Naked Hero - The Journey Away

darn close. And the passage of time had not hurt him at all – if anything he looked better than what Lewis remembered: wonderfully matured and at the peak of his attraction.
    A fter a couple of minutes of unabashed lusting, there was a break in the game that was being played. Scott Taylor looked over to where Lewis and Mike were standing and stunned the youngster with a smile from that rugged freckly face, and then stunned him even more so when he started to speak.
    “How are you doing, Lewis?” he asked.
    “I’m fine thanks,” the lad stammered in return. “I hope you don’t mind. Is it okay for us to watch for a bit?”
    “I think it would be better if you got your racket out and we played a few points.” Then looking to his opponent, Scott asked, “You don’t mind if we finish now, do you, Tony?”
    “No trouble,” he replied sounding rather relieved. “I’m sure Mr. Macleod will give you a lot more to contend with than I can.”
    “Are you sure?” asked Lewis, already moving towards the gate and pulling a racket from his bag. “I don’t want to interrupt your game.”
    Scott looked at him a little confused. “We might as well start now, Lewis.”
    Lewis was equally confused by his answer, but had no intentions of arguing. This was an opportunity that he wasn’t going to miss: at long last he would get to play tennis with his idol. And not only that – do so in public, here at Melbourne Park. Who needs a tee-shirt with a corny slogan when you can send out a message like that!
    Of course the moment got the better of him when they started to play. Lewis felt like he was a kid again - and there he was, the world’s greatest player on the other side of the net, giving him a lesson and whipping his butt. He was too wrapped up in the experience to actually play any real shots - to hit the ball with any venom or intensity. He was just so happy to be there – to have been accepted in this way, by the person whose opinion he valued more than any other in the sport. Then he realised what a pitiful display he was making. Acceptance was brilliant – a real boost to the confidence and an aid to creating grit. But it was more than acceptance that Lewis wanted from this man – he wanted the opinion to be good. It was Scott Taylor after all, his childhood idol, and if there was one person he didn’t want to appear useless to on a tennis court, it was him. He told himself to stop messing around and make a show of it - let Scott see that he had a game as well. There was no player that had ever affected him on court, and this should not be an exception.
    To any casual observer it would have appeared Lewis succeeded, raising his game and locking horns in a battle. He started to get to grips with those famous ground strokes, defended staunchly then countered with his own. Scott’s shots were brutal – hard and accurate with disguise and spin. But they had lost the razor sharp edge of the past and Lewis soon had the measure of them. Instead of being dictated to, he changed the nature of the points, increasingly venturing to the net and finishing the rally with a crunching volley. The more they played, the more Lewis realised that he could take control of the rallies and choose when to end the point. But he didn’t choose to do it quickly – that’s where he unconsciously failed in his task of not letting Scott affect him. What he chose to do was play within himself: to extend the rallies, and win just enough. He didn’t want to grind this man into the ground. There was too much respect for whom he was and what he had achieved.
    When Jim Murdoch arrived at the courtside twenty minutes later, he looked at the two players with a mixture of horror and relief. Spotting Mike, he quickly dashed over to get the lay of the land.
    “Mike! Mike! What’s happening? Does Lewis know?”
    The trainer flicked him a glance, tearing his eyes away from the exhibition that was happening. He was finding it intriguing: the fact that they were playing in the first place; and the way Lewis was tackling the points. He was sure the lad was holding back. “Know what, Jim?” he absently asked.
    “That Scott’s going to help out today.”
    Now that got Mike Crawford’s full attention! He looked at the coach in shock for a moment then spluttered out a choke of laughter. “Bloody Nora!’ he exclaimed once he’d found some control. “Now there’s a turn up for the books... But did you not think it would have been an idea