Dead F@!*#KING Last

I played tennis in high school. I didn't play very well, but I played.

And I enjoyed it. A lot.

I was like this guy, Henri Leconte. When he was playing, broadcasters use to say that Leconte was more concerned with hitting good shots than he was in winning matches. They could barely hold their disgust as they did. They felt that he could win more tournaments and get more out of his talent if he focused more on just winning. I heard a version of that sentiment from my coach when I was playing.

I liked hitting the strokes. Forehands and backhands, overheads and serves, drop shots and volleys, all I wanted to do was take control of the point and then hit shot after perfect shot until the rally was done. If I won, fine; but, the important thing was taking advantage of the opportunity to swing the racket, to rebound the ball off the sweet shot as often as possible.

My coach said I could win more matches if I cut my rallies short, ended play at the earliest possible opening. He was probably right. But that wouldn't have been any fun. Ending the points earlier would've meant less court time, not more.

And I just wanted to play.

I think that's why I'm so in love with this, a record of the performances of the least successful Olympians. Yeah, the author admits he started this, partly, because he's an enormous prick, to make fun of the big losers, but he also admits to doing it to celebrate participation over winning, to recording the achievements, such as they are, of athletes who just came to the games to play. I can dig that.