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Backhanded

For the rising young tennis star, it was an embarrassing defeat out on court.

The coach clutched his shoulder. ‘Hold your head up high, son, you did the best you could. Don’t forget to smile. That’s the sign of a true sportsman, a smile in the face of defeat,’ he said.

But the young star didn’t need to be told. He was already smiling. His thoughts were elsewhere.

‘Tomorrow,’ he thought to himself, ’I’m going to buy a Ferrari. Then I’m going to book myself a holiday in the Maldives. I’m going to go for a spar treatment, then I’m going to buy myself a few new outfits. A white tuxedo, I’ve always wanted one of those. And some caviar, the twenty-five thousand a kilogram kind, I’ve got to have some of that.’

In his locker was a sports bag. He opened it up. It was filled with bundles of notes.

He smiled.

‘Winning is for losers.’

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