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There are things I wish I never heard. But I did stupidly lend a sympathetic ear to the incessant muttering of my tennis partner — to whom we respectfully refer as “King” — during our league match warm-up on Saturday.

He was carping about a tight hip, and attempting all kinds of ridiculous stretches, accompanied with theatrical grimaces. It was a sweltering day at Monte Vista, so it took some bargaining to keep him on court. But we should have retired … though he seemed to have a royal time, calling “Yours!” every time an infernal lob went up and over. ..

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