DOES anybody remember Chinese movies on Sunday mornings when we were kids? Unlike nowadays, they were not dubbed in English or Filipino back then. And the subtitles were, painfully, still in Chinese. It's like knowing something is going on but they just won't let you in.
Well for the most part, they are Kung Fu movies. Masters and students. The master teaches every fighting style he knows, but ends up getting killed by his student – who molds his own style to match that of his master.
I thought about it now while preparing for a badminton tournament. I took up the sport a few years ago, and after a while I convinced several of my friends to play it also. One of them is Volt, my friend from way back.
Because he started out playing with me, he somehow mastered my moves. And much to my dismay, he developed a perfect antidote against my style. Somehow, he knows when I'm hitting a smash or flicking a drop shot corner of the net just by looking at how I arched my arms.
My fancy for that feathery crosscourt net shot just won't work against him anymore. Now I have a hard time winning against him.
Well, last Saturday our paths crossed once again. We went against each other with separate partners.
We won first set, 21-12, something that surprised me because I was expecting a lot of fight from him and his partner who is an advanced player among females in their lineup.
There were a lot of spots in defense, and the returns are just a tad short of the usual, allowing us perfect opportunities to place our shots. Second set, they showed some pride. With us leading 18-14, they raced back and tied the score.
That was major test of character and, if it were actually a Kung Fu movie, that's the part where the students taunt the master, by saying ``you think you can beat me huh?!
Well in fairness to Volt and his partner, they didn't say any word to that effect. Instead, they silently worked their way out of the hole, firing well-placed shots while me and my partner frantically attempted to stop the bleeding.
A deep lob shot to the left corner box made it 19-18 in their favor, but I flicked a drop shot to the right to make it even. My partner served, Volt once again lifted it to my back-hand. I got ahead of the shuttlecock and lifted it back. They missed.
We served. Long rally took place. But it was clear our rivals' partnership still lacked seasons. They lined up in attacking position to the left, and match-point fell like a burning arrow to the unguarded side of their court.
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