Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

I stumbled upon this D Magazine feature article on TCD (a non-USTA, cities-spanning, flight-ladder league in my area) from 1999. Some of the words/letters didn’t quite make it in the digital transition, but otherwise…yup. Yup, yup. Exactly.

On to the actual post:

You do not want to be my doubles partner. I wrote within the first month of starting this blog about the things I do / don’t do that annoy my doubles partners. Well, over the course of two years, I have accumulated even more evidence of my special talent for alienating people from wanting to play with me. I am awesome.

You’re going to be running.

A lot. A lot, a lot, a lot, a lot of running. For whatever reason, my vast array of doubles partners have all shared a general look by about late in the first set: slightly hunched over, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and shooting me death glares that plainly say, “Will you PLEASE do something at the net??”

I make sure to walk over to my doubles partners in between points so they can catch their breaths – so thoughtful! – while ignoring the death glares. I mean, come on now. They’re playing with me. They should know better than to request something of me that’s out of my tennis abilities. Then I walk back to my spot near the net area and sink down comfortably into the foldout chair underneath the beach umbrella, ready for the next point.

My bedside manner is…a work in progress.

I’ll go ahead and admit it; I’ve been known to get angry at my partner on the court and I might say something stupid to her that I’ll immediately regret. I’ll apologize soon after, but, of course, the damage has been done. We ain’t winning that game and we sure as heck aren’t winning the match now. Great job, Hothead!

And if I’m not misdirecting my anger of my poor play at my partner, there’s a chance that I’ll be throwing my racquet. Which is also an excellent look.

Or I am a whimpering, nervous, unfunny-joking puddle of a mental mess and I am apologizing and apologizing in between self-deprecating quips …

But for the most part, my default bedside manner setting is pure intensity. And if we’re losing, I’ll stop talking completely. That’s when I’m in very serious, very focused-on-myself-so-I-can-play-better mode.

There have been matches in which I’ve looked up and suddenly realized I haven’t said a word to my partner in several games. Exactly the doubles partnership camaraderie they teach you to have!

One partner termed it “sulking.” Other partners have asked me to smile. My coach tells me I can’t act like this because my partner will think I’m mad at her – even though I’m not even thinking about her – and her play will be affected negatively.

So, yeah, I’m aware of this side of me, and it’s something I’m consciously working on.

The best part though is when I’m actually being a supportive and encouraging doubles partner and my partner asks me, “Are you okay, Christy?”

I tend to hit balls down the line where, you know, the net player is.

Do you expect your doubles partner to be able to direct her groundstroke returns cross-court away from the net player? I do, too. I just, um, can’t actually do so, and it’s on my Shots To Improve On During The Off-season Going On As Of Today List.

Sometimes I can get away with this doubles faux pas due to a fortunate combination of the serve being a tad weak and my tendency to hit the ball really hard (to make up for my lack of control). Sometimes I’ll see a beleaguered net player scurry to the baseline before her partner’s second serve, and I want to tell her, “No! Come back! I don’t mean to hit the ball at you (usually), I promise!!”

Because if she’s not up there, anymore, then I don’t have a target from which I’m trying to hit away from and I’ll continue with this bad habit of mine…

I am a needy partner.

I am a high-fiver. I generally need to high five in between every point. Every point. I need the constant reassurance of human interaction.

…it’s as if I know whether I have doubles chemistry with someone based on how we high-five.

Some partners have looked at my outstretched hand in disgust as they’re forced to reluctantly make physical contact with another human being.

“Wait. Seriously? We’re doing this? I’m sorry…are you twelve-years-old?”

Other partners…it’s like they can’t be bothered with a high five. Like I’m interrupting their otherwise lovely day or I’m a fly buzzing around their face and they’re making a half-hearted attempt to swat at me. They don’t stop as they’re gliding to their position on the court for the next point, and it’s up to me to secure a proper high five so that I don’t feel incomplete and can play the next point in the right frame of mind.

With these people, I have to concentrate hard on making solid contact with the moving object that is their hand. Basically, I’m exerting the same amount of energy into high fiving my partner as I do when I hit a tennis ball.

Funnily enough, these people who aren’t into high fives almost always are very willing to high five after they hit a winner.

I whiff on overheads.

Oh, yeah. I whiff on overheads. This is a thing now. It’s gotten to the point where the partners I play with most frequently know to cover me as I’m swinging for that ball that’s so high up in the air and why-do-I-have-all-this-time-to-think-and-where-in-the-world-are-my-feet??, and they’ll calmly hit the ball back over the net as I’m in my follow-through. Then we continue on with the point as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Because nothing out of the ordinary did.

This post is dedicated to the players who know all this (welp…they do now!) about me and still agree to play doubles with me. I so, so appreciate it. 😀