Most every morning when I hit the club early to get my workout out of the way, I see a group of 3 men I've termed “The Dumb Luck Club.” They're in their late 50s or early 60s and they all look like they're doctors. I don't know why I say that. I just get that impression. Two of them look almost alike. I call them Stan and Morty. They both have salt and pepper hair, receding sharply and moustaches. The hair that they have always looks like they just stirred it with a blender. They wear boring Tshirts and shorts, but they also have sweat-bands on their wrists and heads. Stan wears just racquetball goggles, but Morty has glasses on underneath his goggles. They both have socks up to their knees. The other member of The Dumb Luck Club I call Roger. Roger looks slightly younger than the two before and he's got a full head of hair. It's wavy. His socks go just above his ankles, but he does love the gold jewelry and he has his own, more-extensive collection of sweat bands. I've seen him do the fingerpoint, wink, and click with your mouth thing when he made a paticularly good shot. Which are practically non-existant. They run into the glass walls at least once daily in a way that reminds me of birds flying into a window. They always look stunned. I've seen tripping, running into one another, missing easy shots, and oddly, in the 3 weeks I've been watching them, they haven't gotten any better. Makes me wonder how long they've been playing, stagnating at this level of play.
I've got to admire them though. They always look like they're having fun.
That's too funny, Jess. I also put names on people although later on I end up feeling mean. I really do admire than type pf person though because they just don't care.