Chicago

An amazing weekend at the Racquet Club of Chicago. Didn’t leave the club for over fifty straight hours. Why leave, when there was a ton of racquets play (doubles, played with a guy named Colt who galloped through very exciting matches, saving three match points, great rallies); squash doubles; squash singles; and the piece de resistance: real tennis. The court, restored after seventy-six years, is magnificient.

It has a unique, Chicago touch: Billy, the rat-catching dog, is emblazoned on the hazard-side wall, where a crown or something usually goes; and a half dozen rats, alive or dead, are scattered along the red bandeau. 

A gaggle of world champions on site; dozens of overseas visitors from the four other tennis-playing nations; the incomparable RCOC food. I found a copy of my squash book at half past one in the morning behind the bar in the library. Very nice. 

Of course, everyone had trouble extricting themselves once Hurricane Sandy arrived on the East Coast. I got lucky and slipped onto a flight Sunday evening (after cancellations, standby’s, etc.). Other guys drove or waited it out. Some only got home on Thursday afternoon. But there are worse places to be stranded than in Chicago at a club with a brand-new real tennis court.

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