GET A LODHA THIS: Taking on a National Champ

I’ve always wanted to be a national champion.

Of what? Well, anything. Sports would be great—the national biking champion, for example. Or maybe the national competitive eating champion, putting away 50% of my body weight. I’d even settle for being the national champion of Mario Kart: Double Dash or Super Smash Bros. Anything, really, that would get me a sweet belt like those guys from WWF.

Unfortunately, my talents and skills don’t quite measure up to my dreams, leaving me huffing on a stationary bike, barely out-eating my friends at Chipotle and somewhere in the middle of the pack in Nintendo GameCube skills.

So I decided that if I couldn’t be a national champion myself, I would do the next best thing: I would take on a national champion, trying to defeat him at his own game.

My target: Siddharth Suchde, the Harvard men’s squash team’s No. 1 player and the 2007 national champion.

The senior has finished in the top four at the individual national tournament in each of his four years and has already competed with the Indian national team.

Suchde has an elegant style, gliding from corner to corner with seemingly little effort, only to unleash powerful shots with the flick of a wrist. His opponents quiver: most fail to take more than a few meaningless points off him, let alone an entire game or match.

Still, I was determined.

Despite his fierce play, Suchde is laid back and has a good sense of humor, which made him somewhat amenable to my request. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to enter the fray against a Crimson reporter without something more on the line.

So we made a bet. Whoever lost would have to buy the winner and everyone in the crowd a dessert of choice at Finale.

“The cake was a good incentive,” acknowledged Suchde, who overcame a 104-degree fever the weekend preceding the match.

Of course, we couldn’t play a straight match—I’d have no chance. With the natural odds stacked against me, I stacked the artificial odds against Suchde.

Just like a normal squash match, we would play a best-of-five set, with each game being won by the first player to reach nine points. The catch: I would start with an 8-0 lead. Moreover, while Suchde would play on the British scoring system, earning points only on his serve, I would play on the American system, tallying a point on either person’s serve.

One mistake by Suchde, or one fluke shot by me, and I would be one step closer to glory—and free Finale.

Suchde seemed hesitant to accept the rules at first, saying in an e-mail that he suggested “altering the bet to make it a ‘fair match.’” I gave him a final chance to back out, but I had only stoked the fire in the belly of a dragon.

“Unless you’re scared, there’s no point in calling it off now—especially after all the trash talk!” Suchde replied. “Tuesday at 5 p.m. it is then. Rules remain the same. Looking forward to this.”

Little did I realize what I had gotten myself into.

With the big match on Tuesday, I spent Monday morning practicing in Lowell’s squash courts. But when I got to the Murr Center on Tuesday evening, I found myself in an unfamiliar environment, given the different dimensions and superior quality of the squash courts.

As if things weren’t looking dismal already, Suchde received more help from the gods. Given that a crowd of 10-12 people showed up to watch, we moved to the glass-walled court where he regularly played as Harvard’s No. 1. Moreover, Suchde’s roommate, Vaibhav Gujral, was to be the match’s referee and official scorekeeper.

Still, observers remained optimistic about my chances.

“Anybody can win a point—one point is a not a lot to get,” said men’s squash head coach Satinder Bajwa. “I think you’ll both win: you for taking part, him for taking the challenge.”

I won the racket spin and elected to serve. And so the match began.

Suchde killed the first ball immediately, eager to get on his serve and start earning points. He demolished me with well-placed serves and a set of angled shots that perfectly hit the corners. Within moments, Suchde had strung together nine points to win, 9-8.

Suchde 1, Lodha 0.

Feeling more at ease, Suchde started toying with me in game two, running me from side to side with a series of drop shots. At one point, he blocked me from reaching the ball, but Gujral refused to call a let.

“I paid the ref off—helped a bit,” Suchde admitted after the match.

Up 8-7, I chased down eight consecutive shots before Suchde finished me off with a volley to the back corner.

Having “reached” eight points first, I elected to play first to 10 instead of the regular nine, hoping to give myself a final chance. Suchde took the next point, moving ahead 9-8.

But then the unexpected happened. I launched a forehand that was just up, bouncing twice before Suchde could reach it. I had won a point!

Still, though, the score remained tied at 9, and Suchde effortlessly took the next point.

Suchde 2, Lodha 0.

It was time—I had to do or die. I put every last ounce of energy into the game, throwing myself against the walls and sliding on the wooden floor.

Again, with the score at 8-7, there was a long rally, one that I almost ended with a drop shot that Suchde barely flicked up.

“I think I was a bit lucky over there,” he said. “It was a good shot—I thought I wasn’t going to get there, to be honest.”

When that shot failed, though, it was over. Suchde completed the 3-0 sweep with ease, winning, 9-8, 10-9, 10-8.

Always the good sport, Suchde then offered to play members of the audience, many of whom were content to watch from the stands and dream of the free Finale they would be receiving.

Even after a full afternoon of training and a few celebrity matches, Suchde was hungry for more.

“If you want to have another bet for cake,” he said with a grin, “we’re on.”

So I left the match aching and sore, with a soon-to-be-lighter wallet, and no WWF-style belt to show for my efforts.

Guess I’ll have to challenge another Harvard athlete in the fall. Who’s next?

—Staff writer Karan Lodha can be reached at klodha@fas.harvard.edu.