At the T

A man tries to prove to himself he still has what it takes to compete in a tennis tournament.

At the T

by Andy K.

 

THE CROWD cheered. The players, exhausted, shook hands and exchanged motivating words...

 

It was merely another hot summer day but not for the man. For him it was the day, the moment of truth. He had gotten up earlier that morning not knowing how the day would go, but he knew he would be proud.

          He had entered the tennis tournament on his own. It was a local one held on outdoor hard courts at a private sports complex on the outskirt of the city. His first-round opponent was a rising star much younger than him. The kid had played in a few tournaments and had won a couple. The man had not played competitively since college. At thirty-six, it was his first contest in fourteen years. Though he generally played with friends on weekends, today would be different, and he was a bit on edge. His love of the game had never changed, and he wanted to feel thrilled again.

          The sun was vertical; it was noon. The man took a look at the kid before the warm-up routine. The kid had all sorts of modern tennis weaponry; his rackets were brand new top of the line for power hitters, shirt and shorts colorful with sponsors’ logos, and the shoes remarkably in fashion. The man, in his white shirt, shorts, socks, and shoes, grabbed his racket he had used for fifteen years and walked onto the court. The warm-up was to be for two minutes, and the players started knocking the new balls away starting with the ground strokes, then the volleys, and finished off with the serves. The man would be serving first when the match began.

          “Time,” announced the chair umpire.

          The man looked into the stand, which could seat about a few hundreds; it was half-full. He did not know anyone who was there. His wife did not come since she had to take his daughter to the school play rehearsal. There was a group of people cheering for the kid. He was obviously the crowd’s pick. It was three minutes after noon, and the first game was underway.

          Best out of three sets, the man’s first serve was a flat one that rocketed straight into the net. He was in considerably decent shape, and he had done extra practice and running for three weeks. But his uneasiness could be easily noticed. He delivered the second serve, a slow moving blooper that found its way just inside the service box on the kid’s side of the court and was happily returned for a winner. Love - fifteen. The crowd clapped boringly. The man told himself to keep calm and asked for the towel from a ball boy. On the next point, his first serve was much better. He followed it to the net, but the kid’s down the line back hand flew by him for love-thirty. Then, it was love-forty and game. The man very first service game was broken. The kid took a quick lead with his turn to serve next.

          As the players switched sides, the crowd could begin to detect a contrast in styles of both players. The man was a classic serve and volley with conventional flat forehand and one-handed backhand, but the kid was a trendy, powerful ground stroke defensive hitter with top spins and two-handed backhand.

          The first set came to an end after a full forty minutes of clashes between the old and the new schools of tennis. The man’s game had picked up along the way, and he held his last four service games with mediocre serves and volleys. The kid, however, had two aces and ten winners most of which were either down the line or cross court passing shots while the man was coming to the net. The score board read six-four; the kid took the set, and the crowd slowly looked excited.

          It was the man’s turn to serve again in the opening game of the second set, but this time he held on to take the game after four deuces. Unlike the first set, the second set was a seesaw action between a common chip and charge, serve and volleyer and a baseline hard hitter. Shots were crisp with more winners, more aces, and more errors, forced and unforced, from both players. The crowd loved it; they cheered on. And after a tie-breaker, the man came up on top. He won the set, and after one hour and forty-five minutes of tennis, they were headed for the third and final set.

          During the break, both players took sips of liquid to keep hydrated. It was a few minutes before two, and the heat was excruciating. The kid looked a bit shaky, not because of the high temperature but because he had just lost a set to a man no one had heard of. As he was taking his energy drink, he was determined to finish him off as soon as possible. No more Mr. nice guy. The man, extremely exhausted from over two hours of tennis in the burning sun, took big gulps from a bottle of water. But he was as well determined to get back on the court and finish what he had come here to do, to be proud. 

          The final set was almost a replica of the second set. Both players picked up where they had left off. New balls were given at the beginning of the third game of the set, and it was the man’s turn to serve. He drilled the first serve, an ace he thought; it was his best serve of the match. The kid didn’t even move.

          “Fault!” one of the linemen barked.

          The man froze and looked at the chair umpire who said nothing. He approached the umpire and held up his hands in disbelief. The crowd booed. He told himself not to lose his temper. The second serve was fiercely returned, and he could not do much but hit it back with a slice backhand that sailed wide. The man, however, managed to regroup and held serve; he was up two - one. As the set moved along, both players rigorously stuck to their styles. Unbelievable shots and even more unbelievable returns were put on show, and the crowd was highly entertained.

          Another hour was added to the play time, and the set came to a deadlock at six all. There was no tie-breaker for the final set. The man had nothing left except for his heart. His legs were heavy, and his right shoulder in pain. He kept telling himself to keep playing that way he had been doing and that it was almost over. “Attack is the best form of defense” cried loudly in his mind, only if his legs would follow his head.

The man took the thirteenth game and was up seven-six. New game and the kid was now serving. The man went the right way and blocked the well-struck first serve. The return landed in the middle near the base line. The kid answered with an inside-out full top spin forehand that barely touched the left corner of the service box on the man’s side of the court. The man could do nothing but stared at the ball. The kid, still serving rather well, held on. They were again tied at seven all.

More unforced errors were committed; the kid, who was by this time very wobbly, was beaten in the fifteenth game. He had never been pushed this far before. The man was very much out of gas but held serve and tried to keep his cool amid the heat and the roaring crowd. He looked at the kid and told himself it was now or never. At eight-seven with the kid serving, the man lost the first two points and saw himself trailing at thirty - love. He crawled back to even the score and then trailed again and thirty " forty. The kid double faulted, and it was deuce. Nervously and as if things couldn’t be any worse, the kid double faulted again, and the man, with ‘advantage’, had his first match point, the moment of truth. The kid’s first serve from the ad court was good and landed to the man’s left side. The man chipped the ball with his traditional back hand that landed deep, and he charged the net with all he had left.

At the T was where it all ended. The kid’s line drive cross-court return was barely nicked by the man’s forehand volley at full stretch. The ball caught the tape and softly landed in the right service box on the kid’s side of the court. He was well behind the baseline and could not make it up in time.

“Game, set, match,” the chair umpire announced. “Four " six, seven " six, eight " six,” he added.

The crowd cheered. The players, exhausted, shook hands and exchanged motivating words.

…

 

The man, in his old Datsan sedan, pulled in the drive way of his house. It was late in the afternoon. He was greeted by his dog at the door. He walked into the kitchen and saw his wife making supper.

“Hey darling, how was the play rehearsal?” he asked.

“It was fun. The play is tomorrow at five. Can you make it?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Where is she?”

“In her bedroom taking a nap. How was the game?”

“I won. Second round is in two days. I’m so dog-tired.”

“Great! Go take a shower. Supper will be ready soon.”

“Thanks dear.”
          As he limped up the stairs, the man could smell roast beef being cooked in the oven.    

 

…………………………………………

The End