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Estanislao Contreras, Jack O'Connell and Bobby Baker, the less talkative of the Baker twins, usually make up our quartet.

O'Connell lives at the Villa Madrid Apartments with his wife Connie. Enclosed on three sides by two-story buildings, the court is wind free except for the northers that have an unobstructed sweep of the action.

In the old days--in the mid-seventies--the Border Apartments was our favorite haunt with two courts and an adjacent swimming pool. We christened the complex "a poor man's country club." Most of us were journalists or educators--not much has changed in 40 years--and these apartments were the favored residences of our rambunctious generation.

Every day was an adventure, whether it was hitting on gringas from Minnesota or mamacitas in Matamoros. Forty years later as we pick up the tennis balls and lament about our erratic backhands and inconsistent serves, one can't help but wonder where the time went.

For better or worse, we're still here. Why we came and why we stayed is beyond our comprehension. Destiny, like those winter northers, carried us along and rolled us up against the fence from where we have been unable to dislodge ourselves.

We have grown too old to fight fate. Questions we leave to the young since we're no longer searching for answers. We have no regrets. It's too late in the game for second thoughts. Second serves, however, are a different manner.