Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

My doubles partner is trying to tell me about one of the opponents we’re about to play. Like how just crazy, ridiculously awesome she is. I’m listening but I’m texting on my phone – because I’m just such a big deal…and a pompous a– – –  and I’m cockily dismissing everything she’s saying without even looking up. I’m feeling pretty great about tennis right now, and in my current arrogant faze, there is no one I can’t handle.

And then I warm up with the crazy, ridiculously awesome one.

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

I couldn’t hit a ball back to her. This woman is stroking very simple groundstrokes at me…for her level. Like, sometimes you warm up with people who do not have the tennis abilities to get the ball back nicely to you. No control. No power. No hand-eye coordination. Whatever it might be. That’s one thing. It’s obvious when that’s what’s happening. Sometimes, other people are purposefully trying to hit winners in the warm-up. That’s another thing. And I will have a blog post addressed to you specific people some other time. I mean, if you want to call out the green guy within, then, uh, o-kay…

This woman, however, isn’t doing any of those two things. She’s winning the warm-up without meaning to. Because she’s so good she has forgotten how to hit at any less of a pace. Because why would you? This is normal for her and other people of that world. And I don’t have the tennis abilities to get the ball back nicely to her. No control. No power. No hand-eye coordination. Embarrassing.

It didn’t take too long warming up with the crazy, ridiculously awesome one for me to go from being in cocky-bring-it-on mode to wanting to curl up in the fetal position in the corner and go away. Like, I was hoping that was just a fluke ball she casually bombed my way that I could not catch up to the first time around. I figured I needed to see the ball just once more after the second time around. And then when I continued to be late on my stroke and wallop the ball to the other court on a supposed-to-be-simple warm-up tête–à–tête the third time around, the operation was completed. I was traumatized.

So the match unfolds, and now we’re at my serve. Service winner to her partner (who did not also play Division I college tennis). Double-fault to the crazy, ridiculously awesome one. I tell my partner I’m totally fine with that; that’s a win in my book. Service winner to her partner again. Double-fault to the crazy, ridiculously awesome one again. I tell my partner that I understand at some point I’ll have to serve to that one in order for us to win this game, but for right now, I’m okay with the math…

And after every miraculous point that my partner and I won that I had a racquet on (that’s what makes it miraculous, you see), I was giddy with joy and relief and nervous laughter. So much uncontrollable, involuntary nervous laughter. So very freaked out.

My partner, by the way, was perfect in handling the blubbering, hysterical, scared out of her mind mess beside her. You know, cause it’s not enough for her to just focus on winning each tennis point or even to just carry my sad behind, which she did. She also laughed at all my bad jokes made in the name of utter fear; assured me it was all going to be okay; and held my hand throughout the trying ordeal.

Eventually, I settled down. After six games in, my competitiveness kicked in and I thought I might actually be able to hang with this Amazonian woman across the net from me. Like, I finally got to a stage where I thought I just might have been able to react fast enough so this woman and her whipping-fast stroke couldn’t knock my head over with a tennis ball. If need be. PLEASE DON’T HIT AT ME.

And we won! You can’t even imagine how much spastic, so-very-relieved laughter erupted then. There was hugging.

And by “won” I mean…the format for this particular tennis outing was to win a 6-game normal set and then shake hands and go play the next round against a different team. Man, let me tell you something: best. format. ever. 😀