Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

• One of my high school teachers said that to purposefully get every question wrong on a multiple choice exam was harder than it seemed. If anyone pulled off the feat, he would give that student a 100. This challenge created a bit of a buzz in the classroom, but of course, no one took him up on it.

For whatever reason, that memory surfaced recently, and now I’m tempted to see if I can manipulate my line-ups so that my oblivious team will lose every line, every match.

Obviously, the first step in losing every line, every match would be to not play me, um… 😉

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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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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.

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House Sitting Adventures: The dogs are pawing at the space in between the floor and the cabinet. There’s something stuck underneath. I get down and lie on the floor to see what all the fuss is about and pull out an Angry Birds chew toy. Still on my belly, I throw the toy over yonder to oblige the anxious, panting dogs and then immediately realize my fatal mistake: “You’re about to be stampeded and trampled on like Mufasa was by the antelopes in The Lion King!”

Thankfully, the thundering 25 lb cocker spaniels have the good sense to run around me in their mad chase to the toy, and by the time I’ve recovered from seeing my life flash before my eyes and have righted myself, the six dogs are once more beside me, tails wagging, toy dropped, ready for me to throw Angry Bird again.

I think a lot about why people play tennis. Because I often don’t understand why I play tennis. Why do people think tennis is fun when it brings so much…frustration? Is it the complaining? Is that the part that’s fun? That’s gotta be it. With how much complaining that goes on in weekend tennis, that makes the most sense. The actual tennis itself is secondary.

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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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• Sometimes I’ll watch someone hit a forehand and cringe as the body and racquet are seemingly at war with one another and there’s awkward contact made with the ball. I’ll shake my head all dramatic-like at the terrible display of tennis form. Later at work, I’ll be listening to a song and start dancing to it…until I catch a reflection of my nonrhythmic self in the glass and think, “Touché, world. Touché.”

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