Cold Case In Ellyson

and if you doubt me, take a look at my face. My partner and I were playing people we didn’t know from another state, and in the second game of the match, while both of us were up at net, one of our opponents hit an overhead squarely at my face. I said overhead, not volley, meaning striking downward on the ball with force for a putaway. Well, she put it away all right. My visor and sunglasses flew off. The impact drove my glasses into my cheekbone and here, three days later, I still have an ugly cut and swollen, not-quite-black eye. Hmmm.

Earlier this week, my son showed me his side after football practice. He had been cleated and had a nasty little cut. I called him “Pierce” the rest of the week. But I get that in football. It’s a collision of arms, legs, helmets, and you never know what’s going to happen. But tennis? There’s time for pre-planning in that sport. And I feel she was sending me a message.

There’s only one other time I’ve ever been hit in the face, and that’s when I was a cop. My partner and I cornered this suspect next to a building. At 5’3″, I was the easiest door to get through. He ran me over, and in the process hit my face. But I get that in the hunt for criminals. But tennis? Really?