The biography of a downhill racer

First of all, sadness.

Second, a great flood of memories that quickly turn into stories about a man who can't be forgotten.

He always came to the match with a can of tennis balls he claimed, "only had one set on them." Yet no one, I repeat no one, ever saw him open a can of new tennis balls. Hence his legend.

It was rumored that he opened cans of tennis balls secretly, not wanting to share the sound opening a can of tennis balls makes with anyone else.

Imagine him entering a closet, closing the door, feeling around for the metal ring that sits atop a can of unopened tennis balls, pulling the ring upward, feeling the slight release of air pressure, hearing the delicate but forceful sound a can of three yellow tennis balls make as they come out into the world...

Well anyway, it's sad he's gone, there'll never be another like him. I remember also that he used to wear his white Stanford tennis sweater on cold mornings, the one he received as a member of the Stanford tennis team in the mid-1940s, and that the balls he brought to our matches had very little fuzz and didn't bounce so high.