Signed up to play in a singles' league. No, this isn't a chance to meet women. This is tennis played all by yourself. Well, you play against another person, but you are the only one on your side of the net.
Anyway, I haven't played singles in a couple years and my neighbor and I agreed that we should both go out and hit before the season started. We did this on Tuesday. We started at around 9 PM and played two sets. If you are not familiar with tennis, I will now draw an analagy between doubles and singles...
Doubles is to singles as walking around the mall and stopping for a Chick-fil-A biscuit is to running a 10K.
Needless to say, I was pretty worn out. The next morning, I was moving like Grandpa McGee (an archetypical old guy who gingerly gets out of bed so as not to offend his brittle constitution and walks using very short steps) The shoulder hurt, the elbow hurt, and the ankle hurt (this I injured Saturday on a water slide, nother post - nother day).
Now, the first 'real' singles match has to be played by June 19th and I figure I gots some time to recover before I have to play. Hm. The guy calls me yesterday and we exchange contact info and talk about availability. Imagine my chagrine upon discovering the best time for us to play is Wednesday! As in tonight! Are you following this? I played yesterday. I am now struggling to walk. I thought I had 10 days to recover. I am supposed to play again tonight!!!
Now ladies, if I may be bold to say this is where you have the advantage. A female would reason, "I just played last night and it almost did me in. I should opt for an alternative time to play." A male won't allow himself to do that. "Sure, let's play!!!" he says.
By the way, why did I choose Wednesday night as the time to try the Banana Pudding milkshake at Chick-fil-A??? This is the brain I am stuck with, people!!!
So I show up and the guy shows up and a story line begins to take shape ... in my head. In hindsight, he made two critical errors right up front that gave me what I needed to create an appropriate backdrop for this event. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The first thing you need to know is when I need motivation, I create pressure for myself. I WANT an audience. In golf, I can do better off the tee with people watching than if I'm playing by myself. And if I find myself in a situation where no tension exists, I'll often create some. Which is why I like to argue and why I like to compete and why I like to gamble, you know, to make things more interesting.
The second thing: there is no such thing in my mind as playing for fun. Or a 'less important' match. I've never understood people who say, "This is ALTA, this isn't the US Open." To me, this, whatever is happening right now, IS the US Open. If I'm playing you and I appear to be casual in my demeanor, it might be because I think you have no shot or it might be because I'm trying to play head games with you but it will NEVER be because it isn't important to me. That's just me, I know it is crazy but that's that.
So, here's what happens when you combine 1) narcissism, 2) a need to up the stakes, 3) a deleterious view of competition, 4) a startling capacity for self-deception, and 5)some seriously warped, if substantial, creativity...
Suddenly, I'm on TV. I'm on TV and the whole world is watching. If I'm playing golf, there's a British guy saying things like, "And the brash young American steps up to attempt a shot that seems quite impossible and is certainly ill-advised." Curtis Strange echos, "His caddie needs to step in and intervene, this is just ridiculous." If I'm driving home from a long trip and trying to make good time, Brent Musburger: "He's already won this race, we're just seeing if he can break the world record!"
In tennis, it's McEnroe telling everyone I have no shot. Perhaps I was once the greatest ever, but I'm over the hill. True, it is amazing that I've made it this far in the tournment, but the whole world will be watching and it will be a sad end to a great career. Borg retired at 26 and I am 39, well past any conceivable age where I can win a major. Tonight, we are witnessing the coronation of a new champion in the young Russian (yes the guy was Russian, complete with a Dolph Lundren accent. This was his first mistake. OK, not his fault, but it did provide an interesting storyline) and the exit of a once great champion.
And so that's kind of the way it goes. This fellow (super nice by the way) starts hitting and all I'm really trying to do is conserve my energy. Johnny Mac is pointing out stuff along the way and snickering, "He looks like he's having trouble just picking up the balls." Actually, he was partially correct. I wasn't moving real well.
There was this other mistake the guy made. The guy was wearing a bright orange shirt. I hate orange. You're not coming onto my court wearing that putrid color and leaving unscathed. I will certainly find another gear against a guy wearing orange as opposed to a guy wearing an inoffensive color. Like the time I beat the 19 year old Auburn kid who kept calling me sir. (that may have been the greatest match I ever played) It provides an easy setup for this next tweak to the storyline:
"We are in for a treat this evening as these two could not be more opposite. One: the polished young Russian. Since the age of 2, he's been groomed for this moment in time. His parents sent him to America as a teen to practice tennis and he attended the University of Florida on a scholarship. The former 4-time All-American is playing villain tonight to one the most beloved athletes this country of ours has ever known. The seasoned, somewhat broken-down American veteran, raised on the rough and tumble courts of Hebron Hills in Tucker, GA. He's a Bulldog all the way and he's looking to pull one last rabbit out of his 39 year-old hat."
Moving on ... we started and I honestly thought, I am about to get beat 6-0, 6-0. Let's see. He volleyed better than me, he had a much better backhand, and he was in great shape. All I had was my forehand, my craftiness, and 100 million Americans cheering me on at home. Mac up in the booth: "He's completely outmatched and out of shape." (that one stung) Up 1-0 and 40/0, he double faulted and suddenly, there was a momentum shift. We traded games back and forth for awhile.
At one point in the match, when Mac had to admit, I was putting up a good fight at 3-3 in the first set, he pointed out: "Still, one guy looks like he's been in a bar fight it's hard to tell who won. The other guy looks like he's modeling some tennis clothes."
As the match went on, the play-by-play guy asks Mac, "Do you get the sense that the match hinges on this first set?" Mac: "I do, you can feel it in the air and see it on the players' faces. The winner of this set will win this match."
Another exchange: "Is it possible for the American to win if the Russian doesn't make mistakes?" JM: No, the Russian will have to make the mistakes. The old guy just doesn't have the arsenal he once had."
American hits a winner. Mac: "I stand corrected! Maybe there's some fight in the old dog after all!!!"
At one point, I even got the gratuitous July 4 analagy. "In a couple weeks, we will celebrate our American independence but this guy is showing us all the true American spirit right now!" Remember, this is all in my head. Pretty sick, huh?
The favoring crowd helped pull me through, I'll admit, with their periodic chants of, "USA! USA!" I think I even heard some saying, 'UGA!'. Though lots of people turned the channel at 3-0 in the second set. The young talented Russian from the University of Florida ended up retiring after tweaking a hamstring. The cagey old veteran fought through his leg cramps and rose victorious in this battle for the ages! Final score: 6-3, 3-0 (Ret) Now I have to decide if I've got one more year left in me. Mac thinks I should hang it up and go out a champion but something tells him, I won't be able to do it!
No comments:
Post a Comment