The thrill of victory and ...
I chant his name over and over in my head as if to send him luck. The serve goes over the net; then the return comes right back. A brief moment of joy hits me when the ball nearly looks as if it was “out.” My reaction mirrors that of the audience members, who shriek and then quickly shush each other. Nobody wants to ruin Andy Murray’s focus.
The commentators remain silent knowing the last few minutes of the game may very well be happening in front of them. I cringe every time a monotone announcer calls out the score, letting his voice echo within the Wimbledon stage. Hearing that Novak Djokovic has the advantage yet again on this recent deuce makes my heart beat faster. I chant Murray’s name again and again. I try to fill the silence with anything but doubt.
Murray twists his racket back and forth with a flick of his wrist. He throws the tennis ball adamantly at the ground and lets it bounce back to him with each throw. Just as the rhythm becomes steady, he launches the ball into the air. Before anyone has a chance to hold their breath, Murray’s back arches; his arms go up; his racket makes contact; and the game is back underway.
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