So last week I lost a tough doubles tennis match in a super tiebreaker.
My partner and I were the better team on paper, but that does not always matter in sports. On any certain day, the lower ranked team can win. It just didn’t seem like our day last week. Our shots were a few inches out, and their shot’s a few inches in: it happens. My body didn’t feel good, the other team was on, and we lost. A few points here and there and it could have gone the other way. But there hung a vibe on the court that day which seemed to say, “Today is not your day.” So it goes.
The loss stung. It hurt my heart a bit. I reminded myself, “Ego is the enemy, Richard. And are you really too good to lose? What is so special about you that you shouldn’t lose like everyone else?” You should face losing and winning the same, Richard, or at least try to – “Teach me to care, teach me not to care.” But there was pain from this loss. For a few days at least. I could not deny it.
Now from long experience competing in sports, I have long since learned to rationalize losing. “The tennis gods giveth, and the tennis gods taketh away,” I think to myself. You can’t control everything. This is my brain telling my heart to not feel so badly, as there seems to be forces at play which I cannot control. “Just roll with it,” my brain tells my heart, “be patient and forgiving of yourself on your less successful days. Next week will be different.” This coping mechanism I use has been honed through long practice. Things like this are some of the consolations of aging. Older athletes are usually more mentally stable and/or mentally tough compared to younger ones, and this is true beyond sports, too. One gets better at losing, at placing losses in perspective, because you have so much practice at it. I have been losing in sports for approximately five decades. “If you are rarely or never losing, then you are not playing strong enough competition,” I tell myself.
The next week was totally different, and I redeemed myself during this Easter weekend on the tennis court. Yesterday was the final match of our tennis season, and whoever won it would be going to sectionals in San Diego in eight weeks representing Ventura County. Both our teams were outstanding, Spanish Hills and Westlake Athletic Club, and all season long I knew this matchup was coming. I knew my partner and I would be facing a solid doubles team in that match. I feared that team, and I knew if we didn’t play our best we would lose. But if I felt fear in my gut, I also felt excitement. This would be way better than beating up on the lesser teams we often faced. I was preparing myself for this match for weeks. It was not just me; it was this way up and down our lineup with both teams. It would be very tight in all three doubles lines, and the singles one. It could go either way.
And sure enough the match yesterday was tough. Both teams were absolutely evenly matched, and my partner and I battled on line one against Reed Grinsell and Steve Wilde. They were USTA NTRP 5.0 level players who had recently been bumped down to 4.5. They had beaten all their opponents all season long in short order. We battled through the first set before my partner and I took it 7-5. “We have already been out here longer than in any of our other matches,” Reed mentioned through the sweat. Both sides had stretches of success and lesser play, and it went one way and then the other. I was red-lining my play. Into the second set I was sweating like crazy. It was tight tight tight.
The second set ended in a tiebreaker. Then Reed and Steve played some solid tennis in the second set tiebreaker and took it. They had won the second set and we took the first one, so now the match would move to a final super-tiebreaker. The first team to score ten points would take the match (winning by two). The other matches had finished and everyone was watching us. “You like your chances here, Richard,” I told myself. “You usually have success in tiebreakers. This is good.” I wasn’t sure if I believed myself, but I was so tired by this point I could not afford to spend too much effort thinking about it. But the other guys were tired, too. It had been a battle. My left knee, which has been hurting and worrying me since last August, throbbed. Was I doing permanent damage to my knee? There was no time to think about that now.
In the super-tiebreaker I made one excellent topspin lob and another excellent desperate volley, and they made a few mistakes. Steve, in particular, lined up to take a big forehand down the line on me at net with my partner’s second serve – and missed.* He screamed in frustration. I was so tired at that point I was focusing only on the playing and trying to win the next point. I was cramping up. We lost a point and I asked my partner, “What is the score?” He told me it was 9-5. We had match point already! I was so tired I hadn’t known. With relief I recognized that our lead was too much and we were going to win this match. On the next point I poached, hit a volley down the middle, and we had won. It was over. The audience applauded. I was relieved.
The match was over and we shook hands at the net. Steve and Reed were total gentlemen. “I would have been happy winning or losing this match,” I told them. “What I most wanted was good competition. And that is what we had. That was fun!” In my opinion, it is better to play a tight match and lose it than to beat up on lesser competition. They felt the same way. And as all the other players on the other lines gathered to have a beer and talk about this day’s tennis and the whole season, there was a great vibe at play.
These were all highly accomplished tennis players enjoying the tennis and the people. Who won between these two teams, for me, was less important than the fellowship involved. We would play our brains out, the tennis would be high-level, one team would win (probably narrowly), and then we would have a beer or two and share some laughs afterwards. I cannot underscore how important this was to me. It is an important aspect, for me, of being a man. I would always look forward to competing against Steve and Reed: respect. Here were the final scores:
What were we not going to do during that match? We weren’t going to get into a pissing match about missed line calls. If the ball was too close to call out, it was “in.” We were also not going to throw a tantrum if we lost. That is what lesser “weekend warrior” players engage in – those players who were not as good as they thought they were, and grew enraged when that fact was brought to light through competitive play. In short, we were not going to exhibit “poor sportsmanship.” My experience is the better the player, the less of that you see. What were we also not going to do afterwards sharing a beer and small talk? We would not whine about our wives or financial problems, or complain about politics or “trans-gender rights.” It was a bunch of serious athletes (aging but still capable) laughing over a beer and reflecting on today’s match and the local tennis scene. I loved it! To the extent that I have a tribe, this was it. Respect.
But man, I was exhausted. During the pandemic I was in some of the best physical shape of my life. I was a notch of two down from that now, due to my job, my daughters, my coaching – all the responsibilities in my life. I don’t have the time to work out as much as I would like, much to my regret. But I was still in solid shape and had been playing often. Our team later went to a local Korean BBQ restaurant to celebrate. Our team captain ordered “old fashioned” whisky cocktails all around. I begged off, not having had any hard alcohol at all in almost a decade. “If I drink one of those, tired as I am, I will fall asleep right here at the table!” I warned them. We enjoyed some twenty servings of different meats which we cooked up ourselves, Korean BBQ-style, on the grill in the center of our table.
We talked shit in a friendly manner and enjoyed easy camaraderie together. But I was on the verge of cramping up. A few hours later my legs and back were on the verge of cramping up when I was in bed getting ready to fall asleep. I desperately needed sleep. My body needed to recover. In no uncertain terms my body informed me it was time to shut things down. I slept soundly.
The next morning, today, my family and I drove to Our Lady Queen of Angels to celebrate Easter Mass. I enjoyed my semi-annual outing to the Catholic mass. Everyone was dressed nicely, and I especially enjoyed seeing the young children and their parents in the church audience. “What a superheated special exhausting time of life it is to have babies and young children,” I reflected to myself. Our whole family afterwards went to Easter brunch at the Hyatt Regency Newport Beach. Re-birth and spring – good weather – and Easter and life. It was a good vibe.
I came home this Easter evening exhausted but sated. My tennis season had come to an end last night with an important season-ending match. We had wrapped things up well on the court, and enjoyed each other’s company in a draining afternoon and evening. Now we would go on to Southern California USTA men’s 4.5 sectionals at the Barnes Tennis Center in San Diego on June 2-4, 2023. That would mean we rent an Airbnb house somewhere around Ocean Beach and have another men’s weekend away: more tennis, more dinners, more laughs – more exercise and outdoor time, and more fellowship and community. The high-level tennis at sectionals is the point and that is great, but the lively dinners full of laughter where we close down the restaurant are perhaps even better. And Easter Sunday had gone well, and the extended family had enjoyed a good visit. I was tired but satisfied.
I am an introvert, no doubt about that. But even introverts need community and fellowship. Introverts need alone time, for sure, but they get lonely, too. So this was a great weekend to get those social needs fed, and be ready to move on to the last ten weeks of the school year, then summer vacation, and beyond. Winter is over. Spring is here. Summer is close.
I hope your 2023 Easter went well also, my esteemed reader.
Good times moving forward.
* Around the time WWII ended, the famous Don Budge once claimed that in tennis doubles you should “hate yourself” for taking the low-percentage down-the-line service return, even when you hit a winner. I entirely support this point of view almost 80 years later.
