The Evil Tennis King had to know that I was getting ready to exact my vengeance by now. I’d just picked off two of his top lieutenants and his favorite quota-based hire. And if he hadn’t heard about that, he sure as hell had seen my embiggened racket looming over the horizon. All that aside, I wasn’t ready to face him just yet. I needed one more pearl, so I could get that magical ball. Incidentally, I had no idea what the magical ball did… but it had to be good, right? Otherwise they’d call it the cursed ball, or some other heavy-handed late ’80s RPG name. That’s just how these things work.
I had to give it to the last of the of the sinister six: this side of the Evil Tennis King’s ominous castle at the North Pole, he had best secluded fortress in Tennis Kingdom. A remote mountain fortress hidden on the shores of a SECRET GROTTO. No subtlety here. I’m surprised he didn’t write “keep out” in the blood of his victims over the entrance. I give his efforts a B+. But a B+ is no match for “A” level gear.
Rosen. Just look at this cocky bastard. That’s a serial killer smile if I ever saw one. His sweater vest told me he meant business, though. But crushing tennis flunkies was my business. And recently, business had been booming.
Like his compatriots, Rosen wound up on the wrong end of my tennis legend. The butt end. But the scoreboard does not lie, he but up a valiant fight. I guess that sweater vest was made of a breathable knit, or perhaps a comfortable microfiber.
After forcibly seizing control of Tennis Kingdom’s economy, the Evil Tennis King had not counted on anyone amassing enough Tennis Bitcoins to buy their way to victory. He’d spent lavishly on sweet hidden fortresses when he should have been pumping steroids into his henchmen. As this game was programmed in ’88, nobody would have been testing anyway.
I returned to the island home of the Parisian ball merchant. I now had enough pearls to go get myself a magical ball, which, as we’ve discussed, is the only thing in the universe that you can actually purchase with said pearls. As I now controlled the entirety of Tennis Kingdom’s pearl supply, you’d think I would have some leverage here. Were I a less gentlemanly tennis legend, I might have considered holding the magic ball market hostage until I got some more magical tennis apparel… but hey, Tennis Kingdom was apparently a rotational constitutional monarchy in a state of civil war. My pearls might be worth nothing in a day or two if I didn’t commence my attack soon.
At last, I was ready to seize the final piece of gear I would need to free the world from the supposed tyranny of the Evil Tennis King. What words of sage advice would be imparted to me as I acquired the felty green orb of destiny?
Jeez. No sense of gravitas at all, huh spitcurl? Hey, why did all of the spitcurls live in isolated huts in the middle of nowhere? Were they some kind of persecuted sub-race of lobotomite? Should there ever be a sequel to World Court Tennis, I truly hope they tackle this important societal issue head on. #ISTANDWITHSPITCURL. Yes, even after he forcibly enlarged my racket. #NOTALLSPITCURLS.
I had done it. The Agassi gear. The magical ball. The large racket. I had come so far. Even if I failed, my place in the annals of tennis history had already been secured. Tennis bards would sing my story for ages. But glory was not enough. Now… now I needed REVENGE. I hopped in my inner tube and set course for the North Pole. It was time to put an end to this. Thankfully, film crews were on hand.
Yes, that’s how it actually happened. It didn’t happen like this, no sir, not at all. It certainly didn’t take me 45 minutes to beat him.
SUCCESS! I HAD DEFEATED THE DEVIL HIMSELF. I’M A REGULAR CHARLIE DANIELS, YOU SONUVABITCH, I”M THE BEST THERE EVER IS. The magical ball had suppressed Tennis Satan’s demonic serve. Without his black magic, he was no match for my arsenal of overpriced sporting goods. Truly, this was a victory for capitalism.
But I needed answers. While the Evil Tennis King had bequeathed Tennis Kingdom to me in his last official act, his authority to do so was suspect at best. What did “a” Tennis King have to say about this?
I thank you for thinking me. I thank. Or is that think your for thanking me? I thank you know what I mean.
I’ve already bought every purchasable item in the world. I don’t need them. Sure, why not.
Thanks. I’ve always wanted to rule over a geographically distorted, completely flat parallel Earth. I think… but wouldn’t that make it my tennis kingdom, and not yours? And why the hell did you want me to save your godforsaken kingdom if you were just going to give it to me for a handful of jewels? THIS ISN’T ADDING UP.
… go on.
I’ve been known to dabble.
Final Lap? You mean Final Lap Twin? HAS THIS WHOLE THING BEEN A SALES PITCH?
You mean my land, right? You’re just going to take all of your Final Lap Twin money and retire to some Japanese dating sim game, aren’t you. Screw you, “a” Tennis King. This place was pretty peaceful to begin with anyway.
And so, I had solved the riddle of tennis steel (it is not the racket, but the size of the wallet that wields it), and brought the era of high tennis adventure to a close. I, STEV had become king by my own hand, and now wore the crown of Tennis Kingdom upon a troubled brow. This would not be the end of my adventures…
NEXT TIME: There is no next time. OR IS THERE?