Old-Fashioned SquashPower v. Nicol in the Tournament of Champions Final |
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In this post-dot-bomb, post-Enron world, however, such conventions are not the leading modus operandi. Instead, the model is Jonathon Power. He strikes like lightning: quick, lethal, inconsistent, with a loud thunderclap of scowls and protests presaging his arrival and destruction littering the ground upon his exit. He would be the equal of J. Khan (you pick) if he only got in shape, and yet you secretly know that he should not. He needs to be the bad boy. He needs the entourage of coach, manager, racquet representative, glamorous wife and often his father. He needs the unruly hair, the skullcap, the leather jacket, a tatterdemalion just off King's Road. He thrives on a wonderfully complete distaste for preparation. Instead of chanting mantras behind a screen or below the bleachers like other players, he has to stand in the milling crowd behind the court for 15 minutes before his match, soaking in the vibe of the evening. Instead of carefully taking off and folding his pre-game sweatsuit, he needs to step out like a boy hurrying to recess, without his hands, stomping, turning them inside-out. (To find out who won and read about the road to the final, see Squash Magazine, March 2002.) |
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