The rise
Kestrel won twelve matches. Net cords dropped kindly, frame shots found space, balls died against the glass. Above the turning court, the sun rode the great racket-wheel. Kestrel engraved FORTUNE FAVORS ME on his racket. He stopped warming up. His partner’s caution amused him.
The fall
The wheel carried the moon upward. Twelve close matches went the other way. Kestrel blamed the officials, the ball makers and the sky. After each loss he changed rackets. Soon he arrived at court carrying a bag full of them.
At the rim
An old ball collector asked him to help turn the wheel by hand. Around its rim were the names of forgotten champions, unlucky players with fine hands, patient apprentices and people who had simply kept coming.
The collector asked what he had done with the lucky season. Kestrel remembered the missed warm-ups and the partner he had mocked.
Next morning he brought one racket and practised. Later, when a cord favoured him, he thanked his partner for keeping the rally alive. When it did not, he moved his feet for the next return.
Years afterwards, a student asked when her losing streak would end. Kestrel could not tell her. He offered to practise with her while the wheel turned.