perhaps nice guys don't finish last

Picture this,

It's Saturday night. Manchester is recording consecutive hottest June days on record. The World Cup is on, England are on later and I am, of course, playing padel.

Unbelievable scenes.

Or I was playing padel, I should say, before I spent the night in my local A&E department.

On a Saturday night.

During a heatwave.

When England kick off at 10pm.

There was naturally a literal pile of blood on the floor, a man singing Adele songs, the police with a gentleman who was fairly emphatic about having done nothing wrong and he'd like us all very much to join his cause.

Spoiler alert... nobody did.

So naturally, this wasn't my first choice of how to spend my night.

It really shouldn't be anyone's.

But I got injured.

My first proper "oh fuckkkkkkk."

Another spoiler...

I'm actually fine.

Just pissed off.

Padel constantly surprises me because there are so many different ways to play the game.

Some people play hard and fast with huge smashes.

Some people slow everything down and beat you with patience and angles.

Some people defend off the side glass in ways that still blow my mind.

Others play the psychological game.

That's the one I struggle with most.

There are tactics. Of course there are.

If someone's weaker on their backhand, serve to it.

If there's a gap down the middle, find it.

If they're both at the net, lob them.

That's padel.

But aiming at people?

That's never really been in my playbook.

I can hit a hard ball. If I've got an overhead at the net, I'm going to have a good go.

But never because I want someone to leave the court feeling vulnerable.

A few weeks ago I played against a guy who seems to be naturally gifted at every racket sport imaginable. Before that match I asked him to take it easy on my beginner partner because she'd had a bad experience and was nervous.

He did.

He was respectful.

He was kind.

And he still played brilliant padel.

That stuck with me.

Fast forward to last night.

We were playing together against a pair who'd clearly played together a lot.

They raced into a 4-0 lead.

We slowly fought our way back.

4-3.

Still smiling.

Still believing.

Then came a high ball at the net.

Big Smash

Straight at me.

It caught my hand as I instinctively covered my face, smashing my fingers back into my racket.

Ouch.

A hand went up.

"Sorry."

Next point.

Another fast ball.

Straight into my body.

Again.

Really? Nice.

I blocked it but couldn't keep it in.

I walked across the court and tried to hold my racket.

I couldn't.

My left hand wouldn't stop shaking.

I couldn't grip.

My fingers wouldn't move properly.

And it fucking hurt.

I don't even remember the next point because I was staring at my own hand transfixed.

The set finished and I went off to find an ice pack.

The partner I was playing with just happens to be a GP. He strapped my hand, talked it through with me and together we decided I needed an X-ray. Whilst we were doing that one of the opponents popped her head in to see if I was alright.

Fortunately a friend of mine was just finishing a match on another court and drove me to hospital.

My partner checked on me repeatedly and bless him, picked me up several hours later.

Those moments meant a lot. That's the version of sport I want to be part of

Because if there's one thing I kept thinking while sitting in A&E, it wasn't actually the injury.

Accidents happen.

I've hit people before.

Earlier that same evening I'd caught an opponent on the leg with a smash. I apologised immediately. Thankfully she was absolutely fine.

Body shots happen.

What I couldn't stop thinking about was something else.

If someone leaves because you hurt them and they end up in hospital...

Don't you check if they're okay?

Maybe that's just me.

Maybe everyone has a different line.

But I know I would.

Instead, I sat in A&E listening to conversations about draining pus from feet, a lady who'd fallen but definitely had not had a drink and another explaining that both his wives had inexplicably died.

Hospitals are strange places.

They also give you a lot of time to think.

Too much time.

And the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

Not because I lost.

Not because I got hit.

But because for the first time since I started playing - I'm scared.

So scared, I actually don't want to play.

I'm not really sure what the answer is.

I like playing challenging matches.

I like playing with guys.

I like playing with better players.

But if I have to sacrifice feeling safe? I'm not sure I want to.

Perhaps I only play ladies.

Perhaps I only play people I know.

Perhaps I drop my rating.

I honestly don't know.

What I do know is this.

Yesterday I couldn't wait to get on court.

Today I don't even want to book another match.

And that's the saddest part of this whole story.

Perhaps Nice Guys don't finish last after all x