Wimbledon champion Erick Robertson and Finn Stuart. And no, your eyes are not deceiving you, Erick is behind four-two," the first commentator's voice echoed through the room.
"It certainly has been a tournament full of surprises so far," the second commentator chimed in. Finn's backspin lob dropped just below the baseline, eliciting another round of commentary.
"It surely has. Wow, another one. Erick has surely been struggling with those balls."
As Derrick and Veronica focused intently on the match, Veronica offered her analysis. "It's his backhand. It's weak and a bit unbalanced," she observed. Derrick, puzzled, responded, "I don't see it." Veronica urged him to scrutinize more closely. "Look closely. Your brother's serves are immaculate, but somehow this guy manages to catch them. As the rally continues, Erick's backhand becomes weaker and weaker, allowing Finn to even manage a backspin lob ball with such accuracy," she explained.
"Shithead me, I see it now," Derrick admitted, recognizing the flaw in Erick's game. Veronica chuckled at his sudden revelation. "Haha! Are you just saying that, or do you actually see it?" she teased.
As the match progressed, Finn Stuart secured a crucial game. The umpire's announcement of "game, Finn Stuart" was met with a worrying and angry expression on Erick's face, visible on the screen. The commentator added to the tension, remarking, "Oh, may I not jinx it. But Mr. Robertson is in trouble now."
Initially displaying concern as he glanced at his brother, Derrick's expression shifted to a small grin as the match continued.
Veronica, ever curious, posed a question to Derrick. "So, how would you handle such a situation?" she asked, but her inquiry was met with silence, as Derrick remained lost in thought. However, Veronica had her own answer ready. "Well, I know what I would have done. People who love backspin defensive and deceptive tactics are scared pussies. So I would have amped up my aggression and speed and played an all-rounder game," she declared confidently.
Derrick acknowledged her strategy, adding, "Yeah, but the guy is not all just defensive. He patiently waits and chooses his shots. And they are almost perfect every time. What a talent!"
As they watched the match unfold, the commentators marveled at the skill displayed. "Beautiful! Another one. It's becoming ridiculous now," one exclaimed, while the other remarked, "Look at that beauty of a shot. If it were up to me, ladies and gentlemen, I would marry it."
Veronica laughed at the commentator's enthusiasm, but the mood shifted when Erick's serve was called out. "Your brother is becoming more dispirited now," she observed, noting his frustration. However, before Erick repeated the serve, he cast an intense gaze towards someone in the stands, wearing a fierce expression and giving his opponent a nasty smirk.
The umpire announced "fifteen-all," and despite Veronica choking on her fourth sip, she remained engrossed in the match, straightening her back to focus. "That's enough of this for me today," she declared, sensing the intensity of the moment.
As the match reached its climax with a bombardment of aces, Erick managed to secure the game. "We might be witnessing a comeback here. I think you just might have jinxed it," the second commentator remarked.
Perplexed by the turn of events, Veronica sought answers from Derrick. "What the hell is going on?" she asked, her expression reflecting her confusion. Derrick, his grin fading, turned off the TV and faced Veronica with a sad expression. "Erick slightly altered the angle of the ball and its direction. On the screen, it may seem similar, but it's absolutely different," he explained.
Impressed, Veronica inquired, "How did you see it?" Derrick responded matter-of-factly, "Because I have played with him. Come on, let's finish our jog. I have rested now."
Veronica laughed at his response. "Oh, you were really tired then," she teased, as Derrick headed for the door. "Come on, let's go," he urged, ready to resume their jog.