Sound defines the game. The ball makes a schlooping hiss as it comes off hair-thin strings stretched to thirty pounds per ounce. Sneakers squeak on the floor like a disgruntled aviary. Players grunt and gasp and moan at errors. In between points they wipe their hands along the wall as if they are painting with sweat. Above all there is the distinctive phlap of rubber meeting wood. This is squash – the ball closing upon itself as it slams into the front wall, then opening again as it rebounds back. It is a stuttering, metronomic incantation, as intimate, steady and comforting as a heartbeat.
James Zug, “Squash, a History of the Game”
:: tok, tok.