Alright so this palm tennis thing. Started when my buddy Dave came over last Tuesday yelling about some “revolutionary new sport”. I thought he finally lost it. He plopped two folding chairs in my garage, told me to sit facing him, knee-to-knee. My reaction? Pure confusion. “We playing patty-cake now?” I asked.
The Slapping Begins
Dave slaps my open palm – hard. “This,” he grins, “is the serve.” Rules spilled out chaotic: palms only, elbows glued to knees, one slap per volley, whoever flinches loses the point. First ten minutes? Disaster. My hands were bright red, we argued nonstop. “Your palm was sideways!” “No YOU pulled back too soon!” We sounded like kids.
Developing Strategy (Mostly by Getting Smacked)
Couple days straight, we played after work. My takeaways? Speed ain’t everything. Tried whacking Dave’s hand like a mosquito – he just jerked away. Points vanished. Figured out three things:
- Wrist fakes work: Flick your wrist like you’re gonna slam, then tap soft instead. Makes ’em flinch.
- Rhythm kills: Slap-slap-slap predictable? Pause. Let ’em sweat. Wait for their twitch.
- Watch the shoulder: Tiny shoulder jerk before a slap? It’s telegraphing! Blocked Dave twice after spotting this.
The “Winning” Part
Played Eric last night. Total skeptic. Five games straight I crushed him. How?
- Mental warfare, dude. Stared right between his eyes without blinking. Drove him nuts.
- Breath control. Loud exhale RIGHT before my slap? Messed his timing up big time.
- Strategic sting. Let him win a couple points early by barely grazing his palm. Made him cocky. Then? Full-force hammer. His shock? Priceless.
Final score? 21-8. Eric rubbed his hand for five minutes after. Called it a “stupidly simple savage game”. Best compliment yet.
Hands? Still stinging. Victory? Totally worth the red palms. Try it. Seriously. Hurt your friends.