Captaining USTA tennis teams drains the life force out of me. A little part of my soul dies every second I spend on captaining. It is exhausting. I would never advise anyone to captain a recreational adult tennis team. It sucks. In so many ways.
My dog likes to circle behind me as I’m making my way around the house when she thinks we’re about to go on a road trip. I think it’s the herding mentality in her Sheltie DNA; she’s making sure she has me in her sights at all times and that I’m on the right path and not straying from the plan.
“Nope! You are not going back up the stairs, Christy, because I will block you from turning around! All forty pounds of me. That tops off at your knees. When I sit.
“Darn the construction limitations of my dog-body!”
Captaining a team is like herding. Constantly, constantly, constantly herding. Sometimes it seems like I’m the only person in a face-to-face interaction that remembers the part where I asked you about playing on this team next spring season and you said yes. And then a few months later when I blithely check in as a simple formality, you don’t have any recollection of that conversation and have joined another team.
See, a great captain would have had all these player-tennis team commitments set in stone, signed in blood complete with monthly reminders. I merely, haplessly continue to play this violin as the boat is sinking.