Confessions of a
Squash Club Manager
by Dean Brown
confessions of a squash court manager. Each
episode is an actual event that has happened to
me whilst working at my squash centre, which to
protect peoples identities I will be calling the
Corleone Squash Centre. This is in reference to
my nick name around squash circles; the
we all hate Monday's? - the shitiest of all days
starting with M, the perfect way to ruin a great
I was hoping today would be different and I would
be energized and glad to be alive by
some of the lovely Corleone Squash Centres
happy and jovial customers... fat chance!
the car park of my squash centre the usual
suspects are waiting for me, two old cronies
named Gary and Jack, along with their usual smart
arsed comments. The perfect way to start a Monday...NOT!
"Late again Squash godfather, how do I get a
job like yours?" Jack asked, obviously his
turn to be the comedian of the duo today. How
fucking original, I have been hearing this same
line every Monday for the past 7 years. Try
working a lot fucking harder for a lot fucking
longer and you might have half a chance moron.
Jack. My alarm didn't go off, traffic was hell,
dog ate me homework; but I suppose you don't give
a shit about about my excuses do you?" I
answered, slowly trudging towards the squash
"Not really," he said, "Just hurry
up open the bloody door will ya, I ain't gettin
any fuckin younger," he grizzled.
The day was not starting the way I hoped it would,
meaning it was looking like a typical Monday.
I got the two old pricks onto a court and away
they went, happy as a couple of very old pigs in
10AM saw the
arrival of a couple of fresh new faces to the
Corleone Squash Centre.
"Hi guys, welcome to the Corleone Squash
Centre. How may I help you? A game of squash I
hope, because if it's golf your after your in the
wrong fucking place," I said, keen to make a
good impression on some fresh meat.
"Can we grab a court for an hour please?"
One of the newbies asked.
"Certainly guys, twenty five dollars and
your off and running," I said." Just go
down to court 9, I'll turn the lights on for you."
What a host!
rolling along peacefully until about fifteen
minutes into their session, one of the fresh new
faces came around to the counter with a startling
"Do you know there are several dead spots on
some of the floor boards on court 9," he
asked, with a genuine look of distress on his
"WOW, holy shit, no kidding. Just hang on a
second while I shoot down to the hardware store
and grab a sledgehammer to rip em up with and
then I will re-lay some new ones," I said,
in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
He walked away back to the court, now with a
stunned look on his dopey face.
dick head. What did he possibly think I would do?......
even if I did give a shit.