Mike, the Squash Hustler, the Porsche 911, and the Biggest Surprise of All

If you asked anyone who knew us, they’d tell you there were only three things Mike truly loved in life: squash, free dinners, and convincing me I was about to beat him.

Unfortunately, all three were connected.

Every Tuesday and Thursday we’d meet at the squash courts. Mike would walk in carrying the same ancient racquet with strings that looked like they’d survived the Jurassic period.

“You ready?” he’d grin.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“I know,” he’d reply. “That’ll make this more expensive.”

Our tradition was simple.

Loser bought dinner.

It sounded fair.

It wasn’t.

The first few months I figured I was just having bad luck.

After six months I was financing half the restaurant industry in Victoria.

Mike somehow won every close game.

Balls that should have hit the tin would magically roll over it.

Shots that should have bounced out somehow kissed the wall like they’d signed a contract with him.

One evening I finally asked him.

“Mike…how do you keep winning?”

He shrugged.

“I just hit it where you aren’t.”

“That’s impossible.”

“So is paying for this many steaks.”

Week after week I’d buy dinner.

Steak.

Prime rib.

Sushi.

Italian.

Seafood.

Mike claimed he was “helping the local economy.”

I claimed he was committing organized squash.

One night after another heartbreaking 15-13 defeat, I slammed my racquet onto the bench.

“I’m never betting dinners again.”

Mike nodded.

“Good.”

“I mean it.”

“I agree.”

“No more bets.”

“Absolutely.”

There was a long pause.

Then he smiled.

“How about cars?”

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my water bottle.

“Sure, Mike.”

He extended his hand.

“First one to beat the other three matches in a row buys the winner a Porsche 911.”

“Deal.”

We shook hands.

Neither of us actually believed it.

Or so I thought.

Three months later…

Mike won.

Three straight.

I protested.

“The second game shouldn’t count! The fire alarm went off!”

“It was only during warmup.”

“The lights flickered.”

“For half a second.”

“My shoelace came untied.”

“Twice.”

“You distracted me.”

“I complimented your backhand.”

“Exactly!”

He smiled.

“So…when are we going to Victoria?”

I stared.

“You’re serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

That’s how I somehow found myself standing inside a Porsche dealership in Victoria.

The sales representative walked over.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

Mike pointed directly at a gorgeous silver Porsche 911 sitting on the showroom floor.

“He’s buying.”

The salesman looked at me.

I looked at Mike.

Mike looked at the Porsche.

The Porsche looked expensive.

Very expensive.

The salesman began listing options.

“This one has the sport package…”

Mike nodded thoughtfully.

“I like it.”

“It has premium leather…”

“I like leather.”

“It has ceramic brakes…”

“I don’t know what those are, but I definitely like them.”

The salesman smiled.

“And the price is…”

I interrupted.

“Actually…”

Mike folded his arms.

“A bet is a bet.”

I sighed dramatically.

“Fine.”

I reached into my pocket.

The salesman looked excited.

Mike looked victorious.

I slowly pulled out…

…a tiny toy Porsche 911.

About six inches long.

Bright red.

Battery powered.

I handed it to Mike.

“There you go.”

Silence.

The salesman blinked.

Mike stared at the little car.

“It has doors that open.”

More silence.

“It even has working headlights.”

The salesman tried not to laugh.

Mike finally picked it up.

“You absolute cheapskate.”

“You said Porsche 911.”

“I meant a real one.”

“You never specified.”

“You knew.”

“I heard no specifications.”

He examined the tiny car.

“I hate that this is technically correct.”

I smiled.

“Best twenty bucks I’ve ever spent.”

The salesman finally burst out laughing.

“So…you’re not actually buying the real one?”

“No.”

Mike sighed.

“I should’ve written a contract.”

We drove home in my fifteen-year-old pickup truck, with Mike holding his miniature Porsche in his lap the entire way.

For years afterward he’d place it on the dinner table before every squash match.

“This could’ve been real.”

I’d smile.

“So could your victory.”

Eventually we stopped betting dinners.

Mostly because we’d memorized every restaurant menu in the city.

We stopped betting cars too.

Mostly because toy Porsches apparently count.

Instead we started betting desserts.

That felt much safer.

One evening after another marathon match we sat outside watching the sunset.

Mike suddenly became unusually thoughtful.

“You know…”

“What?”

“I’ve always appreciated these games.”

“Me too.”

“Even if you did cheat me out of a Porsche.”

“I out-lawyered you.”

“You out-something’d me.”

We laughed.

There was a comfortable silence.

Finally Mike turned toward me with the strangest expression.

“I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I’ve known you for years.”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve played hundreds of squash matches.”

“Right.”

“We’ve eaten enough dinners together to feed a small village.”

“Probably.”

“We even drove to Victoria arguing over a toy Porsche.”

“I remember.”

“But there’s one thing I’ve never had the heart to tell you.”

I frowned.

“What is it?”

He took a deep breath.

“You’re…”

I leaned closer.

“…a terrible squash player?”

“No.”

“A terrible driver?”

“No.”

“A terrible bettor?”

“No.”

He smiled.

“You’re a moose.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“A moose.”

“I…”

“It explains everything.”

“The bad footwork.”

“The giant appetite.”

“The way you somehow take up the entire squash court.”

“The antlers.”

“I DON’T HAVE ANTLERS!”

Mike pointed at my reflection in the restaurant window.

I slowly turned.

Sure enough…

There they were.

Massive antlers.

Brown fur.

Big floppy ears.

Hooves.

I stared in complete disbelief.

“Wait…”

Mike couldn’t stop laughing.

“You never noticed?”

“I THOUGHT EVERYBODY LOOKED LIKE THIS!”

He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.

The waitress walked over carrying the dinner bill.

Without missing a beat she smiled politely.

“Separate bills for the gentleman…and the moose?”

Mike looked at me.

I looked at the bill.

The waitress looked at both of us.

I sighed.

“Fine.”

Mike grinned.

“Loser buys dinner.”

Some things, it turns out, never change.

 

BTW. If you see me doing 240 KMS on the insland island hwy again dont report me I am chasing that CANADA plate and white government van again he owes me one.