For the Love of the Game
I decided not too long ago to become a tennis fan again. I could look up the date if I wanted to. It was the day Samantha Stosur lost in the second round of Wimbledon this year to a woman named Aranxta Rus. Aranxta. Either her parents didn't like her much or they were tennis fans. Back in the day when I used to follow tennis (like in the late 80s/early 90s), there was another Aranxta. Sanchez-Vicario from Spain. I didn't much care for her game - slow looping ground strokes ready-made for clay. She had hustle so I tolerated her. I can't tell you much about her namesake, the new Aranxta. I was too busy focusing on her opponent, a woman I had likewise never heard of, and falling in love with the game of tennis again.
It was early on a weekday and I was up. I probably had to work late that night or I may have been off. It doesn't really matter at this point. I made coffee and did what I do a lot during baseball season - I turned on ESPN Sportscenter to see scores and highlights from the previous day. On this particular morning, my TV was tuned to ESPN2 and the old familiar grass courts of the All England Club appeared. Wow. It's that time of year? I remember thinking to myself. How did I miss the French? In any case, I was intrigued enough to change my normal routine. I settled in with my coffee and breakfast and became entranced.
Watching tennis holds a lot of great memories for me. I remember watching The US Open on my mom's old black and white I'd inherited from her. If I put the rabbit ears in just the right spot, CBS came in clear as day. I watched match after match during the day and into the evening. Then with the volume turned down super low, I watched the US Open highlight show every night precisely at 11:30pm, long after my bed time. I remember following the draws and watching Wimbledon in the Pro Shop at Stoneridge Country Club between lessons and clinics. I remember going to the Virginia Slims of Los Angeles in Manhattan Beach with my mom every summer when I was in college. I remember peeing next to Steffi Graf (and watching her win the final) at the Virginia Slims of San Diego. I remember working my first pro tournament at Morley Field in San Diego and my last pro tournament, the Volvo in LA years later. I remember watching Monica Seles practice and the day Chris Evert walked not eight feet from me. I recorded (on VHS) all of Steffi Graf's televised matches. I probably still have them in a box somewhere.
Tennis used to be what I did and a big part of who I was. In many ways tennis was religion to me and my favorite players my 'saints'. My first favorite player was Andrea Jaeger. She was young (not much older than me) and temperamental, but I also liked Tracy Austin, Chris Evert, Gabriella Sabatini, and my beloved Steffi Graf (I had pictures of her I cut from Tennis Magazine taped all over my dorm room walls during college. I don't plan to do that with my new 'fave'. It would just seem creepy now so breathe easy, Sam). I disliked Monica Seles so much that I popped off about her grunting too loudly while she was practicing one time and got a nice dirty look. On the men's side, I followed Stephan Edberg, Aaron Krickstein, Michael Chang (he was from San Diego and we knew mutual people), and of course Pete Sampras. I despised Andre Agassi, Ivan Lendl, and John McEnroe. For better or worse, these were the people who shaped my love of tennis.
Then things changed. Maybe it was me or tennis, though more than likely it was both of us. All the players I once knew retired. Sure, they were replaced by some really talented up-and-comers but I never found anyone I liked well enough to follow. The men's game was soon dominated by bland guy named Federer and things got boring. One the women's side, a homogeneous group of young women emerged from the shadows. With the exception of the Williams sisters (who I was never very enamored of), they played the same, looked the same, grunted the same (please don't get me started on this one), and had multi-syllabic last names that were seemingly interchangeable. No one stood out which made the women's game not only boring but difficult to follow.
For years, getting back into being a tennis fan for me was just too trying consider. My life was filled with other easier things, like writing, running, working out, baseball, work, drinking rum, etc. Following professional tennis was not high on my priority list and I honestly never expected it to be again.
Then one morning all that changed. Suddenly on my screen was a woman who didn't look or play like the others. The fact that she seemed monstrously fit only added to her appeal as a player. She had a big forehand, like my old hero Steffi Graf, and a big serve. I thought that this Wimbledon fortnight might prove interesting for the first time in decades. This is a player I might could be a fan of. Then a few games later, she lost, bounced from the tournament by the latter day Aranxta.
I kept watching anyway. Every morning that I wasn't working, I was up early with my coffee, breakfast, and ESPN's Wimbledon coverage. It didn't take long to realize that I was in love again. In just a few short days, tennis had re-captured me. I started reading Andre Agassi's book, "Open", and found it fascinating reading. I messaged an old hitting partner and asked if she wanted to hit (she did). I downloaded tennis apps on my phone, started following tennis players on Twitter, and Wikipedia'd players to determine who was who.
Wimbledon eventually ended and I immediately started looking forward to the Olympics. My new favorite player would be back in action for her native Australia and NBC would be providing daily coverage. I quickly learned that their coverage would be focused on American players, but I figured eventually, as the fifth seed, she'd play an American and I'd get to watch. It didn't happen. She lost in the first round to a woman she had beaten at Wimbledon. Still, I kept watching. I found myself thankful for closing shifts and even traded away a Saturday opening shift to watch Serena Williams win the women's gold medal match.
I guess you could say I'm hooked again. I'm playing a couple times a week and hoping to play more in spite of niggling shoulder and now elbow injuries and school starting in three weeks. I've got the summer pro tournament schedule memorized and I find myself wishing I'd taken vacation during the US Open instead of the week before. Historically the television coverage is very good and I would love to sit on my couch for two weeks straight and do nothing except watch tennis. That said, I've also added 'Attend Grand Slam Event' to my Bucket List. I'm not sure when I'll be able to afford it or which one I want to go to, but it's something I've always wanted to do. Minus the decades I strayed from tennis, of course.
As I look back, I realize tennis has been good to me. Over the years, it made me friends, gave me focus in college, provided me with my first job, and allowed me to travel to Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji as a teenager and to Hawaii with my college tennis team. It also gave me vaulable time with my parents that I will always remember and cherish.
The one thing I've learned in this 'tennis reunion' is that I can always come home again. I spent the majority of my high school, college, and early adulthood years on and around courts and tennis players. Every time I come back after a lengthy break it feels like I never left. The game changes and evolves, but it always seems to welcome me and my fickleness back. I couldn't be happier. I've got a new favorite player (who I hope will succesfully defend her US Open title next month), permission to hit an open stance forehand, and I'm in love again. With tennis. It doesn't get much better than that.
It was early on a weekday and I was up. I probably had to work late that night or I may have been off. It doesn't really matter at this point. I made coffee and did what I do a lot during baseball season - I turned on ESPN Sportscenter to see scores and highlights from the previous day. On this particular morning, my TV was tuned to ESPN2 and the old familiar grass courts of the All England Club appeared. Wow. It's that time of year? I remember thinking to myself. How did I miss the French? In any case, I was intrigued enough to change my normal routine. I settled in with my coffee and breakfast and became entranced.
Watching tennis holds a lot of great memories for me. I remember watching The US Open on my mom's old black and white I'd inherited from her. If I put the rabbit ears in just the right spot, CBS came in clear as day. I watched match after match during the day and into the evening. Then with the volume turned down super low, I watched the US Open highlight show every night precisely at 11:30pm, long after my bed time. I remember following the draws and watching Wimbledon in the Pro Shop at Stoneridge Country Club between lessons and clinics. I remember going to the Virginia Slims of Los Angeles in Manhattan Beach with my mom every summer when I was in college. I remember peeing next to Steffi Graf (and watching her win the final) at the Virginia Slims of San Diego. I remember working my first pro tournament at Morley Field in San Diego and my last pro tournament, the Volvo in LA years later. I remember watching Monica Seles practice and the day Chris Evert walked not eight feet from me. I recorded (on VHS) all of Steffi Graf's televised matches. I probably still have them in a box somewhere.
Tennis used to be what I did and a big part of who I was. In many ways tennis was religion to me and my favorite players my 'saints'. My first favorite player was Andrea Jaeger. She was young (not much older than me) and temperamental, but I also liked Tracy Austin, Chris Evert, Gabriella Sabatini, and my beloved Steffi Graf (I had pictures of her I cut from Tennis Magazine taped all over my dorm room walls during college. I don't plan to do that with my new 'fave'. It would just seem creepy now so breathe easy, Sam). I disliked Monica Seles so much that I popped off about her grunting too loudly while she was practicing one time and got a nice dirty look. On the men's side, I followed Stephan Edberg, Aaron Krickstein, Michael Chang (he was from San Diego and we knew mutual people), and of course Pete Sampras. I despised Andre Agassi, Ivan Lendl, and John McEnroe. For better or worse, these were the people who shaped my love of tennis.
Then things changed. Maybe it was me or tennis, though more than likely it was both of us. All the players I once knew retired. Sure, they were replaced by some really talented up-and-comers but I never found anyone I liked well enough to follow. The men's game was soon dominated by bland guy named Federer and things got boring. One the women's side, a homogeneous group of young women emerged from the shadows. With the exception of the Williams sisters (who I was never very enamored of), they played the same, looked the same, grunted the same (please don't get me started on this one), and had multi-syllabic last names that were seemingly interchangeable. No one stood out which made the women's game not only boring but difficult to follow.
For years, getting back into being a tennis fan for me was just too trying consider. My life was filled with other easier things, like writing, running, working out, baseball, work, drinking rum, etc. Following professional tennis was not high on my priority list and I honestly never expected it to be again.
Then one morning all that changed. Suddenly on my screen was a woman who didn't look or play like the others. The fact that she seemed monstrously fit only added to her appeal as a player. She had a big forehand, like my old hero Steffi Graf, and a big serve. I thought that this Wimbledon fortnight might prove interesting for the first time in decades. This is a player I might could be a fan of. Then a few games later, she lost, bounced from the tournament by the latter day Aranxta.
I kept watching anyway. Every morning that I wasn't working, I was up early with my coffee, breakfast, and ESPN's Wimbledon coverage. It didn't take long to realize that I was in love again. In just a few short days, tennis had re-captured me. I started reading Andre Agassi's book, "Open", and found it fascinating reading. I messaged an old hitting partner and asked if she wanted to hit (she did). I downloaded tennis apps on my phone, started following tennis players on Twitter, and Wikipedia'd players to determine who was who.
Wimbledon eventually ended and I immediately started looking forward to the Olympics. My new favorite player would be back in action for her native Australia and NBC would be providing daily coverage. I quickly learned that their coverage would be focused on American players, but I figured eventually, as the fifth seed, she'd play an American and I'd get to watch. It didn't happen. She lost in the first round to a woman she had beaten at Wimbledon. Still, I kept watching. I found myself thankful for closing shifts and even traded away a Saturday opening shift to watch Serena Williams win the women's gold medal match.
I guess you could say I'm hooked again. I'm playing a couple times a week and hoping to play more in spite of niggling shoulder and now elbow injuries and school starting in three weeks. I've got the summer pro tournament schedule memorized and I find myself wishing I'd taken vacation during the US Open instead of the week before. Historically the television coverage is very good and I would love to sit on my couch for two weeks straight and do nothing except watch tennis. That said, I've also added 'Attend Grand Slam Event' to my Bucket List. I'm not sure when I'll be able to afford it or which one I want to go to, but it's something I've always wanted to do. Minus the decades I strayed from tennis, of course.
As I look back, I realize tennis has been good to me. Over the years, it made me friends, gave me focus in college, provided me with my first job, and allowed me to travel to Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji as a teenager and to Hawaii with my college tennis team. It also gave me vaulable time with my parents that I will always remember and cherish.
The one thing I've learned in this 'tennis reunion' is that I can always come home again. I spent the majority of my high school, college, and early adulthood years on and around courts and tennis players. Every time I come back after a lengthy break it feels like I never left. The game changes and evolves, but it always seems to welcome me and my fickleness back. I couldn't be happier. I've got a new favorite player (who I hope will succesfully defend her US Open title next month), permission to hit an open stance forehand, and I'm in love again. With tennis. It doesn't get much better than that.
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