As I stood outside the clubhouse at Milford on Sea Tennis Club this Wednesday morning just gone, awaiting the tournament briefing, I reflected upon the circumstances that had brought me to this beautiful part of Hampshire.
John the referee had called me 24 hours earlier to say there had been a late withdrawal from the over 55s men’s singles and would I like to play. I had cast the tournament from my mind several days earlier as my name had stayed firmly on the reserve list.
I requested a few minutes to consider the situation, including the busy day’s work ahead. I rang back to say yes – in reality what else was I going to say – I would be delighted to play. I put the referee’s mind at rest, that while Newquay was four plus hours drive away I would be there, ready to play the next morning. And so it was, I stood courtside with the other seven players in the men’s over 55s draw at 9.20am on a beautiful sunny morning. A perfect day for tennis we all agreed.
It can take a moment or two even to get grown men to comply with a simple request, so while various last minute preparations and gentle herding concluded I allowed myself a chuckle at my actions following accepting the invitation to play the previous day.
Upon putting the phone down to the referee, like a keystone cops movie I began the search for long lost grass court shoes. Used once in 1987 I think! Cupboards, wardrobes and sheds were searched to no avail. I even sat measuring my son’s size 9 grass shoes against my size 11 feet, concluding that even at my most optimistic that this was no Cinderella moment. After close to an hour and upon visiting every possible hiding place twice without success, I thought, better check the tournament details. Would they even let me play without those invariably white pimply grass court shoes, a last throwback to another age?
On consulting the spreadsheet, containing possible tournament options for the season ahead. The better to savour the tournament possibilities and allow juggling with other commitments. I knew instinctively that this was a grass court tournament. However the speadsheet mysteriously had a blank box, next to where it should have said ‘grass’. Every tournament around it said ‘grass’, but this particular box was indeed blank. Best check the club website. And so it was that I stood waiting to play on the ‘artificial grass courts’ of the Milford on Sea Tennis club this particular Wednesday morning. Fortunately not decked out in pimply soled grass court tennis shoes!
On the drive across from Cornwall I had run through my game plan, remembering the things I had been practicing and feeling optimistic about acquiting myself well. Accepting the late entry to play I knew I was the lowest ranked player in the draw and with no expectation I should be able to play freely.
Under Covid rules we were escorted to our match court, a nice little touch in itself. However little things can give you away. The court assistant poised with a 50p piece on his thumb asked me if I would like to call heads or tails. Rationally this can only be for one thing. I asked (now cringing, embarrasingly) for what purpose. When the coin landed heads, I elected to serve.
Peter my opponent a very accomplished player was quickly into his stride taking the first set 6-1, while I sprayed balls all around or miscued into the net. I was nervous in a way I never remember before, it seemed to be right into my core and affecting all my movements. Nervousness is generally good pre match, it demonstrates readiness and I generally shake it off within the first game. This was entirely different, no butterflies, just an inability to do the things I wanted. The second set was no better, wrapped up in no time at all 6-0. A humbling experience.
They say you learn most from defeat. Casting aside the result I was pleased that I continued until the last point to try and play, remaining calm, trying to play myself in. Tennis is a funny game you never actually know until the last point is played. At least I could take that with me. There’s a moment on occasions like this, in front of people you have never met before, to want to turn to them and say I can play better, honestly. The only way to do this is of course to, actually to play better, so tap rackets, say well played and return your racket to the bag. Given recent results I might just be getting too good at this part of the game!
After a short break, it was back on court for a consolation match. My opponent Danny prevailed 6-1, 7-5. The bright spot was coming back from 2-5 in the second set to 5-5 and saving a couple of match points. Then at 5-6 I probably played the worst service game ever, consisting of a double fault. Inexplicably I also on two occasions allowed the ball to bounce twice in front of me. I did on this second occasion let out an anguished cry of despair Aaaaaaagh ! and throw my racket into the air. And of course, today failed to catch it on its return to earth! Apologies to the more sensitive residents of Milford on Sea. Last point. Fittingly an unconvincing mishit backhand into the net. Tap rackets, say well played and return racket to bag.
Off court the atmosphere was great. Everyone very welcoming. Congratulations have to go out to the Milford on Sea Tennis Club, this event was superbly organised and a real pleasure to be a part of. Excellent refreshments as well!
It was also great to chat to the other players, watch some of the other matches and find out what this next level up is really all about. There was a marked difference in speed about the court as you would expect between the over 45s and the over 55s players. Perhaps in future I should be kinder to myself when playing younger players. Some things are just about age no matter, that we might not want it to be.
Ended the week with a coaching session and the next day a practice. Those smooth strokes and relaxed well hit shots have returned. There is hope yet.
If ever motivation were needed then an evening watching the brutal, majestic Nadal vs Djokovic French Open semi final, was an inspiration to anyone who ever picks up a racket in earnest.
Onwards.
