Badminton Ain't For The Faint-Hearted

I heart Taufik Hidayat. Okay, okay, so considering that a coupla weeks ago, I had nary an idea of who he was, I can safely say that at the very least I really, really like him. Of course, not in the way that I really, really like David Beckham. And of course, a comparison to what I have for Marat Safin is out of the question. But Hidayat’s fancy wristwork and lightning agility, which have recently earned him the distinction of being the first shuttler to hold the Olympic and World Championship titles at the same time, have inspired in me delusions of athletic grandeur. Man, I wish I had an ounce of that guy’s talent. Following the plausible premise that we want that which we cannot have, which has that which we do not have (feeling lost? this would help explain why some of us tend to keep dreaming the Eternal Dream even when there's someone perfectly okay--then again, okay is perfectly relative--waiting for us when we wake up to sordid reality), I hereby conclude that I heart Taufik Hidayat.

Seriously now. I would love to improve my game and bring it to a level wherein the plays are characterized by dazzling legwork, sharp returns, and smashes that whizz past at breakneck speeds. I don't even care if I'd be the bumbling underdog; I just wanna play a mean game like that. (The term playing would presuppose being able to return the service and keep the ball in play long enough to not make you seem a total ditz opposite your opponent.)

I shared this with Jubert (my ESPN/Star Sports/Sports Plus buddy) and Zel (the closest thing I have to a badminton mentor). The last time we talked, I picked up a few pointers from Zel and came away wanting to immerse myself in formal lessons and grueling practice. On the court, everyone tries to steer clear of Zel coz when you're not careful enough, she can hurt you real bad. (I'm not just talking about bruised egos here.) Zel says she she's crap when she’s playing with her badminton club friends. I hate the implications of this. If she's crap, then that would make me pond scum. I can’t stand the thought of being pond scum.

Jubert, on the other hand, rarely subjects you to pain during play, although he's caught me by surprise once (I mean, the palpitation-inducing kind of surprise that could traumatize). When we're partners, we like to think we can get away with many things. But when the laissez-faire syndrome starts creeping in and we've messed up one shot too many, that's when the real fun begins, when the competition is neck-on-neck.

All this reliving of nifty play moments has got me all giddy for this Friday's game. Which reminds me. Gotta ring up Lejan to invite her. I sure miss that girl. Well, not Lejan the person per se (we see each other from time to time, after all), but Lejan the memory. Lejan the college partner-in-crime, from them Stat days of old. But that's another story to be told another time. Right now, I'm in the mood for a roar: Vamos!