Doubles Tennis Quotes

I mean, five gods in one stomach—dang. That's enough for doubles tennis, including a ref. They'd been down there so long, they were probably hoping Kronos would swallow down a deck of cards or a Monopoly game.

The only number that would ever be enough is 0. Zero pounds, zero life, size zero, double-zero, zero point. Zero in tennis is love. I finally get it.

The number doesn't matter. If I got down to 070.00, I'd want to be 065.00. If I weight 010.00, I wouldn't be happy until I got down to 005.00. The only number that would ever be enough is 0. Zero pounds, zero life, size zero, double-zero, zero point. Zero in tennis is love. I finally get it.

Marina del Rey, where Segretti lived, was on the water and, if you believed the ads, represented the ultimate in swinging-singles living. Lots of sailing, saunas, mixed-doubles tennis, pools, parties, candlelight, long-stemmed glasses, Caesar salads, tanned bodies, mixed double-triple-multiple kinkiness in scented sandalwood splendor.

Bernstein passed the reporters’ information about Segretti on to Meyers, who was staking out Segretti’s apartment and talking to his neighbors. Marina del Rey, where Segretti lived, was on the water and, if you believed the ads, represented the ultimate in swinging-singles living. Lots of sailing, saunas, mixed-doubles tennis, pools, parties, candlelight, long-stemmed glasses, Caesar salads, tanned bodies, mixed double-triple-multiple kinkiness in scented sandalwood splendor.

Do you think we're being robbed?" I whispered. He nodded gravely, then crawled over to my closet and opened it. "Did you want to borrow something more formal to wear for the robbery? I'm not sure I have anything in your size." "Shh," he whispered. "Don't you at least have a tennis racket or anything?" "You think they came here looking for a doubles partner?" He turned quickly and gave me a look, then whipped a Wiffle bat out of the mess. "Wow," I said. "You jock-type people really are single-minded, aren't you? Uh-oh, we're being robbed. Let's play ball!" "It's for a weapon," Carson whispered. "You're gonna hit them with a Wiffle bat?" "What else you got?" "Um...A pillow" "Exactly" ... "Stay behind me," he whispered. "Can I just say that I never knew this about me before, but weirdly enough this whole protective he-man thing actually turns me on." "Josie." "What," I asked. "Shut Up." I grabbed my pillow, just in case, so to speak, and tiptoed behind him around the mussed-up bed. "Maybe we should just hide in the closet." He turned around, rolled his eyes and kissed me. "Shh," he repeated.

Near Shepherd’s Bush two thousand Beta-Minus mixed doubles were playing Riemann-surface tennis.

And one other thing: don't ask me about the weather. I don't much remember what the weather has been like during my life. True, I can remember how hot sun gave greater impetus to sex; how sudden snow delighted, and how cold, damp days set off those early symptoms that eventually led to a double hip replacement. But nothing significant in my life ever happened during, let alone because of, weather. So if you don't mind, meteorology will play no part in my story. Though you are free to deduce, when I am found playing grass-court tennis, that it was neither raining nor snowing at the time.

One Saturday in the month of August, you leave your home wearing your tennis gear, accompanied by your wife. In the middle of the garden you point out to her that you’ve forgotten your racket in the house. You go back to look for it, but instead of making your way toward the cupboard in the entryway where you normally keep it, you head down into the basement. Your wife doesn’t notice this. She stays outside. The weather is fine. She’s making the most of the sun. A few moments later she hears a gunshot. She rushes into the house, cries out your name, notices that the door to the stairway leading to the basement is open, goes down, and finds you there. You’ve put a bullet in your head with the rifle you had carefully prepared. On the table, you left a comic book open to a double-page spread. In the heat of the moment, your wife leans on the table; the book falls closed before she understands that this was your final message.

their mother.” All over England, other citadels of the British class system were falling to the Poles. One 303 Squadron pilot, shot down during the Battle of Britain, parachuted onto an exclusive golf course, landing near the eighth tee. The men playing the hole insisted on carting the dazed flier off to the clubhouse for drinks. Another parachuting pilot drifted into a copse near a private tennis club in the London suburbs. Three club members observed his descent as they awaited the arrival of a fourth for their weekly doubles match. They helped extricate the Pole from the trees and, giving up on their expected fourth, asked if he played. When the young pilot said he did, he was dressed in borrowed white flannels and was soon on the court, borrowed racket in hand.

Florian Purganan is a teaching pro at Mill Creek Tennis Club. He played his collegiate tennis at Seattle University and played number 1 for the 2001 season. He has been playing tennis since he was 10 years old, having trained at the Baguio Tennis Club in the Philippines where he grew up. He is currently rated NTRP 4.5, and has been to the USTA Nationals. He brings enthusiasm, positive energy, and a love for the game of tennis. He is available for private lessons, and is currently assisting with the junior program, ladies cup teams, and mixed doubles teams. Florian graduated from Seattle University in 2001 with a Bachelors of Arts degree in Psychology. He then earned his J.D. at Seattle University in 2004. He is fluent in Tagalog.

The hardest thing in tennis is to forget the double fault or the missed chances, and most players can’t. Only the very good ones clean them out and really look forward to the next chance.

Most good doubles players serve down the middle at least 80 percent of the time. If both you and your partner are right-handed, consider putting the stronger backhand service return, and/or backhand volley, in the deuce (right) court and the stronger forehand service return, and/or forehand volley, in the ad (left) court.

A woman dressed for tennis and clutching a digital camera did a double take, looking at the suited thugs and then at me as if wondering if she’d seen me on television. No, no, they’re not my bodyguards, I felt like saying. They’re just here to break my kneecaps if I run. Or maybe break them anyway. We’ll see how the day goes.

fun challenges. Losses inspire them to work harder to improve and pressure moments of a match are longed for rather than dreaded. As Billie Jean King said in the title of her recent book, “Pressure is a Privilege.

There are three types of teams, each of which requires different types of management and organization. The first type of team is like a pair of doubles tennis partners. It is a small team, in which each person adapts to the abilities of the other. Players have a primary responsibility, but can play many different roles. The second type of team is like a soccer or football team, in which each person has a given position, but the whole team moves together. The third team type is like a baseball team, in which all players have an assigned position and play on the team, rather than as a team. This model is akin to the traditional Detroit automaker, where each person has his or her assigned task. Organizations have to decide which type of team fits best, a decision that affects the entire organizational culture. Mixed teams don’t work; they just confuse everyone involved. Increasingly, organizations are becoming more like soccer or tennis teams, in which each member has to take more personal responsibility in making decisions. In such organizations, managers must inspire, rather command. You must fit the appropriate management style for your team type.

Never ever get mad at yourself if you miss a ball, lose a point, or double fault.

axis, all of those straight-ish lines would look like the first graph above of Andy’s tribble family—horizontal most of the way, then suddenly close to vertical at the end. And there would really be no way to graph them all together—the numbers involved are just too different. Logarithmic scaling takes care of these issues and allows us to get a clear overall picture of improvement in digital gear. It’s clear that many of the critical building blocks of computing—microchip density, processing speed, storage capacity, energy efficiency, download speed, and so on—have been improving at exponential rates for a long time. To understand the real-world impacts of Moore’s Law, let’s compare the capabilities of computers separated by only a few doubling periods. The ASCI Red, the first product of the U.S. government’s Accelerated Strategic Computing Initiative, was the world’s fastest supercomputer when it was introduced in 1996. It cost $55 million to develop and its one hundred cabinets occupied nearly 1,600 square feet of floor space (80 percent of a tennis court) at Sandia National Laboratories in New Mexico.10 Designed for calculation-intensive tasks like simulating nuclear tests, ASCI Red was the first computer to score above one teraflop—one trillion floating point operations* per second—on the standard benchmark test for computer speed. To reach this speed it used eight hundred kilowatts per hour, about as much as eight hundred homes would. By 1997, it had reached 1.8 teraflops.

I myself didn’t currently have a lot of reading time, but if I were rich and had no need to work doubles and overtime and weekends and holidays, forget the tennis club or bridge with the ladies, I’d spend all my time reading and playing with my dogs.

And with a movement like a tennis serve, she heaved another enormous crystal sphere from her bag, waved her wand through the air, and caused the ball to speed across the hall and smash through a window. At the same moment, the heavy wooden front doors burst open, and more of the gigantic spiders forced their way into the entrance hall. Screams of terror rent the air: The fighters scattered, Death Eaters and Hogwartians alike, and red and green jets of light flew into the midst of the oncoming monsters, which shuddered and reared, more terrifying than ever. “How do we get out?” yelled Ron over all the screaming, but before either Harry or Hermione could answer they were bowled aside: Hagrid had come thundering down the stairs, brandishing his flowery pink umbrella. “Don’t hurt ’em, don’t hurt ’em!” he yelled. “HAGRID, NO!” Harry forgot everything else: He sprinted out from under the Cloak, running bent double to avoid the curses illuminating the whole hall. “HAGRID, COME BACK!” But he was not even halfway to Hagrid when he saw it happen: Hagrid vanished amongst the spiders, and with a great scurrying, a foul swarming movement, they retreated under the onslaught of spells, Hagrid buried in their midst. “HAGRID!

Bertie became a tennis ace, who played in the doubles of the 1926 Wimbledon championships. And he held a unique cricketing hat-trick, dismissing in three consecutive balls, in a game of garden cricket, three consecutive English kings: his grandfather ( Edward VII), his father (George V), and his brother (Edward VIII).

Your Fingerprint and The Cyclone Fence Stand at the baseline. Raise your index and with your finger print about 8 to 12 inches from your face. Focus until you can see your fingerprint perfectly. Everything beyond your finger will be out of focus and most likely appear as double vision. From your fingerprint, shift your focus to the far fence, pick a small object on the fence on which to focus, preferably at the same height which you would be looking at the toss. Did you feel your focus shifting away? Take your focus back and forth from your fingerprint to the back fence until you experience your focus traveling back and forth in between these two objects you are taking turns to focus. Shift your focus as smoothly and quickly as possible between the two objects. This will exercise your eyes to smoothly shift focus. Once you begin to feel very comfortable, then experiment with focusing on the far fence all the way to your fingerprint and have your focus shift as fast as possible, as though you were following a ball in flight. Now do this faster and faster. The focus of your eyes, can shift at well over 100 MPH, but the exact number, or if any limit exists is not known by me. Now go and rally some tennis balls and try to maintain focus on the ball during an entire rally.  Of course, when you are tracking you can work to keep the ball fairly close to the center of your vision. Action Items: * Exercise above for up to 5 minutes each day for one week. * After one week, use as 30 second to 1 minute warm up. * Also use when you have been overpowered by speed of shot.

There is another me in the remaining cell. He is wearing a white tennis shirt, shorts and oversized mirrorshades, lounging in a deck chair by a swimming pool. He has a book in his lap: Le Bouchon de cristal. One of my favorites, too. ‘It got you again,’ he says, not bothering to look up. ‘Again. What is that, three times in a row now? You should know by now that it always goes for tit-for-tat.’ ‘I almost got it this time.’ ‘That whole false memory of cooperation thing is a good idea,’ he says. ‘Except, you know, it will never work. The warminds have non-standard occipital lobes, non-sequential dorsal stream. You can’t fool it with visual illusions. Too bad the Archons don’t give points for effort.’ I blink. ‘Wait a minute. How do you know that, but I don’t?’ ‘Did you think you are the only le Flambeur in here? I’ve been around. Anyway, you need ten more points to beat it, so get over here and let me help you out.’ ‘Rub it in, smartass.’ I walk to the blue line, taking my first relieved breath of this round. He gets up as well, pulling his sleek automatic from beneath the book. I point a forefinger at him. ‘Boom boom,’ I say. ‘I cooperate.’ ‘Very funny,’ he says and raises his gun, grinning. My double reflection in his shades looks small and naked. ‘Hey. Hey. We’re in this together, right?’ And this is me thinking I had a sense of humor. ‘Gamblers and high rollers, isn’t that who we are?’ Something clicks. Compelling smile, elaborate cell, putting me at ease, reminding me of myself but somehow not quite right— ‘Oh fuck.’ Every prison has its rumours and monsters and this place is no different. I heard this one from a zoku renegade I cooperated with for a while: the legend of the anomaly. The All-Defector. The thing that never cooperates and gets away with it. It found a glitch in the system so that it always appears as you. And if you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? ‘Oh yes,’ says the All-Defector, and pulls the trigger

Neither complained, because they liked going on dates — when they were allowed — and it was especially fun when they could double date. Dances and the malt shop, and occasional jaunts to see a Tyrone Power movie — both thought he was dreamy — filled up the moments when they weren’t playing tennis at Riverside Cove Country Club — Nancy only got in because Beverly’s father owned the club — or swimming.

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