The competition

Every Tuesday evening I am playing tennis with a friend in Schlieren, a suburb of Zurich. The first thing you want to do after arriving in Schlieren with the S-Bahn is jumping in front of the next incoming intercity train from Bern or Basel. In other words: Schlieren is slightly depressing. We have rented court no. 5 at the Vitis tennis center for the whole winter season, starting time 9 p.m. Sometimes we play one hour, sometimes two, depending if we have rescheduled an earlier date. What sounds like a pretty weekly ritual is actually a psychological nightmare. We love each other before playing, we love each other after playing, we hate each other while playing. Usually my friend wins the first set, and I win the second. We almost never have enough time to play a third one. I am very much convinced that I would take it (as is my friend). It’s a huge disadvantage when we only play 60 minutes, because, as said before, I always lose the first set. When I tell people about our ongoing competition they (usually more women than men) either show some irritation or they tell us slightly amused what idiots we are. They might be right. We don’t care, competition makes our boring lives a little more exciting, and every Tuesday night is a nightmare.