Classy Club

I couldn't wait to write about my experience at this latest tournament I played in just days ago. It was being held at a private country club...manicured grounds, manicured people, strict clothing restrictions (all white), gated entry, you name it. Everything about the place seemed to scream pomposity, so it was ripe for a roasting. I mean c'mon, if you're going to pretend you're Wimbledon and insist on keeping with "tradition", then you should have grass courts and not clay courts painted green to look like grass. Yet, of all the tournament venues I've played at, I found this one the most inviting and pleasant. Yes, Donalda is one classy place! The tournament organizers even called me after the tournament to apologize for any inconvenience the changes to the match schedule may have caused me. Inconvenience, I though? OK, my first match started a bit late, but that's normal in tennis. The other schedule changes only ensured that my matches were evenly spaced-out, that I didn't have to play two matches in one day in 40 degree Celsius weather, and that I wouldn't miss watching the World Cup matches I wanted to see. If any tournament should have to make such calls, it would be the one from last week, but not this one!

Anyway, I lasted all the way into the 3rd and final day of the tournament, and eventhough visiting tennis players weren't allowed inside some of the other areas of the country club, I had a blast. The tournament started off well enough for me as I sent the #4 seed home, right in front of his girlfriend, beating him 6-0, 0-6, 6-1. A rather unusual score. A match of streaks. I won the first 6 games, he won the next 7, then I won 6 more to finish him off.

With the seeded player in my immediate section of the draw eliminated, my next opponent seemed considerably weaker. Well, to my disgust, he ended up winning the first set easily 6-0, and even had match point on 2 occasions in the second set. As he was desperately trying to get that last key point he needed to knock me out, I resolved that if I let this panty-waste beat me, I'd quit tennis for good! So, instead of quiting tennis, I came back in the match and beat him 7-6, 6-1 in the next two sets, moving me into the semi-finals for the second week in a row.

Semi-final Sunday...I arrived at the courts a bit early, staking out a shady spot on the sidelines of court 5. I sat in my chair watching the grounds-crew prep the court for my match. First they smoothed out the clay/sand, then they swept the lines, and finally hosed the court to minimize dust clouds and sliding. I felt something land on me. Naturally, my first thought was that it's yet another fan tossing her bra my way. It wasn't. A premature pinecone fell off the tree above me. I took it as an omen of good things to come. I'm not good at interpreting omens.

My opponent showed up. I know him well by know. He's won many of these tournaments. He's the one who copied my shoes. In fact, he wore them that day. I didn't. I got myself a whiter pair just for this tourney. I knew he was good, but not unbeatable. After all, I had clay court experience. I played a total of 4 matches on red clay in Europe on my last two vacations there. I felt good until my opponent told me that he's Swiss, and grew up playing on clay, and there went my confidence.

Things were pretty even in the match, I was serving for the first set at 5-4, got broken, and lost the first set in the ensuing tie-breaker, 7-6. The second set was also even up to 2-2, and the next thing I knew, it was over, 6-2. I was going home. Maybe had I spent my changeovers focusing on strategy instead of text-messaging for updates on World Cup scores, things would have been different. I could have at least asked for some tennis tips via the text-mes...but no. I tanked the final set fast enough to make it to a pub in time for the second half of the France/Korea soccer match. Either way, two semi-final appearances in 2 consecutive weeks will move me close to a top-10 ranking.

Now, I'm still looking for a personal photographer to follow my career so that I can post some pics here. Someone with their own camera, a good camera (mine sucks), a good feel for the game, an expert air-brusher (I can't emphasize this enough), and oh yeah, must be willing to sign contract stating that the photos will not to be used for creation of shrines or voodoo purposes. Apply within.

Semifinal woes

This week more than any other gave me a real sense of what it must be like to be a tennis pro...lots of boredom and waiting around for your next match. I passed the time watching TV in the clubhouse, playing table tennis, snacking, chatting with other competitors. Luckily, the tournament venue had a nice TV in the clubhouse, with the French Open finals and the World Cup on all day. It was a Sunday, my first time lasting into the final day of a tournament. I got there thanks to, you guessed it, a first round bye, a default in the third round, plus a backed-up schedule due to some marathon battles in the other matches. Oh yeah, and I beat Goliath in one of the rounds in between.

Goliath was a 19 y/o giant who looked menacing but was no match for yours truly. Much like the Bible tells it, I made short work of Goliath, winning 6-2, 6-1 in about 40 minutes. I even out aced him 4-2. Big lanky guys like that usually have big serves, but lousy foot work, so I took advantage of that by mixing my shots well, making him run, etc. It was clumsy and awkward, he couldn't get too many shots back, so I sent him packing.

In the semifinals I played an older guy...probably late 30's. He looked menacing as well but not in the traditional tennis sense, just more like a guy you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. Nice guy though. That was his strategy. Flattery and openly professing that he had no chance against me until I was puddy in his hands. He whipped me 6-0 in the first set. I returned the favour with 6-3 in the second, so it was down to a deciding third set. I took an early 3-0 lead, and was cruising. Then at the corner of my eye, I though I saw Chris Martin of Coldplay in the stands, oddly staring me down, judging my every move. In reality it was my friend, a fellow competitor with an uncanny resemblance to the pop artist and an ability for being matched-up with eventual champions in the first round of almost every tournament he plays. Thus, despite his reasonable ability, he gets sent home early every time. I think it's getting to him a bit, especially seeing me get by so easily.

Anyway, he didn't say anything, but I knew what he was thinking out on the sidelines..."pfffttt, you got to the semifinals and are struggling to beat an old guy who can barely walk at this point, and I'm sitting here in the loser's box? ". Well, between being momentarily star-struck and the bad vibes he was sending my way, I lost focus and ended up choking away the final set 4-6. Still, a semifinal appearance will move me up considerably in the rankings...probably top 25.

With my match over, I hung around the club some more. Players with real talent were playing their finals later on, and I wanted to watch that match. There were refs, ball-boys, $$$, and even a TV crew out for the occasion. OK, the TV crew was from the local Rogers Cable 10 or something, but it's better than nothing. One day, I hope to be choking away matches in front of a TV audience myself.

Respect don't come easy

I figure every sports phenom should be a role model and give back to their community, but try as I might, I still get little recognition and respect. This week for example, I participated in a bike-a-thon to raise money for heart illness and stroke. Well not FOR heart illness and stroke, but rather their prevention, although one wonders how many heart attacks resulted from the gruelling challenge. I saw more than one ambulance out there. Either way, I thought an event like that would bring me closer to my fellow citizens and the exercise would help with my training. All in all, I rode about a 100km that day, raised some money, and I didn't even get a lousy t-shirt, nor was my entry fee waived. No one even asked me to autograph theirs. I blame it on tennis' lack of TV exposure in North America. Did you know tennis ranks as the 9th most popular sport on this continent!?! That's a travesty. There aren't even that many real sports. Soccer (futbol), basketball, tennis, hockey and sex...everything else is just some modified combination of those five, so how can tennis be ranked 9th? Maybe they meant it was the 9th commandment...thou shalt play tennis. Hmm, no wonder our society is crumbling.

OK, so the lack of wide-spread recognition is not that big a deal. I actually prefer to not be in the public spotlight, but respect is a different matter. This older gentleman who works with some colleagues of mine has been hounding me for months to play some tennis with him. He's heard of me, and being a tennis enthusiast himself, is anxious to see how well he could keep up on the court. I've tried every excuse in the book to avoid playing with him. It's inconvenient and a waste of time for both. Our skill levels differ immensely, so we could never have an enjoyable match. But, after he somehow got a hold of my telephone number, and remembering my pledge to do community work, I agreed to play him once. The match was all set for today, one day after my bike-a-thon. I figured I better stick to mild activity today after my bike-a-thon yestreday, so playing tennis with this guy seemed reasonable. Well, he ends up cancelling last minute, citing important work obligations...pfftt...amateurs! No respect.

All Whitey Then...

I just spoke to my agent and it's official, I'm registered to play a tournament at a very posh private club. Normally, a club like this is off limits to everyday scum like me, but once in a while they open their doors to competitive tennis players, injecting much needed tennis talent and some new genes into the mix. Who are we kidding, poor athletic young men and rich bored lonely wives are a dangerous combination...so I've heard.

The invitation to play at their private club is not without restrictions though. "All competitors MUST wear all white clothing to participate. No exceptions!" says the entry form. So, I tried on my all white ensemble last night, complete with a white sweater to drape over my sholders, even planning to wear it to my local ghetto club that evening, just to test it out. In retrospect, the sudden lightning storm that prevented me from actually playing like that may have saved my life. What was I thinking going out in public looking like I was?!? Close call.

So, with tennis rained out, I went home and glanced through my mail. The cell phone statement came with no surprises, except for that one long distance call I made from court 6, discussed in a previous post. Despite the fact I live off my cell phone, being a travelling persona, I keep my charges relatively low. My agent and I save a lot with our current plan. Low cell phone charges are but one of the many benefits to being your own agent.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to this tournament but it's not for a few more weeks, and I have another one before that to play. Still, I'm a little concerned about my shoes. Although mostly white, I have this coloured streak running down the middle...and you never know how an all white club will react to something that.