Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

USTA’s year-end ratings come out on Monday, December 2nd. I’ll find out whether I’ll have to play 4.5 for 2014 Spring USTA, or whether I’ll be able to compete at the 4.0 rating for next year’s Tri-Level Tournament. 😉

I don’t know what my 2014 tennis fate will be. I don’t understand the USTA rating system, and I haven’t done the research I probably should as a weekend tennis crazy (and if I ever start my research, I’ll be sure to check out what one of my commenters, Clif Render, wrote about it at his blog).

I batted .500 for 2014 4.5 Fall USTA. I played people who were rated 4.5s. I won. I lost. I went to lunch.

But where were my opponents on the spectrum of 4.5 rating land: low, medium, or high? Did I beat the right kind of 4.5s? Did I win enough games? Blahblahblah, it’s all very silly.

Do I still get to be the 4.0 in the upcoming USTA Combo Tournament and have a chance of avenging my loss in the area 7.5 finals? That’s mostly what I’m anxious to find out.

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House sitting adventures: I’m house sitting cats. These cats are free to come and go as they please as they have a pet door in the back of the house. Usually, however, these cats will wait for me to hold the door open for them before coming in. Well, no, I take that back. They’ll wait for me to hold the door open for them; I’ll oblige; and then they’ll stop a foot from the door and survey me uncertainly. Now I have to coax them to come in and try to convince them that I’m not scary (it’s my first time pet sitting for these cats so we’re just getting used to each other). I’ll spend a minute just standing there, holding the door open as still as I can because any creak will scare them away, and talk to the cats as if I were a part of the FBI Crisis Negotiation Unit. After the cats have either scurried inside or scampered away, I’ll look up, and of course, there’s a neighbor watching me. I leave her so she can laugh openly at this display of human-animal deference also known as the crazy lady talking to cats.

I met with a house/pet sitting client the other day, and as is the case with most of my clients, the wife plays tennis and the husband does not. He could not stop poking fun at the irrational tennis culture his wife and I are a part of.

“What is with you tennis players and your addiction to the game? An orthopedic friend was telling me how a guy with a broken leg was trying to figure out how to keep playing tennis. I mean, you’re not going to keep playing tennis; you have a broken leg!”

Let me try to explain the sickness.

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From espn.go.com. I would absolutely attribute the photographer if I knew that information…

This is Matthew Stafford. As a reader of this blog, you probably do not know who Matthew Stafford is. Matthew Stafford is the starting quarterback for the Detroit Lions, a National Football League team. Quarterback. Stereotypically, the head of the jocks. What I find fascinating about Matthew Stafford is that when his picture appears on my television screen (NFL telecasts show head shots of the starting lineup, #nowyaknow) as it has for the last four seasons, I can’t believe that that’s what he actually looks like. That does not look like a starting quarterback in the NFL. That looks like a frat boy. And if you told me he played football, I would assume he was a linesman. You know, those bigger guys who don’t ever get to touch the football. Those guys.

I bring up Matthew Stafford because I’m warning those of you who haven’t seen me in the last hibernating month or so that that’s how I look right now. I look like Matthew Stafford. My face is pudgy. I just wanted to brace everyone for this likeness so no one does a severe double take and injures themselves in the pro shop before we even get out onto the courts.

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