SANDWICH PIGGIES II

The night after the Sandwich Piggies pissed me off, I received a phone call from the Monday Ladies comp coordinator of our club.  She had received a call from the District Associations President, who had received a call of complaint from the members of the Sandwich Piggy team. 

They had complained to the association that I was rude, and that I didn’t provide enough food for them to eat.

Can you fucken believe it. I didn’t provide enough food?  Sure; I can cop that I was rude (I was), but not enough food?

Fucken game on.

I hung up from my club coordinator, and rang the Association President myself to explain my side of the story, and at the same time, lodge a complaint about the Sandwich Piggies.

The shit hit the fan.

Soon, news of Sandwichgate spread through the Association, and became a hot topic of discussion at the matches we played.  The other clubs couldn’t believe that not only had the Piggies complained to the Association, but I had complained about them.

Pretty soon, clubs that use to ‘accommodate’ the Piggies by bringing extra platters of sandwiches for them, stopped.  I told a few clubs that when I came up against the Piggies next season that I would be leaving the sandwiches at home (because I only lived around the corner from the tennis club) and would whip home and get them just before lunch.

Fuck ‘em.

The Sandwich Piggies were becoming very, very unpopular.

Then one Monday night, later in the season, I received a phone call from a lady who played at one of other clubs in the Association.

‘Lee, I just had to ring you and tell you something.’ she was laughing.

Now, keep in mind that I didn’t know the ladies from the other clubs very well.  I only come across them twice a season, and just for a couple of hours.  A lifelong friendship from these sparse encounters is not really likely, and the fact this chick had my number freaked me a little.

‘We played against the Sandwich Piggies today.’ She began. 

Here we go, I thought to myself.  ‘I was in charge of sandwiches.  So, with you in mind, I made them, put them into containers, and stacked them in my esky, which I left in the car! I wasn’t’ bringing them into the clubhouse, just to be eaten by the Piggies through the morning.’

‘Really?’ I smiled.  This was interesting.

‘Yes, and you’ll never believe what happened.’ She went on.  ‘We had two teams at home today (which meant two separate matches) and the other team had their sandwiches in the fridge...’

‘Oh no…’

‘Oh yes.  The Sandwich Piggies helped themselves to their sandwiches, not realising that they weren’t ours.’

‘Oh my god!’ I laughed.

‘We didn’t realise this until our other team came out of the kitchen and asked the clubroom who had eaten all of their sandwiches?  We immediately knew it was the Piggies, and we all turned to them!’ she was laughing now.  ‘The Piggies went about four shades of red as we dobbed them in, and our other team ladies went mental at them for it!  They absolutely read them the riot act!’

‘What did you do?’ I laughed, envisioning some irate middle-aged woman in her tennis skirt and tan, waving an empty platter around whilst yelling at the Piggies.

‘Well, I gave the other team a couple of my containers of sandwiches to make up for it, which left us with very little for lunch.’

‘I bet they still ate the sandwiches…’

‘They did!  AND, get this: they didn’t even apologise.’

‘OMG! You’re kidding?’

‘Nope!’ she laughed. ‘AANND, they scoffed all of the sandwiches, gulped down their cuppas, and took off as quickly as they could!  They didn’t apologise to the other team, and didn’t even thank us for lunch.’

‘How fucken rude.’

‘I know!  The other team are going to put in a formal complaint about their behaviour today.’

‘Good.  They deserve it.’ I smiled, still quite shocked that they were still helping themselves to the food.

The upshot of it all was that the other team that had their sandwiches eaten on them, did indeed lodge a formal, written complaint with the District Association, and the offending Piggies were reprimanded for it. 

Not long after this incident, the Association held their Annual General Meeting, and there were quite a few complaints aired about the Sandwich Piggies.  Their club representatives present at the AGM were mortified.

At the start of the next season, a memo reaffirming that the hosting club does not have to provide morning tea or snacks for between sets: only lunch, was sent to all clubs.  If players required food between sets, they were to provide their own, and they were not to ask for or help themselves to the hosts food until lunchtime.

Slam.  I can smell bacon burning.

But that was not the end of Sandwichgate.

The following season, we came up against the Piggies at home again.  This time, true to my word, I left my sandwiches at home.  After the first set finished, the Piggies asked me if we had any sandwiches they could have, as they were hungry.

In the moments it took me to recover from the shock of them being stupid enough to even ask that question, I’m sure you can imagine the great pleasure I had in telling them that we do not provide morning tea; only lunch, as per the memo circulated by the Association.  ‘If you require some morning tea, you should have bought your own.’

If any other club had asked me the same question, I would have whipped the glad wrap off the sanga platter quicker than a hooker getting her kit off on New Year’s Eve.

But not for the Piggies.  They could fucken starve.

Needless to say, we won that day.

It would appear that a starving Piggy does not a good tennis player make.

Thus is the story of the Sandwich Piggies.

Peace out.