I'm on the grass (well, not literally) in the Centre Court at Wimbledon. It's a Men's Doubles match. I'm playing the match; with Tim Henman as my partner. I don't know who the opponents are. Henman is beating the living daylights out of the opponents. I'm standing and watching him in action. It's turning out to be a one on two. I can see the guy's getting tired.
Tables turn. The opponents start dishing out the punishment. And they keep it going. Till we finally lose. Tim smashes the racquet to the ground and walks away into the tunnel.
10 minutes later is the presentation ceremony. Apparently, we have finished third in the tournament. The winners go up, heads high and proud. 2nd place guys go. They are visibly disappointed. Tim and I are up next. He isn't around. I guess that he must have driven back home. I go up. The Duke of Kent shakes my hand and hands me a cheque for 90,000 pounds and says - "You are the hero of our tournament. This prize money is higher than that given to the 1st and 2nd place guys." And I'm thinking to myself - "Why?""
I'm tossing one other question in my mind - "Should I split the prize money with Henman. He won't know. I think I'll just take it away. I'll go to college. I'll be rich and famous. I'll take all the hotties of PGH to HHH for lunch. (We might just stay on for dinner!) Drinks for the men. That's fun! Screw Tim Henman. He's got a lot of money anyway."
A dream is more than a dream when you write it down. It becomes a story. Like the one here.
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