Taking Weekend Tennis Seriously

Tennis coaches are horrible, wretched, twisted beings who are out to ruin our tennis games. Save your money; it’s all a scam. Stay away from them, people!

Ahem.

It’s been nearly two weeks since I sympathized with the plights of tennis teaching pros and having to deal with us and all. But two weeks ago, I had a second serve (you know, that very important stroke that starts nearly every tennis point…think about it…). And now I double fault all the time. I go to my teaching pro to get better, and he ruins my second serve and basically my entire ability to play competitively. Outstanding.

After being much maligned and criticized, what was a passable second serve doesn’t exist anymore. I can’t even hit the ball the way I used to. Now my second serves don’t go in, and I’m practically spotting my opponents all of my service games. I have better luck attempting my first serve again, which isn’t the worst idea in the world, actually. The worst idea would be your outfit.

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Something about me was cool. I can die happily now.

My weekend was made when a little girl told me I had cool shoes. Little girls have never told me I had cool shoes, especially when I was a little girl. Adulthood: still trying to impress little kids.

In the last post, we looked at ways you could try to garner more playing time even when you are not the best player on your team. Being involved with non-playing team activities/kissing up to your captain type stuff that you never see your team’s best player do.

Here are other ways you could try to be more top of mind when your captain sets down to lovingly handcraft the lineup at her desk in her lair with her scouting report of the week’s opponent typed up, her most recent satellite pictures of each opposing player printed, and the appropriate figurines pulled out from her collection of dolls that she had made of the whole league laid out in front of her.

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I am generally not the best player on my tennis team. Because I am rarely the best player on my team, my playing time is a fun weekly guessing game (“The upcoming opponents are near the bottom of the rankings. Maybe my captain will play me this week! Oh, no, what does it mean if she doesn’t play me?”). Limited physical and natural abilities being as they are, I’ve come to understand the importance of standing out in other ways and building up as much good credit with captains as possible. So I can’t volley because I can’t control the awkwardness of my body and its inability to move. But I sure as heck can respond to team emails!

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In the latest in my series of Titles/Positions I Could Never Hold, I’m adding Tennis Instructor to the list (and not just because I’m not a good enough tennis player to do it). I think it’s a pretty neat job, honestly. Getting to be outside. Getting to be active. Time probably goes by quicker for them than time does for me as I stare glassy eyed at my computer screen by hour three of the work day. Getting to help people.

What a noble thing that is: Helping people. Teaching people. Making people better. What a terrific concept.

And therein lies the rub. Teaching people is a terrific concept…until you add in the actual, you know, people to the mix.

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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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Pre-post digression: The office suite I work in is getting new carpets. Right now. During the weekday. While we’re all working. After coming in and checking my email for any work that needed immediate attention, I attempt my normal trudge to the kitchen, which is near the office suite entrance (I don’t go through the office suite’s front doors to get to my room) down the hall from my room only to find that I am blocked by the men tearing apart the carpets. Never fear. My room is by the back door. I walk out of the back of my room, out of the office suite, past the building restrooms and the elevators, and through the office suite’s front doors. Oh, what do you know? The kitchen is being renovated as well.

I thought I would be enjoying soup to go along with my busy work – I can’t function at work without eating first – but with the microwave unplugged and probably heavy, my hopes are dashed. What can I eat now?! Thinking quickly, I go for my jar of peanut butter and my sandwich bread. Drat, I’ve been keeping the sandwich bread in the freezer. So, I pick up the also unplugged toaster, a plastic spoon, a plastic knife, and paper plates. The plumber working in the kitchen looks on befuddled. Absolutely befuddled.

Back in my room, I plug in the toaster and set it next to my phone and printer, and all is well with the world. Except for the scent of carpet paste (a co-worker describes it as the smell of dead whales). And the tens of boxes they moved off the carpet and into my room.  And the AC guy also coming in today and setting up shop in my room.  And the carpet guys now blocking the entire hallway.  The items I need for work are in the other room…that I can’t get to.

Today is going to be a good day.

On to the actual blog post.

Team tennis is fun, isn’t it? So much fun. You don’t take weekend tennis seriously if you don’t play team tennis. The camaraderie. The eating out together. The inter-squabbles that aren’t actually voiced to the involved parties. So much fun.

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I’ve done it. I’ve figured it out. I’ve finally realized what the ultimate goal for tennis players is. I understand now what kind of player we pay tens of thousands of dollars in our lifetimes for teaching pros to mold us into.

The reason why we want to be better tennis players, y’all, is not simply because it would be a neat thing.  It’s so we can be awesome enough players that we can take balls away from our doubles partners. The reason for wanting to improve at tennis, you guys, is so we can be so good we don’t give our doubles partners any more chances to mess up a point, a game, a set, a match than the absolute bare minimum.

Ta-dah! Read the rest of this entry »

After spectacularly choking away a match and not taking it too well, I naturally looked to youtube for inspirational tennis videos that would pump me up for the next battle.  Because, you know, not watching/listening to the proper inspirational music video/song before competition is what causes me to lose. Read the rest of this entry »

Pre-post digression:

A couple of people have suggested I need to find my doubles soul mate. You know, someone I can play with on a regular basis so we know each other’s tendencies, dominate a field we’re too good to be playing in because all our friends play at this level but I digress, and grow old together. While I don’t completely agree with this “need” (where’s the fun in playing doubles when you and your partner know what the other is going to do? I thought trying to win despite your partner was the whole point of doubles), I’m going to start compiling a list of qualities my doubles soul mate needs to possess because I know a funny concept when I stumble upon it. So before each post, I’ll try to list out a new necessary trait. Because you know. This is about my needs here.

• Needs to be able to communicate in a timely manner through both text and email.

My needs here.

On to the actual blog post.

In one of my early meandering posts about doubles, I said that “some players will take whatever you tell them and just go do it…because they’re awesome.”  I am not one of those people. Read the rest of this entry »

Pre-post digression: I should have known I was in trouble when my assigned doubles partner started the match asking if serving hard was okay.  “I mean, I think that’s why [the organizer of the practice] wanted me out here – to serve hard to help you guys practice.”  We were both recruited to help a tennis team prepare for their upcoming tournament.  After the opposition gave their okay, my partner proceeded to double fault at least once, if not twice, in nearly every service game.  This person might have hit a handful of aces or service winners in all three sets that we played.  I’m going to make a rough estimate and say my partner served about seven games.  7 to fourteen giveaways versus five winners.  Yeah, buddy, let’s worry about taking a little something off your serve after you’ve mastered hitting it in.  Let’s also be concerned about not overwhelming these “lesser” players with your oh-so-powerful groundstrokes after you’ve learned how to hit them over the net.

And then to begin blaming your poor play because you’re hungry?  At ten in the morning?  After a set and a half?  OF DOUBLES?!

Ahem.  I’m not bitter.

On to the actual blog post.

When people ask you, “What did you do this weekend?” you would never say you spent it watching weekend warrior tennis.  That would be ridiculous.  I certainly would never waste my weekends mesmerized by people who are just posing as athletes.  I mean, it’s hard enough explaining to people you played tennis all weekend long.  At least you’re being active.  But to merely watch it?  The shame!  THE SHAME. Read the rest of this entry »