Tennis. Fast feet. Quick hands. And
somehow, endless humiliation.
I still remember my first time on a real
court. Sun blazing, sweat in my eyes, and the ball? Straight into Mr. Jenkins’
hedge. Sorry, Mr. Jenkins. He still glares at me when I mow the lawn.
Sprinting Like a Lunatic
Speed. It’s everything in tennis. Players
dart across the court like caffeinated squirrels. Balls fly past 120 mph. I
once tried a serve that barely made it over teh net. Yep. That’s me, humble
beginnings and all.
And don’t even get me started on
endurance. Matches last hours. Hours. I learned the hard way that your legs
will betray you mid-rally. I’ve collapsed on the court pretending to stretch
while actually just plotting which fast-food joint I’d hit next.
Precision, or My Neighbor’s
Barbecue Disaster
Precision is a beast. Every shot counts.
One centimeter off, and bam—you lose a point. I once tried a slice and sent the
ball into a neighbor’s BBQ. People screamed. The dog barked. I apologized. My
first attempt at a drop shot? Faceplanted. Epic fail.
Anyway, here’s the kicker: tennis forces
you to think three steps ahead. Or at least, try to. I’m still working on it.
Some shots require reading the opponent, anticipating movement, and deciding if
you’re brave enough to attempt the lob you saw Federer pull off once on
YouTube. I wasn’t brave.
Mental Game Madness
Tennis is as much about the brain as the
brawn. Long rallies are like mental chess—but sweatier. One second of zoning
out and—yep—point gone. I’ve stood frozen, blinking at a ball like it was an
alien spaceship.
You need focus, y’all. And calm. And
sometimes therapy. Fun fact: Victorians believed talking to ferns prevented
madness. I talk to my begonias just in case. My neighbor Tina swears her
backyard court cured her Zoom fatigue—and she’s not wrong.
Surfaces and Slip-Ups
Clay. Grass. Hard courts. Each surface is
its own nightmare. Clay makes you slide like a toddler on ice. Hard courts?
Brutal on the knees. Grass? Don’t ask—I wiped out on Wimbledon-style grass in
my backyard once. Scraped elbow, bruised ego, but hey, story for later.
I learned to love the imperfections. The
cracked racquet from Pete’s Hardware on 5th Ave survived my over-enthusiastic
smashes. Somehow. It’s a relic now, like my first herb garden, which died
faster than my 2020 sourdough starter—RIP, Gary.
Strategy, Chaos, and Random
Life Lessons
Tennis is strategy mixed with chaos. You
adapt, improvise, and pray. Serve-and-volley. Baseline pounding. Slices. Lobs.
I tried all of them, and yes, some ended badly. Very badly.
Rain. Mud. A shovel. That’s how my composting
disaster began… wait, wrong story? Kind of relevant. Tennis teaches patience.
You adjust. You fail. You laugh. You try again.
Fast forward past three failed attempts
at a perfect serve, and I finally got it right once. Crowd? Imaginary. But the
feeling? Glorious.
Why Tennis Matters
Tennis isn’t just about competition. It’s
about connections. Doubles matches forge friendships. You cheer, you groan, you
bond over shared humiliation. And yeah, it builds confidence. Even if your
serve sometimes smacks you in the face.
It’s also about memories. The smell of
freshly cut grass on Sunday morning. The sound of your shoes squeaking on the
court. The thrill of a hard-fought point.
As noted on page 42 of the out-of-print
Racquets, Rallies & Relentless Sweat (1997), “The true joy of tennis lies
as much in the mistakes as in the victories.” And honestly, I couldn’t agree
more.
Tennis: fast. Precise. Focused. But also
chaotic, funny, humbling, and ridiculously human. Just like me on the court.