Tennis Champ - Losing to win by Manny

---

"It'll be just a few more minutes," Rob said semi-apologetically as he wrapped up his lengthy styling session with the blow dryer.

My gear was packed, and I sat on a bench in the tennis club locker room waiting for my pal.

"I'm not in a hurry," I remarked. "And, besides, it's important that you get the style of your coif exactly right."

Rob caught my shade and rolled his eyes. Then, deliberately, he continued a bit longer with just the brush, carefully fluffing out his stylized shag.

"I'd rather sport a no-fuss butch cut," Rob remarked casually, "but, Bonnie insists on this trendy look. And, she's pressing me to grow it longer!"

"Oh, my," I murmured. "We'll be here all day if that happens."

In the mirror, Rob studied his thick, golden mane with its off-center top part and full, feathered sides. He carefully coaxed the plush locks that dangled from his nape to cup under in a rather pert curl.

"There! All done!" Rob exclaimed. "Let's go."

I had some serious doubts over his stated preference for a no-fuss butch cut...and decided to call him out on it.

"So, Bonnie wears the pants in your marriage," I snickered as we walked to the car.

"Very funny," Rob smirked in irritation. "Not at all. But I like to take her opinions into consideration. And, I also like to make myself attractive to my wife."

"Of course, of course," I replied quickly, although still not convinced.

Then, the conversation went in another direction, gossiping about our tennis buddies Cillian and James, whom we frequently played doubles against.

Once in the car, Rob brought our conversation back to his hair.

"Really, Matt, if you can think of some scheme, some way for me to ditch the coif without upsetting Bonnie, I'm all ears," he said.

"You really want a butch? An amateur kitchen cut, everything mowed off to a single length?!" I laughed. "I'd be more than happy to oblige you. I have just the set of clippers for the job."

"To be free from the tyranny of the salon and of constant haircare? Yes, the butch sounds like heaven to me," Rob chuckled, checking out his coif in the rearview mirror as he paused at a stop sign. "I sported a butch until I turned eight. No care, no fuss, no hassle."

I decided to propose an idea to test his sincerity, "Okay, how about this? A competition -- a bet, among the four of us. Something that you, as a tennis champ and professional tennis coach should be favored to win. Cillian, James, you and me each throw 250 dollars into a kitty. The winner of our mini-tournament gets the full 1000. You can promise Bonnie a luxury weekend away. But, there's also a 'prize' for the loser -- a booby prize!"

"A butch cut?!" Rob asked, beginning to catch on. "Administered right on the spot at the end of the tournament?"

He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

"Yes, of course!" I replied. "You don't have to specify the booby prize upfront to Bonnie. She can find out once the excitement has increased and we're on the eve of the tournament. Too late to weasel out on us! Plus, Bonnie never would imagine you coming in last. In fact, you can establish a firm, early lead in our mini-tournament...but some reckless play and ensuing injury will quickly reverse the momentum, and..."

"I will come in last!" Rob laughed, slapping his leg with glee.

"And, then, out come the clippers to administer the booby prize to the loser," I added.

"Who loses the tournament and his hair! I love it!" Rob exclaimed, running his fingers through his copious mane.

"Are you really serious about losing this?" I asked, briefly tussling the silken locks that graced Rob's head.

"Hell, yes!" he replied emphatically. "Do you think we can get Cillian and James to join the tournament?"

"Are you kidding?! They're both so competitive and so assured of their own skills, neither will have to be persuaded," I replied.

"Wouldn't it be fun to see Cillian lose?" Rob asked. "I would love to see that flashy, flame-like mane of his shaved off. Head bowed before the clippers...ginger locks tumbling in a profusion to the floor. Carrot-head shredded!"

"Hey, this scheme is being orchestrated for YOUR golden locks, Buddy!" I laughed. "Let's not lose focus of that! Or, was that just imaginary cheap-talk about wanting a butch cut badly?!"

"Nope! It's a great idea. Bonnie will be tickled pink over the funding for a romantic get-away. But, the one who ends up with the real prize will be me. A buzz, a nice tidy pelt up here on top," Rob enthused.

Immediately, he insisted we line Cillian and James up for the tournament.

Although they were eager to join, Cillian probed about the booby prize.

"A baldy cut?!" he stammered.

"That's right! Your precious ginger mane stripped off, down to the wood!" Rob told him.

"If I had any notion at all of losing, I'd never sign up or risk my tresses," Cillian replied, flaunting and pawing at his flaming mane. "I'm a proud ginger!"

"My thoughts exactly," Rob remarked. "It's my buddy, Matt here, whose fussy little business cut is most endangered. Wouldn't that be funny to see him stripped of his tidy, cookie-cutter office look? Just imaging him creeping into work on Monday with a bold, in-your-face butch cut!"

Rob reached over and messed up my perfectly combed hair, as he did, playfully, from time-to-time.

"Hey, I'm not going to lose," I insisted forcefully.

Funny thing, but the booby prize became more of a motivator to the four of us than the 1000 dollars.

On the eve of the tournament, I got a sick feeling in my stomach! What if Rob weaseled out on me? What if he got cold feet?! Or what if he had secretly never planned to lose at all?!

I was the weakest player of the group. What if I got stuck with the booby prize?! Me, with a butch cut! In the office!! Everyone laughing at my shorn head. Me, the boss, slinking around and hearing faint whispers and giggles.

Suddenly, the idea of that humiliation stirred in my groin. I felt hard as a bat!

I grabbed my phone and called Rob.

"Hey, Rob, I just got a sick feeling in my stomach. You haven't been toying with me, have you? Secretly scheming for me to end up with the butch?!" I stammered nervously.

"You'll find out tomorrow, won't you?" he laughed hysterically.

I swore and hung up on him. That bastard! Or did he just enjoy playing with my emotions?

Now, I felt so agitated, I was ready to unload. I raced to the mirror and pulled my hair back. What would I look like with a baldy cut?!

I tossed and turned in bed all night. Rob knew that under normal circumstances I would readily come in last place. I would never have signed had it not been rigged for Rob to lose.

The day of the tournament was sunny, and the significant others of the four participants all turned out to cheer on their mates.

Rob looked like a god, clad all in white, with skimpy shorts that gave unhindered views of his muscular legs covered in a golden pelt of dense, manly fur. As he stretched to warm up, his golden locks flailed about. He looked like an ancient god, with streaming rays reflecting off and through the feathered waves in profusion.

Bonnie was chatting with the other three spouses, examining the prize table -- an envelope containing ten 100 dollar bills on one side and a huge set of Oster clippers with a number two blade on the other.

"I won't mind one bit if Cillian gets the booby prize," his wife Barb giggled. "He's a little too into his hair for my taste. And that ginger color! I've never been a fan of it. But, being a ginger is something he's proud of, a part of his identity. Yet, the way he's always tossing those wild waves about is so annoying."

"They are very showy," another spouse remarked, observing the preening Cillian doing a few toe-touches. "They almost look like they're on fire!"

"Rob assures me that the only two who really have a chance for the 1000 dollar prize are him and Cillian," Bonnie remarked. "Rob let me choose, and we'll be going to Niagara Falls for a romantic interlude!"

"That is, IF he wins," Cillian's wife chided.

"I hear poor Matt will be heading into the office on Monday with a baldy cut," Bonnie commented, feigning sympathy with my wife.

"I have no idea why he agreed to this madness," she remarked drearily. "He'd been strangely excited about this whole thing. But, yesterday, he started muttering about why he'd ever joined the tournament and fretting about the baldy look."

As we warmed up before the tournament, Rob kept me in suspense about his true intentions. Despite me pressuring him to affirm he intended to lose, his answers were evasive.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You'd look sweet with a baldy cut, Matt," he purred, rumpling my fussy business cut. "It if comes to that...."

"This whole thing was set up for you! Not me!" I stammered, feeling betrayed and thrilled, all at once.

"Oh, chill out, it's only hair," he laughed as he strode away with his mane swishing in a sexy manner.

To rub salt in my wounds, he ran his fingers through his silken locks and let out another taunting laugh as he turned to wish me good luck on the court.

I was so nervous, imagining myself with a shorn head, that I started making mistake after mistake on the court.

James began referring to me as Baldy!

The two longhairs, Rob and Cillian, battled ferociously -- the golden locks in mortal combat with the ginger locks! They were both determined to claim the 1000 dollar prize, it seemed.

As Cillian broke into the lead, my nagging doubts about Rob's intentions were laid to rest.

He lunged for a ball and then continued on, almost in an acrobatic leap, hitting the ground and rolling. Rob put on a great show, groaning dramatically and writhing on the floor.

"It's my thigh," he gasped and groaned. "I must have pulled something."

Bonnie was out on the court in a flash.

"Should I bring you an ice pack?" she offered. "You shouldn't go on playing! You're no spring chicken, Rob!"

His theatrics intensified.

"But, if I don't, honey," he said as he ran his fingers through his hair. "You wouldn't want to see this all shaved off, would you?!"

Her face blanched at the shocking possibility.

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "Just cede this set. James and Matt are up next and then we have our potluck lunch. Maybe after a bit of rest, your leg will feel better. Back in the game! I want a romantic getaway, not a baldy husband!"

Throughout lunch, Bonnie fiddled with Rob's hair and caressed it. How could he stand that, I wondered?!

Rob sat passively and stared at Bonnie lovingly. He assured her he would do everything he could to win, even if it meant exacerbating the injury.

"Don't be foolish, Rob," I said, butting in. "It was time you got a decent man's haircut anyways. All that girly hair!"

"I happen to like it just the way it is!" Bonnie sniffed.

Cillian suddenly was seized with a mischievous idea. He grabbed the clippers and snuck up behind Rob. Then, he grabbed his friend by the mane and brandished the metal teeth right in front of his eyes.

"New rule for the tournament! The winner shaves the loser! And, that's going to be you, Blondie! No more golden hair flouncing about the court after I've given you a military induction cut," Cillian cackled gleefully.

"Seems like we could both do with an honest haircut, Carrot-top," Rob snapped back playfully.

"You're just jealous of my hair's unique flame-like color," Cillian smirked, flaunting his tresses.

Rob's first time on the court after lunch proved to be a disaster as he limped about missing shot after shot and grimacing in pain with each step.

"Throw in the towel, Blondie!" Cillian taunted from the sidelines. "Get ready for your haircut."

Instead of serving, James stopped the play, "Really, Rob, you can't go on with your injury. Maybe we should reschedule the tournament for another day."

"No, I'm not going to weasel out," Rob said firmly. "We need a winner!"

"Why don't we all be winners?" James suggested. "Let's use the prize money to take our wives out for dinner dancing on the river cruise. The 1000 dollars would cover the expense for the eight of us."

"Oh, I'd like that," one of the spouses remarked. "I have a bridesmaid gown I'd like to use again."

The other spouses enthusiastically supported the idea, each describing a dress that needed more wear.

"And, let's all be losers too!" I suddenly blurted out. "All four of us! Baldies!"

Rob immediately endorsed the idea.

"Yes, I'm in favor! We're all winners, and we're all losers!" he exclaimed. "James, do you agree?"

A thin smile crept across James' face as he gingerly fingered his executive coif.

"Why not?" he said. "But, only if all four of us get them! Good luck convincing Carrot Top!"

Our gazes turned to Cillian and his long red hair.

You could tell his lips were beginning to form a big "NO" when his wife Barb piped up.

"DO IT, Cillian! I want to go dinner dancing on the river cruise, and it's time you try a new look. I'm tired of the mop," she said derisively.

He pawed at his famed hair and displayed a wounded, betrayed look.

His wife did not back down. "CUT it!" she demanded.

Finally, Cillian caved in. "All right, baldies for all four of us. But, I get to play barber on Goldilocks."

"And Matt should have his choice of victim since he proposed the idea," Rob suggested.

"That's easy!" I laughed. "I've always wanted to be a firefighter. Shaving Cillian will be as close as I come to that dream. A firefighter who uses hair clippers instead of a hose!"

"James, that means you'll buzz mastermind Matt," Rob said. "And, I'll put an end to your executive coif!"

As in the lead-up to the tournament, the booby prize generated a lot more commotion and excitement than the actual prize.

"I'll volunteer to be the first victim," I offered, once again seized with the idea of getting clipped down to the wood.

I stripped off my shirt. As I sat on the hard chair and James fumbled with the clippers, my mind began to wander. The dreaded thrill of walking into the office with a butch cut! It had been a fantasy of mine for as long as I could remember. Working up the courage to push the front door open and hearing the muffled gasps and snickers rippling through the workplace as I advanced toward my office. Baldy boy with a simple butch sitting in the big executive office feeling very vulnerable.

I heard the clippers spring to life. Then, I saw the metal teeth chattering in front of my eyes.

"Right down the middle," James laughed as he thrust the machine into my hair. "Off comes the distinguished look of office authority."

The vibration on my scalp felt sensational. A cheer went up from the onlookers.

I heard my wife's loud, sympathetic, "Awwwwwww, poor boy. It'll grow back quickly."

James was slow, but forceful -- the clippers advanced right down the top of my head. Clumps of my chestnut-colored locks fell to my shoulders and then slid down my chest into my lap.

"No turning back," James laughed.

He rubbed the clipped swath on top of my head lightly.

"Wow, that's short!" he gasped. "Feels like stubble!"

I picked up the biggest clump of cut hair and held it up, making a dramatically sad and anxious face.

"Bye-bye helmet hair," Rob mocked. "No more every-hair-in-place, power-look for you, Matt!"

"Nope," I croaked. "Just an amateur baldy cut."

I shifted on the chair and tried to arrange my legs so that nothing might be observed stirring south of the beltline.

More of my hair showered down as James brought the clippers up the back.

"This is fun," he shrieked gaily, continuing to inflict my transformation. "Maybe it can become a new tradition for the four of us."

"Maybe so," said Rob, running his fingers through his silken, shaggy mane.

When James finished administering the butch cut, the other two guys were all over my clipped head with their hands, giving me congratulatory rubs.

"Such a sweet baldy!" Rob purred, rubbing my pelt vigorously.

"Get ready for your turn in the chair, Goldie Locks!" I laughed.

Then came my turn to explore my butch. Oh, it felt amazing!

I stood up and the clumps of chestnut gathered on the ground around the chair. It looked like a lot of hair -- and mine hadn't even been that long. What would the pile look like once Rob and Cillian had been shorn?!

"Who should be next?" I asked.

"I'll go," volunteered Rob. "Best to get this over with."

"Come on, dream boy," Cillian said, makeshift tapping the barber chair invitingly.

Rob strutted over to the chair and stripped off his shirt. His manly chest glistened with golden fur in the afternoon sun! I had studied the sculpted lines many times in the locker room of the tennis club.

"Looks like your chest and legs need a barber too!" Cillian exclaimed as he reached over and grabbed some chest hair.

Rob shrieked as a few strands were yanked playfully by Cillian from his furry chest. The first ambush was followed by quick yank of his leg hairs.

Bonnie sulked as she watched her husband fluff and flaunt his pretty hair one last time.

"Kiss it all good-bye," Cillian taunted as he fired up the clippers.

"I'm ready," Rob replied, running his fingers through his locks on last time.

Cillian shoved Rob's head forward. His golden locks dangled in front of his eyes. The amateur barber with the lush mane of ginger brought the screaming teeth up through his rival's nape.

Bonnie gasped as huge clumps of golden silk began to rain down onto the ground behind the chair.

Rob hammed things up by trying to dodge the clippers, but Cillian kept his grip tight.

"There is no escaping, Blondie!" Cillian laughed. "You've got a whole swath missing up the back. Here, feel the beginning of the new you!"

Rob reached his hand in back and smiled broadly, "Awesome!! Keep buzzing!"

Cillian was more than happy to oblige. On his next drive up the back, he kept the clippers traveling through the cowlick, following the central part down the top toward the hairline. A massive mound of cut hair had accumulated by the time the clippers reached the forehead. As it was pushed off and fell into Rob's lap, a cumulative gasp emerged from the group.

"Holy s**t!!" Rob exclaimed as he grabbed the cut mass from his lap and held it up. "That's a lot of hair!"

"I think you're going to like the baldy cut," Cillian teased.

"I think I will too," Rob replied quickly and seemingly sincere.

"Now, let's expose these ears and free them from this feathery fluff. Bye-bye Mr. Farrah Fawcett!" Cillian laughed.

He wrenched Rob's head to the side and buzzed up through his striking, thick sideburns, pealing off the lovely layers of his cultivated shag.

Bonnie bit her lip and looked inconsolable.

Then the other side of Rob's shag received the same treatment.

The transformed Rob looked brutally different without his pretty boy hair style. No more soft and shimmering lines. Instead, he emitted a strong, sleek look.

Rob couldn't stop running his hands all over his clipped pelt.

"I'm afraid I'm going to like this length too much to let it grow back, Honey," he told Bonnie.

She rubbed it a bit too and smiled weakly, "Well, it's not as bad as I thought it was going to be."

Rob got up from the chair, almost in a daze. He studied the piles of cut hair that had come off his head on the ground around the chair and shook his head in amazement.

"Who's next?" I asked the two unshorn fellows.

"I'll go," James replied, heading for the chair, fondling his quiff for the last time.

"Worried about the reaction at the office on Monday?" I asked James as Rob picked up the clippers.

"A bit," James confessed. "It's a fairly stuffy workplace with everyone in cookie-cutter type suits and businesscuts. I'm pushing the envelope with this quiff."

"And you'll show up on Monday with a baldy!" I laughed. "Me too. It'll feel strange"

"I'm just at the mid-level, Matt, but you're the boss," James noted. "Maybe your underlings will feel compelled to follow suit. Why don't you take the clippers to the office with you, just in case some suck-up says he really likes your new look?!"

"That's just the kind of thing my cocky personal assistant would do!" I laughed. "Cocky little Carl has perfectly groomed, wavy, black hairand the most expensive clothing. Don't know how he can afford such fancy threads with his salary."

"Strip him of all of it!" Cillian laughed. "When he comes knocking at your door suggesting a raise or a promotion, pull out the clippers and set them on your big, executive desk. Or, send him to me, now that I'm an experienced barber. I'll show him what he needs to find favor with the big boss!"

"Ready?" Rob asked James as he grabbed his quiff and brought the clippers right to the prime lock of his business look.

"Take it off!" James chirped.

In a second, the quiff had been severed and Rob tossed it into the air.

"Let me see him," James' wife demanded, coming closer to the action. "Oh, Sweetie Pie, you look awful."

"And these Dumbo ears are going to be more prominent without the coif to compensate for them," Rob laughed.

"Dumbo ears?" James whined. "I do not!"

"Just teasing, just teasing," Rob assured. "You're as handsome as ever."

He quickly plowed off all the longer hair on top of James' head, leaving him a startling MPB dome surrounded by a sparse wrap-around fringe.

"Oh, leave him like that," I laughed. "Such a sweet grandpa look!"

Instead, Rob peeled away all the rest of James' businesscut, leaving him with a baldy.

The take-down was quick and brutal.

Then, it was time for the grand-finale...but Cillian was nowhere to be seen! He had slipped away during the commotion of James' transformation.

"Where is that Carrot Top?!" I demanded.

"Last I saw him, he was headed toward the table with the prize money," Bonnie said.

I dashed over to the table. The money was gone! And there was a note scribbled on the envelope. 'Winner takes the money AND keeps his hair!'

"The rat!" I shouted. "Find him!"

Barb calmed us down, "He's just teasing you! Go drag him out from the men's locker room."

The three of us were onto him in a flash, dragging him out by his flaming mane.

"We need to tape him to the chair!" James exclaimed. "I'll be right back. I've got a roll of duct tape in my car!"

"No!" shouted Cillian. "I can't have gooey tape pulling out my chest hair! It was just a joke. I'll cooperate."

"I'm getting the tape anyway," James warned. "If you don't cooperate, Cillian, we're taping you to the chair!"

There was a lot of commotion as Cillian was wrestled into the chair. The wives were standing about, clucking gleefully as the end of his flaming locks neared.

Rob handed me the clippers. He looked so different with his butch! So boyish, so...well, clean and...manly, actually.

I whispered to him, "You look amazing without that fluff!"

To which he replied, "Wish I could say the same things about you...ha, ha!"

He could tell the remark stung, and quickly tacked on, "Just kidding, Matt. Maybe you and I need to have a romantic getaway of our own, sometime. Ha, ha! Two buddies stroking each other's baldy cuts."

James decided that since he'd retrieved the duct tape, he would use it to subdue Cillian.

Everyone had a lot of fun watching the proud tennis star and his lovely ginger locks getting prepped for the finale humiliation!

I decided to give Cillian's wife the thrill of the first swipe.

"Barb, dear," I said, as I called her to come close. "Would you do the honors? You were so kind as to reveal your hubby's hiding place to us."

She took the clippers from my hand with delight.

"This is the part that's always irritated me the most," she said, seizing his forelock. "Always in his eyes, unless he's got that awful ponytail thing going!"

She gathered a copious amount of ginger in her hand and snapped on the machine with the dexterity of a seasoned barberette. NO mercy was shown! OFF came a massive handful of flaming red hair!

Beth held it up like a trophy!

Then her eyes lit up, and she noted, "Should I use to smaller guard on my hubby? I think he'd be so attractive with a totally stripped look."

Cillian was astonished at the idea. He tried to stand and flee, the chair taped to him and all.

In a flash, James had him seated again and proceeded to tape his legs to the chair.

"Oh, no," Cillian groaned. "Now I'm going to have both chest hair AND leg hair yanked out when this comes off."

"Quiet, Carrot Top!" I smirked playfully. "Or, I'll have James slap some duct tape over the big mouth too."

I got the smallest plastic guard out of the box and adjusted the clippers so that Cillian's head would be totally clipper shaved, per Barb's request.

Then, I had my moment of fun. When the clippers first made contact with Cillian's mane, the high-pitched buzz immediately dropped to a deep, bogged-down growl. It was as if the blades were pushing their way through the density, like a determined firefighter confronting the flames to save a stranded child.

As the metal teeth of the clippers emerged at the end of the drive down the center of Cillian's head, the contrast between cut and uncut was stark. After the vibrant copper waves tumbled away, the pale, creamy white scalp beneath emerged in the shorn swath. Despite his many hours on the tennis courts, Cillian's scalp had gotten virtually no sun on account of the density of his mane.

Heavy, intact sheets of wavy ginger hair piled up on the ground around my feet in thick, springy clumps.

Amid whoops and cheers, I took off another swath of flaming waves. Sharp, sandpapery stubble, a mere sixteenth of an inch was left.

Barb was busy filming the event, encouraging her husband to smile, but he was in no mood to cooperate.

"It's a good thing James taped him in the chair," Rob laughed.

"I think my husband makes a good barber," my wife said with enthusiasm. "And, I like his new look! It's more playful and casual."

Then, the wives turned to descriptions of the dresses they intended to dear on the dinner-dance cruise.

It was time to tackle the sides. The first run up through the sideburn and temple was easy. The cut waves of hair fell into Cillian's lap. Then, as I moved into a trickier area, I used my index finger to gently but firmly fold the top of Cillian's ear flat forward. He grimaced as ran the clippers in short, upward strokes following the natural curve of the hairline. I continued to remove the flames by pulling the top lobe of the ear downward and away from the scalp.

Like a tennis pro, I shifted adroitly on my feet and continued clipping off the overgrowth around the back and then to the other side.

Finally Cillian was BALD! I mean, bone bald. Like a marine induction haircut. He sat in shear misery while we all snapped pictures of him taped to the chair, surrounded by hair.

Rob showed him a photo of one of the snaps, and Cillian's face turned into an angry shade of red.

"I did NOT sign up to look like a knob head!" he exclaimed.

"Would you feel better if the other three of us got taken down to your length? I'm willing to shed this tidy pelt, even if the others aren't," Rob declared.

Bonnie's objections were over ruled.

"The four of us will leave here all sporting the same length," James declared.

And, so we did! We were all losers, and we were all winners!!

---