After a solid three hours of single player tennis, Paul was a bit calmed.  He went home, took a brisk shower, and screamed in his pillow before falling to sleep.  A few weeks later, Paul sprained his right wrist while aggressively playing tennis by himself, now he can't compete in finals. "Oh no!" Brian said, with only George and Ringo.  George was okay, but he was too quiet to be heard by the other players.  And Ringo...  Ringo was just the worst player ever, but the others wouldn't play without him.   "Well, we can't just quit right now, that would make us look weak." George said getting his gear. 

They were at the nearby park, getting ready when they saw their opponents.  It was some new team, the Kinks, and they were kinda hot.  all the fan girls screamed from that, thus it was televised.  "Sup, losers." The lead player, Ray Davies, said smirking.  "Oh fuck we're gonna lose..." Ringo said. 

Paul was watching at his house to see what happens. "Oh no, Their out numbered... And it's my fault..." He sighed before sipping his tea.  He decided to run there, even though his wrist might get fractured from the force of a ball or from swinging the racket badly.  He had his outfit on and got his racket out. "I'm here..." Paul said trying to catch his breath.  "Paul, no, you could get hurt more-"

"I don't care. I need to help you win."  Paul said as the first serve got tossed. He hit the ball, making soft sounds of pain. "Paul you need to st-" Brian said before Paul Glared at him. "I'm stopping when my fucking wrist breaks." Paul said.