an entreaty on table tennis

Snap, crackle, pop are the sounds of the ping pong ball as its destiny is chosen by the stroke of a red paddle. The competitors’ grunts rise higher than the small, nevertheless, formidable net. Efforts put forth by each opponent were written on their brows as the sweat beads glistened. With each passing volley, the pressure stifles; the tension increases. Points were scored on one side more than the other.

I have chosen to forget the final score of the ping pong game. I lost bad. And I was really trying

In conclusion, I lose a lot of things: sunglasses, my train of thought, any sort of friendly competitions. The heartbreaking part about losing this particular match, is I considered table tennis the one sport I might be considered good at. Not so, Zeus intend me to be a loser paragon.  I comforted myself with pizza, beer, and bulldog.

Ping pong is still a good game to play on muddy days.

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