Sweat poured in buckets, down his forehead. It was as if someone held a shotgun to his forehead.

The pressure! What would the press say? How will he handle the questions?

“THIRTY-FORTY!” the umpire bellowed. His opponent was on match point. If he lost, then never again…

He served an ace! DEUCE! Maybe, just maybe…

Deuce!

No good thing ever dies.

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