If I ruled the world there would be a squash court in every community center, squash would be in the Olympics, Rami Ashour would be Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year, James Willstrop’s triple fake to win a point — one crummy point! — against Ashour would be shown every time some tennis announcer says “that’s a squash shot” at the U.S. Open next week, and squash would have its rightful place in literature and journalism.
Ian McEwan wrote about it — well — in his novel “Saturday.” Woody Allen played it — badly — in his movie “Manhattan.” For the most part, however, squash — in contrast to baseball, boxing, and hunting and fishing — has been ignored by men and women of arts and letters. My winning entry of horrible Hemingway and worse Faulkner in The Black Knight Squash Short Story Contest offers a glimpse of the possibilities.
What if famous writers had made squash the focus of their passion, rage, and creative efforts? Might we have seen such works as these?
To read the unpublished squash chronicles of Hemingway, Faulkner, Emily Dickinson, Elmore Leonard, Lee Child and more
click here.
