So I can understand why so many people die on the squash court.
I play a friendly game (supposedly) every week (in fact about seven times a year, but we've mananged three weeks straight this month) with another writer. He's better than me, but I am closing the gap and usually I win one or two of the four or five games we manage in the 45 minutes before the lights go out. It's usually a mild mannered affair, but today we had a small amount of disagreement about a few of the calls. I felt aggrieved because in the first game I played a let on a point that I had almost certainly won and subsequently all the uncertainties were also called in my cheating opponent's favour. He knows more about squash than I do so I bowed to his wisdom. Then it became a matter of pride that I should overcome the miscarriages of justice that were going on in Barnes this morning.
The testosterone was rising and I played like a man possessed, throwing myself around the court in the quest to win every point I could. At the time the red mist had descended I was losing the second game 7-3, but with my instinctive side taking over I managed to pull the score back to 8-7 to me. I was slightly shaking from the exertion. This was no longer a gentle game of squash between two slightly unfit men in their mid to late thirties, it was a battle for all that is true and fair.
Predictably I bottled it and he took the game 10-8 and eventually my indignant fury at his probably mainly correct calls died down. But the potent combination of extreme exercise and male hormones had created some incredible play and given me my best work out since the Marathon. All but one of the games were very close. He won three, I won one and was 8-3 up in the final game when predicatably the lights went out. This always happens. I suspect my opponent has a secret button in his pocket that can turn out the lights when things are looking bad for him.
In Scrabble and poker, also very competitive sports, you don't generally get this risk of death - unless like Wild Bill Hickock someone shoots you in the back whilst you're playing or the months of sitting in one place drinking booze, eating crisps and popping pills finally gets to you when you have a full house and your opponent has quad aces. There have been a couple of times that I think my girlfriend has nearly killed me over a game of Scrabble - always carry a dictionary with you to avoid life-threatening arguments.
But playing squash regularly probably increased your chances of not dying overall (compared to Scrabble and poker which take years off your life), though if I get as over-excited as I did today then before too long it might be my lights that are turned out prematurely.
