Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

There’s nothing more fun than after you’ve played doubles with and against someone you’ve never met before in the same round-robin setting and she asks you afterwards, “Are you a 4.0?” and you have to sheepishly say, “I’m a 4.5.”

Listen up, dear reader. You should always guess too high. Whatever rating you think they really are, guess the next rating up. And then deftly hide your surprise when she proudly says, “Why, yes, I am!”

It’s really not people’s fault though for incorrectly pegging players’ ratings. The USTA NTRP Rating System doesn’t always seem to make sense…

You know what being a 4.5 means? Being a 4.5 means I know 4.5s who are the real deal 4.5s. Like, I can text those living, breathing, for-real-ing 4.5s and they will totally respond. Eventually.

Being a 4.5 means I know those 4.5s and some of them will actually partner up with me should I ever get challenged to a 4.5 or below doubles tennis match. Oh, so you think you’re better at me in tennis because you beat me and this partner that I am now disowning in doubles? Hey, you know what? How about we play again, but this time I get to bring my real partner? Huh? Huh-huh?? HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES.

Yeah, so I’m not playing well right now.

So I’m playing a for-reals team tennis match (redundant…team tennis is the only for-reals matches that exist in my world), and I am strug-gah-ling. Being the needy person that I am, I keep looking over at my player’s box for support. People exist because I need them to watch me play tennis and cheer me on. My friend April says my personality and how I view recreational tennis is better suited for tournament play, but if I played only recreational adult tennis tournaments, I wouldn’t have people I can demand that they best be vocally supporting me or if they have no interest in doing that, then they can kindly leave my sights. Now.

I have actually barked that command out to two of my unsuspecting players as they sat down by my court after their match and started chit-chatting away like normal people do. Amazingly, they stayed and cheered instead of rightfully leaving in disgust, and I won that match after losing the first set.

What? Yes, the people who play on teams I captain are on them voluntarily. Totally.

Anyway, back to the scenario I was describing. I’m playing a match, and I’ve got people watching and doing their darndest to urge me to get my head out of my butt. It’s early in my service game. I double fault, and my teammates call out that it’s just one point. No worries! I promptly double fault again, and I turn to my cheering section with a look that reads, “Yeah, what do ya got to say about that? Try to spin that double fault into a positive. I DARE YOU.”

Me. In a nutshell. Right now.

So the Life Time Fitness near my house built indoor tennis courts, and in the first few months of its opening this summer, Indoor Tennis members could bring in an unlimited number of guests as often as they wanted for free. That’s how I found myself hitting the ball machine there. One of the Life Time tennis directors was cataloging the people playing at the facility and asked me, “Are you a 4.5 or a 5.0?”

So I signed up for an Indoor Tennis Courts membership at Life Time Athletic, and I’m hitting the ball machine for the umpteenth time in order to justify the monthly membership cost. Sometimes I think any cost is worth not getting skin cancer because I am clearly going to get skin cancer.

Becoming a “Diamond Tennis member” actually worked out well from a timing standpoint since hitting the ball machine is what I do after losses and losing is a way of life for me at the moment. Or, I was more inclined to do something ridiculous like sign up for an indoor tennis membership because of my current tennis depression. Whichever one.

There are these huge stock photos of people hitting various tennis strokes on the walls, and I can’t help but gaze up at them and wonder if I look anything like these textbook techniques. There’s a 10-year-old kid in pitch-perfect form about to hit an overhead. He is clearly mocking me and my well-documented struggles to hit that ghastly shot, and I don’t appreciate it. Sometimes I choose not to hit the ball machine at Life Time because I don’t want to be shown up by a poster of a 10-year-old boy.

So during this latest funk, I’ve been throwing my racquet a lot. It’s a great look, I know. When told of my on-the-court antics, a tennis friend was aghast and called it unbecoming. That word tickles me to no end and is my favorite description for it.

Throwing my racquet has not been working, which is not the way that’s supposed to go. I feel like I’m sleepwalking through my matches and I’m playing fine, but I’m not waking up when I need to, like I have in the past. There’s another level to my game that I know I have because unfortunately, I’ve experienced it, but lately, I can’t seem to rise up to it.

I’m throwing my racquet in obvious attempts to snap out of this stupor, and it’s getting to the point where I guess I need to do something different. Maybe instead of resorting to anger as a pick-me-up, I should go for the opposite emotion: delirious happiness. Maybe I should start dancing.

I’m going to start dancing in my tennis matches. Dancing makes me happy – I can’t dance – and perhaps bobbing around and being filled with positive vibes while looking like a fool will unlock whatever it is I’ve been missing from my tennis game. While I’ve been reluctant to try this smiling thing I’ve been implored to do so much in the past, I can’t help but smile if I’m dancing.

You wanted me to smile, world? Well then I’m going to smile so hard and so distractingly that you’re going to wish you had never said anything. And you’re going to have to endure me dancing. In public. Without rhythm. You have no one to blame but yourself.

If being happier and positive correlated to better tennis play, I think professional tennis players would have been all over this by now instead of the racquet throwing, hissy-fit screaming, tantrum having behavior that they currently display (and have been displaying since the beginning of time). I’m giving this experiment ten for-reals matches. If I don’t play better in ten for-reals matches, clearly, this “be happier / smile = play better” idea is a piece of garbage, can be discarded, and never attempted again. I mean, let’s face it. It is unnatural to be happy on the tennis court.

Welp…here goes nothing. Let’s…start…NOW. Me ⇨ 😀 while doing “The Pump Walk” part of Beyonce’s “Singles Ladies.”