Formidable Fred

- an extract from 'Moon Walking' and the winner of Writer's Billboard Flash Fiction Competition September 2010. Also long listed for the 'Fish' One Page Prize in 2011.

Tim had watched at least seven of them get totally demolished.  In fact the scrawny unkempt old man made them all look like beginners.  Surely it couldn't be that hard to win could it?

The Parnell Tennis Club had been having this informal competition every Wednesday now for a month and so far no one had beaten Fred.

"There's fifty bucks prize money if you beat him," said the organiser to Tim as he continued to watch spellbound.

"Are you game mate? Come on, you've got nothing to lose except your dignity!"

At thirty, Tim was an experienced player and considerably better than most of the opponents he'd seen Fred playing against today.  With this in mind he felt confident.

"Ok," said Tim picking up his tennis racquet and walking onto the court to shake hands with Fred.  Brushing his faded orange hair out of his crazy blue eyes Fred asked,

"Which weapon shall I use?" Tim studied the peculiar options and chose the oddest one of all.

"And use your left hand since you're right handed," Tim added as an afterthought.

"Ok," said Fred with a slightly idiotic look on his face.  Fred was such an oddity Tim was having trouble taking him seriously. He had no idea how Fred even managed to hit the ball with all that unkempt hair in his eyes.

Tim's plan was to hit the ball hard, drive Fred to the base line and then come into the net for the kill.  He would annihilate his serve too.  Fred  couldn't possibly serve playing with that thing could he?

The game began and Tim just couldn't believe it.  The ball would come towards him looking as if it was a forehand and then at the last minute it would swing round to his backhand.  There was so much spin on it that Tim was lucky if he even got his racquet to it let alone hit it.  No matter what he tried, fifteen minutes later with a score of 6-0 Tim had become another of Formidable Fred's unfortunate victims.

"Did you know Fred was the Wimbledon Junior Champion sixty years ago?" asked the organiser seeing the look of distress on Tim's face as he left the court.

"But that's not the point, is it?  I'm using a tennis racket and he's playing with a kitchen tray!"

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