Ball of Fury
Inside Chicago’s cut throat world of ping pong
(continued from previous page)
Back at Happy Village, three empty Miller-lite bottles sit on the table in front of Giamalis. His foot bounces as he watches the other semi-final match. His teammates made short work of their doubles match, winning in straight sets. Their semi-finals match was more of the same. Happy Village People slammed their opposition without giving up a single game. The victory was sweet for Giamalis. It gave him back a little swagger. The team championship is now in his grasp. Still, he knows that he is not the outright champion of the league. Sengupta put a notch in his loss column. It stings. He won’t have an opportunity to play Sengupta again until the fall 2007 season. He takes a drag off his cigarette.
Stockwell and Flandro motion at him to join them at the bar. It appears to get him out of his thoughts and give him life. He rubs out his cig on the ashtray in front of him and stands. He kicks blood back into his legs, and as he walks past the table, cracks a joke. He’s beat-up inside, but no one but him is going to know. He’s still the one to beat. And if he plays like he knows he can, he’ll have a trophy by the end of the night.
At the bar, the Happy Village People hoist a pre-game shot of Jagermeister. “Better than warm-ups,” says Flandro.
The finals pit them against Paddlesnakes2. During their only regular season meeting, the teams tied. Paddlesnakes2 is the only team in the league Happy Village People didn’t beat, so crushing them tonight for the cup would be sweet.
But as soon as the championship starts, things unravel. Both bartenders worked past 3 am the previous night and are playing on nicotine highs and plenty of drinks. They can’t seem to hit routine shots. Flandro’s chops are off. They go too high and it gives his opponent plenty of opportunities for winners. He loses in straight sets and walks out of the room. Next up is Stockwell, who falls in three sets. Just like that Giamalis’ team is down 0-2. He looks around for something to calm him. The only thing that seems to relax him is his opponent, Chad Cumby. Giamalis has played him before and knows that Cumby can’t beat him.
As Cumby approaches the table, you get the feeling he’s just delaying the inevitable. He isn’t playing the Giamalis who lost the first round match.
He’s playing the player who went undefeated the entire season. And with unrelenting blasts of Giamalis’ paddle, Cumby is gone and the champion is back. High-fives exchange between the Happy Village People. They’re still in it.
The first doubles match pairs Giamalis and Stockwell. They each hold a cigarette in their hands as they warm-up. They do it out of habit. But the pre-game cigs don’t work. The Paddlesnakes2 pair of Cumby and Rob Wildeboer, a reporter for Chicago Public Radio, takes the first game. Claps erupt as they switch sides and get to the next game fast.
The second game goes slam for slam until Stockwell hits a forehand that blows past the Snakes. It sounds like a whip-crack. The crowd lets out a collective “Whoa!” and Happy Village sends it to a final game.
What happens next is part strategy, part cruelty. The Paddlesnakes2 pair focus on Stockwell’s backhand, the weakest part of his game. They fire shot after shot at it and his returns hit the net. They’re doing what
Giamalis does – picking apart an opponents’ weakness – and continue to go after it with savage enthusiasm. He recognizes their strategy and tries to offer Stockwell encouragement. “C’mon, Louis,” he says, “C’mon, stay focused. Hit it like you can, Louis. Hit it like you can.”
But Stockwell can’t get it together. Numerous mis-hits later the
Paddlesnakes2 win the championship. Stockwell chucks his paddle into the corner of the room, disgusted. Giamalis ignores it and jogs over to congratulate the Paddlesnakes2. He doesn’t seem upset. Weeks later, he admits that the double loss didn’t bother him. “It wasn’t really my fault,” he says. “My partner didn’t play up to par. He was so fucking gone. No big deal. It was a good season.” Then he adds, “But I’m pissed that I lost that first match.”
Giamalis took a break from playing at Happy Village after the tournament disappointments. It lasted one week. He couldn’t stay away longer. He loves the game too much. He’s even looking for other places to play. He wants to see where he stacks up against the best in Chicago. “Better competition will force me to start being humble,” he admits. “I’m a competitor and I want to bring my level up. I’m never really sweating at the Village.”
But even if Giamalis finds a new place to play, he’ll continue to come back to Happy Village. It’s his refuge. It’s the place his teammates work. It’s his community. Thursday nights are the best time to catch him at the table, talking himself up between points and sips of beer. If you want, challenge him to a match, go right ahead. He’s always up for a game.
Just remember, if Giamalis chops, top; if he tops, chop.
