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.

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There’s something wrong with my tennis head that no Pink/Katy Perry/Sara Bareilles song can help me out of.

I wouldn’t wish this mental anguish on anyone. Anyone. This sucks. Playing scared is no way to play tennis.

How to describe it. Um…

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Tennis is hard.

Tennis is so flippity hard.

Nearly every time I play tennis, I’m rudely awoken by a shot I’ve never seen before. Wait, that exists? You can do that with the ball? I’m still trying to learn how to hit a groundstroke that’ll go over the net and into the court. Hopefully, deep. That’s where I’m at. That’s where I’ve been at for the last few years. And now you’re telling me you can hit the ball like that and it’ll land like this and then…spin in a circle and shoot straight up into the air never to be seen again??

Mind. Blown.

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Of the many tennis shots I don’t have, hitting a forehand groundstroke isn’t one of them. I like to think of this next line delivered in Uncle Rico’s voice from Napoleon Dynamite: I can whip a forehand groundstroke winner on you from just about anywhere on the court.

Well, I’ll try, anyway. And trying’s half the battle! So that’s a 50% chance I’ll hit a winner and a 50% chance I won’t. I like these chances. And the logic.

My opponent loves those chances, too, by the way.

When I was an up-and-coming weekend warrior adult tennis player, the scouting report on me was to hit to my backhand – stay the heck away from my forehand. In fact, I know of at least one tennis friend who told another tennis friend to do this before playing me a couple of years ago. Have I forgotten about this violation of trust? Actually, I did. Until I started writing this blog post. And now I just remembered that I’m not happy with you, you supposed tennis friend. As soon as USTA is over and I don’t need you to win tennis matches for me so I can feel good about myself, I’m not going to talk to you for a whole week.

Hah! That’ll show you. It’s not like you’ll be relieved about not being bugged about yet another inane tennis thing for one glorious, peaceful week or anything.

Anyway, I’m here to tell you to throw that scouting report out the window. Don’t worry about not hitting to my forehand now. My forehand can’t kill you anymore. It can’t even hit the ball.

I have the blasted forehand groundstroke yips.

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