Will Hasell: tennis tragedy
In the highly anticipated sequel to the critically-acclaimed Will Hasell: Tragedy, I explore an isolated aspect in the life of this pathetic excuse for a person—tennis.
March 28, 2017
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Firstly, I must address the reader with my sincerest apologies. Though my intent is to outfit this article with the most eloquence I can muster, the subject is one of the vilest I have had the task of discussing. I am talking about William Rhett Hasell. Of course, I am only suffering to craft a discourse on a single element of this feeble-minded failure of a child’s life. Trying to understand any more in one sitting may well leave one with the inability to fend of incessant vomiting due to not only the inherent repugnance of his life, but also Hasell’s almost piteous inability to shower. Even after a tennis match, the thought of cleanliness seldom passes through his mind, and when it does it is met with an icy scoff and is quickly discarded. The subject I have discovered to be the root of Hasell’s ignominy is tennis. Hasell has “played” the sport nearly his entire life, yet by playing I mean something more along the lines of behaving as a dog would while attempt to pilot an airplane. He is not good.
For the express purpose of Hasell’s abysmal absence of any discernable skill he was awarded an expulsion from the high school tennis team his freshman year. This would seem to be a given for the rest of his years at East Lake, but after the 2014-2015 season the morale on the tennis team was quite low. How better to revive a dead team than to invite a laughingstock; a village idiot? So, Hasell was brought on and began to ceaselessly pollute the local tennis courts with his toxic presence as he attempted to improve his skillset. “Did he vastly improve and rise to become the top ranked player at our school?” you may ask. Well, no. He stagnated and stabilized at the bottom of the pack. He made the team his junior year because his saintly brother James felt ashamed of him and paid off the coaches to assure him a spot.
The proof of Hasell’s atrocious level of tennis competency is nearly omnipresent; it seems every place one looks they can find more evidence. Hasell has yet to win a match. This year he has an unbelievably unacceptable 0-1 record over the course of three singles matches, meaning that two of his opponents died after witnessing his nauseating technique. He mercilessly begged his twin brother’s friends to come to his first match of the year, and even lucratively remunerated his family for attending, yet when he set foot on the court he was emasculated. He lost the match 8-0, and he lost the already-nearly-extinguished respect his family held for him out of shame for their relation. One of the East Lake tennis players who isn’t a personification of a landfill like Hasell is, Benny Glazer, contributed heavily to the writing of this article. He not only supplied me with valuable inside information that Hasell, if asked directly, would have doubtlessly doctored to depict a less putrid image of himself, but Benny also proved to be the final Jenga block to be pulled before the crumbling of Hasell’s moral structure.
Benny, who moved to East Lake from the frigid tundra of Wisconsin over the summer, is the actual top ranked tennis player at East Lake High School. In any and every area, Benny proved to humiliate Hasell, and nowhere as badly as tennis. The two constantly face off in exhibition matches; Hasell, to finally assume his “rightful” place atop the pyramid of East Lake Tennis, and Benny, because he finds amusement in pummeling the pathetically confident challenger time and again. Hasell demonstrates no promise in all of his dreary life, but there are few outlets where the forlorn hermit fails to recognize his own shortcomings. If you were to ask Hasell if he was a gifted tennis player, he would likely respond affirmatively. This is the reason why his failures in tennis are the metaphorical Lake Victoria, sourcing the White Nile of disturbance and abhorrence that constitutes the heinous creature we know. That is, in the truest sense the phrase, a tennis tragedy.