Sports fans, this was truly a giant week in Legends history. After realizing that a comeback and sweet redemption has been mathematically impossible since the sixth week of winter term, we have truly embraced the senior spring philosophy and gone for the long ball — things we would not usually have any CHANCE of success in, but we have always wanted to try. Spoiler alert: we really have had no success in many of these things, but they have been a blast.
In this week’s episode of the saga of the Rec League Legends, we explore the best choice I have ever made at Dartmouth College to date: taking table tennis as my final P.E. credit. This selection was divinely inspired not simply by an unexplained love for cult classic “Balls of Fury” (2007), but by a long-standing inter-family rivalry over what is intended to be good, clean family fun.
In the Major household, table tennis is equivalent to war. Lines are drawn, allegiances are formed and what starts out harmless usually ends in tears, just like any family over recreational sports. So, to truly become the best player in the house and prove a point, I did what any normal person would do and came to Dartmouth to master my art. Hence, P.E. table tennis on Tuesday and Thursday nights, supplemented, of course, by practice with a different variation of the game every other night of the week.
After the first day of class, I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about the art and strategy that is table tennis. My go to “hit it as hard as you can and hope for the best” strategy was what some might call “outdated,” “bad form” or “really ineffective,” so I had some work to do. But the fact that I won’t graduate if I don’t keep attending helped with maintaining the routine, and I got a little better.
Of course, being a Rec League Legend lends itself to one thing: taking a stroke of mediocrity, blowing it out of proportion and challenging people who are far superior to you to a competition that you cannot possibly win. Hey, it has sort of worked out so far, so why stop now?
Long story short, I challenged our teacher, Aaron Goldman ’15, who sits near the top of the club table tennis ladder.
My preparation was pretty standard: don’t think about it until an hour before the start, take a quick power nap to get my head in the right spot, hit snooze a couple of times, show up a little late, make up a good excuse and then get down to business.
Aaron let me warm up for the hour that was class. Definitely a head-game thing — I see you, Aaron. Anyway, post-class, the room cleared out and the show began.
By the show, I mean that Aaron had to explain the actual rules of table tennis to me because I had actually been playing by the wrong ones for, I don’t know, like my entire life. Apparently it’s a best of five series with each game going to 11 points, win by two. You serve twice. In my family, we usually just played until someone left the house screaming and crying. After we got the actual rules all squared away, we started.
I won the start-up and felt like luck was on my side. I served first, a spin with so much backspin, I could not even fathom a return. But it happened, and allegedly hit the table. I am not sure because I didn’t see it. Down 0-1 in the first, no big deal. Pretty much the same thing happened the next time. Then Aaron served and I actually could not return the first two. On the second round, I got a hold of one, but it did not even go close the table. Not a great start, true, but definitely not an obstacle we could not overcome.
Down 0-8 in the first set, brilliance happened, sports fans. After what a significant rally of, like, four hits, Aaron hit it just long, literally three millimeters, and I broke the shut-out, or as I like to refer to it, secured the moral victory. The first game ended 11-1 Aaron, essentially a draw.
However, according to “the rules,” I “lost” and, unfortunately, the next two games went pretty much in the same fashion. Although, it is important to note here that I never got bagelled. A victory? Not according to the rule book. A reason to celebrate? No question.
