Super Fool

A tennis pal of mine who works in TV often passes along "casting call" emails to a group of good-humored, tennis playing women of which I am a part.

One day a prominent television network might be "looking for people with annoying traits," and another day another network might be seeking "outgoing, fun-loving families with at least two kids between the ages of 10-16" for some new series. Not surprisingly, the sharing of these messages tends to prompt a chain of email banter about the annoying, outgoing and fun-loving candidates among our ranks.

So it came as no surprise when I received the following email message:

Casting Call for Tennis Teams: The Tennis Channel is looking for adult teams who compete in league play to be part of a reality series for the '09-'10 season entitled "Wimbledon Wannabes" hosted by Mary Carillo and John McEnroe. The eight episode series will follow four teams both on and off the court. Casting will take place in NY, LA, Chicago, Atlanta and San Francisco in May. Interested teams should contact Bud Collins Productions at (number).

Email banter ensued.

What are we waiting for?
Hey, why not?
Who's calling Bud?

I re-read the email several times, and in comparison to some of the other reality show ideas being floated around, this one seemed downright plausible. I mean, for me, playing USTA league tennis is comparable to some combination of Fear Factor, Survivor, and The Biggest Loser - with elements of The Weakest Link, The Gauntlet, and So You Think You Can Dance thrown in for good measure.

The game of tennis invariably includes High Drama - whether it's the confrontation that ensues after the third bad line call you receive, or the searing ace you deliver to punctuate the discussion. There's guts and glory (including wine guts in lycra), chest bumps of solidarity (but only on the rarest of occasions, I swear), and bonds of friendship and camaraderie that last a lifetime.

The more I thought about a tennis reality show featuring adults who do not necessarily resemble Anna Kournikova, the more I believed that my Kick Ace tennis team was uniquely and perfectly suited to be the next "Wimbledon Wannabe."

I shared the email with my colleagues and bosses, as much for their amusement as for my own due diligence in the event I had to take time off for the show. You know.

Then, while silently typecasting members of my tennis team in my head in preparation for the casting call for "Wimbledon Wannabes," I received an email about a Large, Unexpected Donation to my workplace from a surprising source - an odd man I inexplicably hugged after an event. I don't know why I hugged him. I guess I just thought the guy needed a hug, being so awkward and catatonic-like and all. I had hugged him and then, ever since, made a point of telling everyone who might chuckle or be disturbed, "I hugged So-and-So."

Now it seemed that the object of my wayward hug had borne fruit, and I could do little else but dart around the office declaring, "OH. MY. GOD. It's because of the hug."

What I should have remembered during all this excitement and hoo hah were the bristle marks I had noticed in my bar of soap at my bathroom sink that morning - bristle marks I had gazed at with curiosity as I picked up my toothbrush to brush my teeth.

Exhibit A: The soaped toothbrush.

With great pride I had yelled from the bathroom, "Nice try, son! Very nice try. And April Fools to you, too!" My little prankster was a chip off the old block and it tickled my soul.

But I didn't remember. I didn't remember anything about soaped toothbrushes or feigned Oprah appearances or salt in the sugar bowl.

I remembered nothing, and instead, I chose to believe.

And in those brief few hours of daydreaming about my own version of Wimbledon and philanthropic eccentric millionaires who appreciated hugs from strangers, my life got infinitely more exciting.

All I can say is, well done, my friends. Well done.

And April Fool's Day to you, too.