I walked into the reading room of the club. I was a bit lost in thought when I saw an older squash player by the large fireplace, sitting low in his favorite red leather armchair, brandy in hand. Knowing that a conversation with the old member inevitably meant buying him a drink, I tried to walk quickly through the room. “Hello, my boy!” cried the grey-haired member a little too loudly. “Have you read Jim Zug’s History of Squash?”
“I have, actually. Always nice to see you, but I really have to…”
“Sit down, son,” he said motioning to another armchair. “The book is a good read, but he didn’t discover the real roots of the game. It started in Greece, you know, not Egypt.”
“Sir, I believe that Jim said England, not Egy…”
“Posh. Ancient Greece, it was. Some have thought Egypt, but that is just nonsensical. Can you imagine trying to hit a boast in a pyramid? Why, the ball would just go right into the floor. Never make the front wall at all. You can see that, can’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t think…”
“Good, good. Sit down. Sit. Sit.” Against my better judgment, I sank slowly into the deeply cushioned chair.
“Now what Jim was missing was the very beginning of the game and how we came to call it squash.” He stopped and suddenly interrupted himself. “Another brandy, good sir, and one for my young friend,” the older man yelled. “I have a story to tell.”
And so he began. He told stories of how man has always liked to throw things (which led to a lengthy tangent about the state of his first marriage – don’t ask), of how that led to using sticks, and of how that led eventually to stringing sticks with catgut.
“And that should put the Pharonical rumor to bed. After all, cats were worshipped in Ancient Egypt, so I don’t think that anyone was too eager to create the first racquet string, do you?” I was speechless.
“Now then, as you know, the buildings in Greece had long flat walls…”
“Yes, with huge columns in front of them…” For the first time in many minutes, the venerable one paused and looked at me long and hard. I held my breath.
“Two more brandies, please,” he said, without averting his gaze, to the passing waiter. “The buildings, you see, were not very close to each other, so it didn’t take long for someone to try bouncing the ball from one building to another. Finally, one strapping young man stepped up and said, ‘I don’t want to brag, but I am quite sure that I can do it.’”
I could see where this was going.
“And so we have the boast,” continued the Sage. “Over time, very few were able to get the ball to the second wall. Many, however, were close, and so began arguments about whether balls actually touched the second wall. To solve this, the Greeks invented bronze.”
“Now hold on, you are saying that bronze was invented for squash?”
“I surely thought that Zug would have mentioned this. You see, they discovered that if a strip of metal were placed at the bottom of the second wall, the sound would help determine whether balls actually hit it. Eventually, so many balls hit the bronze that some started to complain about the sound – the din, if you will.”
“Let me get this straight: you are saying that the ‘tin’ is actually the ‘din’ and that it should really be made of bronze?”
“No, no. Bronze would be a bit impractical these days, my boy. I’m surprised at you.” My eyelids fluttered.
“In any case, as crowds began to gather, one older gentleman – who was known to like the drink – was former slave-ship worker. At irregular intervals, he occasionally let out a yell from his former days.”
“Let me guess: ‘Stroke!’”
“I am not saying that thus was born the first referee, but his outbursts did necessitate the replaying of the point. ‘Let us play it again,’ said the players.”
“I see, and because the crowd starting eating squash…”
“Don’t be silly. Our sport is not a vegetable! No, in order to understand our name, you have to know that those crowds were quiet. It was easy, therefore, to hear the ball fly through the air and hit the wall. ‘Sssk! Sssk!’ Occasionally, someone would yell out in appreciation, only to be silenced by the crowd. Putting it all together, it sounded something like this: ‘Ssssk! Wow! Shhhh!’ And thus was born our early name: Skwowsh.”
“Oh boy.”
“I think I may have to give ol’ Jim a bit of a history lesson sometime. But now, my boy, I have to run.” I was befuddled by the whole conversation until the Sage said one last thing before he walked out. I realized then that a tutorial for Zug was not the point at all; it was that I had just been schooled.
“Thank you for the brandy, my boy.”
