Sweet, sweet ass...kicking

Despite being firmly planted in the soil that is our tennis community, this winter I find myself in a precarious situation with my off-season training. Must be the permafrost. Whatever the reason, our local summer club failed to provide us star players with affordable and regular practice sessions at a nearby indoor facility, forcing us to come up with evermore creative ways to keep up our training regimen. Thanks to global warming, unseasonally warm temperatures allowed us to play outdoors into November. I took last Friday off from work (yes, I have a day job...just until the prize money starts rolling in). It was a beautiful sunny day, almost 10 degrees. Ds, Michaelo and I, all happened to have days off so we spent the afternoon in the sun playing tennis. Ds, a fellow provincial competitor, and the guy who surprisingly ended my quest for the local club championship earlier this year, only to piss away the finals, was just coming off an injury and eager to play again. Michaelo is the club's juniors coach, and the man solely responsible for Budweiser's record-breaking 3rd quarter profits.

After a quick warm up, we got a mini singles tournament going...winner stays on the court and awaits the next challenger while the loser sits until the next match. I started off bad and was doing a lot of sitting, ds was dominating and Michaelo was the creamy filling. In the second round of matches I defeated each of them, evening out all of our records. By the third round, everything had flip-flopped...I had the best record, M was still the middle, with ds a sad third. I was feelin' great and ready to play again the following day, only to find out that the new club executive took the nets down for the winter. D'oh! Luckily, ds had been working on a contingency plan for months that came to fruition that very night. We had an indoor court booked for 2 hours! He said to trust him, so I forked over my "guest fee", asked no questions, and there was indoor tennis that night.

I didn't do great playing doubles that night. It was noisy and distracting with all the other courts booked by other coaches, grooming the next Daniel Nestor. Slim pickings from what I saw, but there was one impressive specimen. A teenage phenom from Venezuela, here to train and study. I knew her coach well. I played against him many times. He greeted me and asked if I'd hit with his student later on. He's training her for the pros, and wanted to see how well she'd do against a male opponent of reasonable skill level.

Just prior to my set with her, I broke the stings on my main racquet. I had to use one of my back-ups and was not feeling the ball well. Still, we had a fun set...I aced the cutie a few times, but time and time again I'd put easy volleys into the net...keep your eyes on the ball, man...but honestly, given the choice between a fuzzy ball and a pair of bouncing mellons, the eyes will betray. Getting my ass kicked 6-1 never felt so sweet!

Revenge is a dish best served...

RED HOT! At this week's tournament I managed to avenge my defeat from two months ago. I was facing the tricky flatterer himself, again in the querterfinals. As before, I took a commanding 5-2 lead only to see him come back and make it 5-6. I tried to hold serve and force a tie-breaker, but quickly found myself down 0-40. This was my set, I'm not letting you have it, I don't care what the score is b**ch...and so, a few monster serves later, I had the set tied at 6-6. Tie-breaker time. Again, he jumped to a 6-3 lead and needed only 1 point to win the set...and again, I refused to let him get it. I applied controlled aggression to my game, and it worked. I won the first set 7-6 (8-6 in the tie-break). One down.

In the second set he managed a 5-1 lead somehow. I looked around...all the other matches were done for the night. This being my second match of the day, I decided I was not interested in playing yet another marathon 3-setter with this guy, so I started my comeback. I came to the net often, pounded forehands and backhands with every opportunity...there wasn't a shot in my repertoire I did not use aginst him. Even being up 5-1, my opponent never had a chance. He went down 7-6, 7-5, having won neither of the sets he was surely about to win. Revenge sure is sweet.

Sadly though, I extended no such courtesy to my previous round's opponent who was looking for just such revenge on me. I beat him on the clay-courts earlier in the year when he was a much higher ranked player. After that defeat, he went through a slump, only to re-emerge as a force in the hard-court season. He took the first set easily 6-2. His girlfriend in the stands seemed hopeful, and so did he. I could smell the scent of hope emanating from his corpse (court 4 had only one player bench for some reason, so we were forced to sit rather snuggly side by side during change-overs). He seemed in good spirits, we even chatted a bit. I guess he didn't notice the stank of whoop ass I was about to unleash on him. If not then, I'm sure he smelt it towards the end of the 2nd set though. At 5-4, my ad, I served an ace down the middle winning the set...but he called it OUT! I gave him a look, and calmly served my 2nd. The set was extended briefly, but ultimately went my way 6-4. What's more, the awful out call gave me just enough of a reason to destroy the guy in the final set...and so I did, 6-1.

Sunday semis went a little different. It was a battle. The guy (eventual champion) didn't fall for much. If my shots were dead on, I'd get my points...but anything less, and he'd make me pay. I lost 6-4, 6-4...but a semifinals appearance after a couple disappointing tournaments ain't bad...for now.