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By Joey DePaolo |
Every man deserves a chance to redeem himself. I got my chance when CraveOnline asked me to cover the 2010 National Table Tennis Championships in Las Vegas. My path to the desert was a circuitous one. Once a mainstay on the CraveOnline page, my struggle with some personal demons and collectors had me pushed off the staff several years ago. |
I regretted those times with all of my being, and was delighted when Crave Humor editor Dave Schilling phoned me one day to give me another shot. These are the sorts of calls to action that the good guys in movies take and run with. So as soon as Dave told me he was giving me a chance to cover the annual table tennis title matches in Vegas, I knew that the same city that had taken away so many of my opportunities now stood a chance to give it all back.
DAY ONE
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8AM
What someone unfamiliar with the National Table Tennis Championships may not realize is the sheer breadth of a competitor’s daily schedule at the tournament. The players start off at 6am sharp out here, hit some meet-and-greets, then the tables by early morning, and go until late in the evening. It’s a vivid reminder of these hopefuls’ spirit and dedication to a singular endeavor, and a single prize.
Day One was judgment day in a lot of ways for the table tennis championship hopefuls. Players that had traveled from all corners of the country for their shot at the table sport’s only offer of immortality found themselves cast immediately into the tournament fire.
First on the chopping block was 23-year old shipping yard attendant Clint Mason. He’d left his wife and two young daughters behind in Portland, ME for the week for the one sport that mattered to him. Problem was, his very first match-up of the tournament pitted him against three-time NTTC winner Gus Phomes. If there was one thing that 62-year old Gus hadn’t lost in his 40-plus years at the tables, it was his lightning-quick backhand, which he used to dispatch of Clint in straight sets and send the youngster home.
There’s something demoralizing about watching someone’s young dreams pulled apart before they could even gestate into something substantial. For someone who’s endured it firsthand, my level of empathy for poor Clint was palpable, so I broke away for the day’s first intermission at the casino bar to clear my head.
