Drip, drip, drip. “Forty-love.” Toss. Whack. Thud. A bright yellow ball hits the net. “Game!” yells a boy from across the fence. “Six-five, we win.”

Almost unnoticed, except for its unusual hi-light yellow color, it was hard to see how such a small ball could make someone sweat so much. But if you ever play tennis in 90+ degree heat in direct sunlight, you’ll find out how. And that’s just what eight students did Friday afternoon at tennis club.

Crazy? Not really. Devoted? Sort of. What makes people come to tennis club then? If you ask me, I’d tell you that I come just because it’s the only sport that I can play decently at. No need to puke at the end, no need to body-slam anybody. Just smack the ball to the other side, within certain boundaries, and make sure that my opponent can’t knock me out.

That’s why I dash from my statistics class every afternoon, stuff my backpack, and sprint to the 26 Pack. Once on the bus, I relax in the air-conditioned atmosphere, along with other tennis-club goers. It’s the only chance before going out onto the hot, blazing tennis court.

At the tennis court, near Memorial Stadium, my tennis mates and I shed our 20-pound backpacks, unpack our tennis rackets, and wait for Mr. Bergandine to kick off the players on a few courts. Then we each grab a few balls and start hitting them back and forth across the net.

Sometimes we hit them into the net. Other times we hit home runs. Unlike in baseball, however, home runs are undesirable. Nobody likes retrieving the brightly colored balls from across the street and occasionally from the nearby dorm’s lawn. Even worse is when someone hits a ball into the adjacent football field, especially when the football team is out practicing.

After about 10 minutes or so, when most of the stragglers on the late bus come, we gather around Mr. B, stretching our muscles and receiving orders the next hour and a half. Friday, we started with a running drill, then received serves for half the time, and later played doubles, or two-on-two.

The first exercise was pretty fun. Running all over the court in the balmy 90-degree temperature? My favorite. The next exercise was equally exciting. What isn’t exciting about Mr. B. hitting 200-mile-per-hour balls at you? I missed most of the balls, on purpose of course.

By the time we were allowed to play doubles, most of us were hot, sweaty, and tired. And we had to play a set, otherwise known as the first-to-win-six game. Or in tennis-speak, 0-15-30-40-game six times for the winning team.

Needless to say, none of us were in much position to play too hard. Most of our serves went wide or low — out of bounds or into the net, respectively — resulting in multiple double-faults. The ones that were hit into the proper place lasted only about six or so hits. Which wasn’t bad, given our conditions and inexperience.

When we finally finished our game and collected the balls, I mentally evaluated my performance. Returned several cross-court balls, a few serves, and didn’t completely double-fault my way out of another set.

And just one home run for the day.