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In sport there can be few things as frustrating as an opponent who, when losing, rather than giving you the credit for playing well constantly makes excuses for his or her level of performance. During a game of doubles at the local tennis club last week I encountered someone I at first thought to be such an opponent; that is until I realised he was playing through the symptoms of Raynauds Disease.
The weather had been fine, one of those sunny spring days when to be in the shade is a bit chilly but to be in the sun is spine-tinglingly pleasant, but then a northeasterly brought with it darkening cloud cover and a sparse but, for me, refreshingly cool shower.
Although Andy Murray or Rafael Nadal will never play in such conditions, the four of us who were playing the doubles match rarely get the time for a game, so decided to push on and try not to worry about waterlogging the balls and weakening our strings. Additionally, with the courts being hired for London real estate prices, we were determined to get our money's worth.
The problem was that, after the rain had just set in and we'd taken a break between the second and third set, the game suddenly shifted from being evenly poised to decidedly one-sided, with the pairing I was part of taking the ascendancy.
And it was becoming increasingly clear where the problem lay with the opponent pairing. The game of Barry, a 62-year-old retired carpenter, had transformed from one of deftly angled shots and assertive probing volleys to a litany of poorly controlled shots and accompanying expletives.
I admit, at first I thought he'd cracked and that he was only indicating some kind of injury to his hands and fingers as an excuse.
"Get on with," I was thinking. "You're only ruining it for the rest of us."
After Barry twice dropped his racquet, his partner, a mutual friend, eventually told us that we'd have to call the game off, enigmatically saying, with a wink, "Barry can't continue because he's only just come off his beta blockers."
Having considered this, I thought I better not pry.
But it was only later, over a pint at our local, that I realised Barry's insistence that the four of us sit by the fire was clearly motivated by more than a simple desire for cosiness. As he sat there, rubbing, wriggling and warming his fingers, he said, "Sorry about the game. I would have gone on if I could, but I've got Raynauds Disease - It really gets me down sometimes. The beta blockers Gaz mentioned were nothing to do with me getting the willies: I'm meant to take them for my Raynauds."
At this point I told Barry that, as I work for a work injury compensation claim company, I have more than a passing interest in secondary Raynauds Disease and asked if his was indeed the type caused by environmental factors.
He replied that it was, that he had developed it as a result of years spent working as a television set-designer using vibrating tools. In fact, increasing difficulties with symptoms had necessitated his early retirement, not just from our game of doubles but also from his career.
"I'd just been a bit optimistic about the tennis. I wanted to play more than I knew I should play," he said. "Any chance we can reschedule for a blazing hot summer day?"
