Game, set and match to being a good loser

At the age of 19, I was the fast bowler for sandhurst village cricket team. one of our fixtures was against the President’s XI, when local dignitaries would turn out to play us for charity.

I found myself facing Mr randall, headmaster of the local church school. as I had attended the council school, I peppered him with my fastest deliveries until I shattered his wicket.

During the tea interval, Mr randall approached me. ‘Do you play tennis?’ he asked.

‘no, sir,’ I replied. ‘I’ve only played a couple of games.’

‘that’s a pity,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a court erected in the school playground and I need someone to give me a game. I’ll supply you with some tea.’

‘thank you, sir, I’d love to play,’ I said.

one of my team mates sidled up to me. ‘you must be mad — he played international tennis and he’ll demolish you.’ ‘But I promised,’ I said. My team mate was right. I lost game after game, dashing from one side of the court to the other.

‘I’m enjoying this,’ said my opponent.

‘I’m sure you are,’ I muttered through gritted teeth.

then, suddenly age began to tell. He started to breathe hard, failed to reach deep returns and I knew I could win.

then came the proudest moment of my life.

‘ Mr randall,’ I said. ‘ I’m shattered. Do you think we could stop?’

‘er, are you sure?’ I detected his relief.

‘yes,’ I replied. ‘I’ve had a good tennis lesson, and I’m exhausted.’

Mr randall came to the net, and shook my hand. We both knew I’d had more than a lesson in tennis. I, too, became a head- master, and to win humbly and lose graciously was a lesson I have taught ever since.