The White Tape

The ball stops dead at the top of the net and then trickles onto the other side. Sorry, I say to my opponent, out of instinct. Sorry for what, I'm not sure. I'll take this point. The tennis ball did fall on his side of the court. I'll take this point all day long. I serve the ball and my opponent wallops his return with an aggressive stroke. The white tape catches the ball with that distinct crack. The little, yellow tennis ball then trickles over onto my side. I shake my head in disgust. What a cheap shot.