A game of small balls

[Bjorn Borg, 1978]

Around the time Borg was asleep on that plane next to all his rackets, my journey into the game of tennis was just starting. He was my first idol. It was either all that long hair, or his FILA T-shirts and shorts, I can't be sure. But definitely not his game, cause at that time I knew nothing of it.

The first lessons we did side by side with my brother, an old and extremely boring (and bored) teacher across us on the other side of the court. He'd throw balls at us, and we'd take turns catapulting them into oblivion, while he was busy chatting away with the equally old, boring (and bored) teacher from the adjacent court.

Things were going nowhere fast, until one day something happened that brought all the excitement and determination that was missing from our game. The teacher showed up with a big ham and cheese sandwich, which he placed on one of the two poles the net was attached to. He'd stop every now and then to take a bite and put it back there.

All of a sudden, with just a silent look, my brother and I knew what the game was all about: Hitting that sandwich off the pole! We'd take turns aiming at it, sometimes we'd even push each other out of the way to try again. Now that was a real exciting game!

Of course the sandwich was never hit. It would slowly disappear into our teacher's belly, bite after bite, lesson after lesson. The reason was obvious to both of us: He was a bad teacher...

That all ended when my dad, who sponsored our lessons and also served on the tennis club board (maybe he still does, I don't know), at some point decided it was in the best interest of everyone if we followed alternative athletic endeavours (which led my brother into judo or karate or something of the sort, and myself to basketball and a series of embarrassing nicknames, but that's another post).

Around my Hopkins years I decided to take it up again. This time I was paying for my own lessons, and I also had a couple of people to really play with, and it was different. Within few years I reached a level I was relatively satisfied with. And then I gave it all up again.

Recently I decided to give it another go. This time the teacher is younger than me, and I'm slower than him. He said I have "strong bases", and we can make progress fast. He insists I should play lower and faster, while I run and pant out of breath up and down the court thinking "yeah, right...", and then bend over my racket, one hand between it and my chest, the other raised in a faint "sorry, man..." gesture while the balls zoom left and right of me and smash onto the chickenwire surrounding the court behind me.

But I managed to surprise him with a couple of slick, topspin shots, and even had a chance to see his look of surprise. He even applauded some between his left hand and his racket. One almost hit him on the... well, balls actually, causing me to shout "Ooops!!!", but he was cool about it.

I'm not the next Bjorn Borg, for sure. But you should see my FILA shirts!