It was the early 70s and I was an undergraduate student at Penn State playing handball for my fraternity. In case you're not familiar with handball it’s played in a solid rectangular shaped room with a small blue ball. It's not as soft as a tennis ball and not as hard as a golf ball. It's a small hollow rubber ball and on your hands you wear tight leather gloves which have the slightest bit of padding. The first couple times you play your hands swell up something fierce, until they get used to the pounding. I was pretty good at handball probably because I was small and quick with good hand-eye coordination. That was the thing I could do to contribute to the intramural standings of our fraternity. So I was in a single elimination tournament, best out of three, and I was working my way up. About halfway up the chart I met a worthy opponent. He was a slender, wiry fellow with long blond hair with quite a bit of facial hair, certainly more than I cou...
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