Robotic crosscourt rallies

Last time out at the Chi-Slam Table Tennis Club, I caused all kinds of trouble with my illegal anti-spin bat (see blog post “Anti-Spin”). Tonight I was to be without my secret weapon, as the club owner Ardy was kindly letting me try out a proper, sticky, and most importantly legal paddle.

I was a rather antsy passenger on the number 9 bus that was taking me there, due to the number of questions that were to be answered tonight. Could I adapt to a new bat? What would my game style be with it? And worryingly, was my table tennis success to date entirely down to having a wickedly devious piece of equipment?

“Spin or Speed?” asked Ardy. It was a good question and one I probably should have given more thought to on the bus. I had no idea what I was looking for from my new bat, so I did what I always do when I don’t know what I want – stand awkwardly and silently until the decision is made for me. The bat Ardy picked out for me was marked solely with Chinese writing, so I assumed it must be good.

The first shot I hit flew way past the table. Wow, this thing was seriously powerful, the slightest touch sending it catapulting off the pat with a degree of disrespect for the laws of physics. But I quickly adapted and soon my practice partner Alfredo and I were engaging in these kind of robotic crosscourt rallies that look very impressive to an onlooker. It was great. With this bad I could play professional style table tennis at long last.

Although tonight was more about discovery and practice, I did record two satisfying victories. One over Aldredo (who I found easy to beat if I used strategy, but was of an even standard to me if I didn’t) and a jovial fellow who showed his inexperience by laughing off my suggestion of a game to eleven, instead opting for the now well outdated up-to-21 scoring system.

When it came time to return my bat to Ardy, he was smoothly trading crosscourt forehands with his wife. This made me wonder if he married a table tennis player or if she had learned since, either way, when your home is a table tennis club that doesn’t close until 10 every night, I think you have little choice but to become an expert. I was so pleased with the way I had rubbished my concerns on the bus that I told Ardy I would be back next week to buy the bat. I would have to start saving money. And fast – it costs $80.