Divorce Court
Let me start by saying that I love my husband. Seriously, I really do. Not only is he my partner in crime, but he’s also kind, funny, an incredible father, and one of the smartest people I know. But there’s one small detail: he’s competitive. Like, very competitive.
I met Mike on a blind date in Chicago after we had both graduated from college. Though I had missed his glory days of youth and collegiate sports, it was clear that sports were his first love. I, too, come from a competitive sports background. My boys love to hear about my own “glory days,” particularly when I scored the highest points on my eighth-grade girls’ basketball team back at Pioneer Junior High. I bring it up at least three times a week.
I actually started playing tennis as an adult so I wouldn’t look like a complete slacker during Mike’s family’s summer matches. Spoiler alert: his family is just as competitive. They’re lovely, but let’s be real—they play to win. Apples don’t fall far from the tree and all that.
So, we decided to take our love to the courts and team up for the Club Championship mixed doubles tournament “just for fun.”
We thought it’d be a refreshing twist on our weekly date night: some fresh air, a little exercise, and maybe a sweet kiss at the end. You know, a cute rom-com moment. But let’s be honest—the moment the first serve was hit, that motto vanished faster than my chances of scoring a point.
What starts as a friendly outing quickly morphs into a real-life relationship stress test. Those innocent words of “It’s just a game!” fade into the background, replaced by steely glares and whispers of “Did you really just miss that?” The stakes rise higher and suddenly, we’re not just out there enjoying the sun; we’re out for blood. Or one of us definitely is. Take down our opponents (all of whom are good friends), make no mistakes and seal the victory with a kiss. Doesn’t always go exactly as planned.
One memorable match had us both lunging for the same ball. I stand firmly on the belief that it was mine (and my face can back that claim), but Mike came in like a linebacker, taking me out and standing over me in shock like he’d just knocked over a very confused tree. That one hurt. A lot.
It’s also always interesting to observe how the opposing couple is handling the emotional roller coaster. Everyone is all smiles and extra chatty when they’re winning, but if the momentum starts shifting, the silence creeps in. Eye rolls become more noticeable. Arms are thrown up in the air at the inability to hit a winner. If a marriage counselor wanted to make a quick buck, all they’d need to do is set up shop on the sidelines during a third-set tiebreaker. You’d have couples arguing over who gets to serve while their marriage teeters on the brink. “Why can’t you just let me have this one?!”
But, alas, we march on… to the court and gear up for another match. I remind myself that it’s not about winning or losing; it’s about love, laughter, and the occasional, uh, “friendly fire.” Cheers to mixed doubles—where each match offers a new opportunity to challenge our patience and strengthen our bond, one volley at a time.