[Insert Name Here]
I met a friend for lunch yesterday. I'd just finished a doubles match and was running late. The match had gone to a third set tiebreaker that my partner and I ended up losing, I played like poo, especially in the 'breaker, and I was starving. I came rushing into the restaurant post-match frenetic, bedraggled, and smelling like a delightful mix of hours old perfume, dried sweat, and sunscreen. Because she's a good friend and it is honestly probably is The Question to ask, my lunch date inquired about the match. I launched into a my usual post-match rant/critique.
In the middle of my story, she stopped me.
"You're surrounded aren't you?"
"Wha?" I probably responded - I can be articulate like that - but I knew exactly what she was talking about. Hell, I'd tried for more than two hours, unsuccessfully I might add, to disentangle myself from that very fact.
"Your doubles partner and your current crush. They're both named [insert name here]. Isn't that weird?"
It's not, not really anyway. It's a common enough name, especially for women in my age range. And crazy, coincidental things like that happen to me all the time. For example, the receptionist at my counselor's office had the same name as the ex-girlfriend whose narcissism had landed me in counseling to begin with. My best friend has the same name as one of my great loves. I bet if I asked the new barista at Lola Savannah for her name, it would be [insert name here], the same as my crush and my doubles partner. First world lesbian problems? Probably.
"They spell it differently," I replied, like that makes any difference at all given that the pronunciation is exactly the same.
"Did you realize that?"
Of course, I'd realized it. Of course. Jesus, like all season long every time I said my doubles partner's name. Or someone else said it. Nice shot, [insert name here]. Let's go, [insert name here]. Do you want me to serve first, [insert name here]? Each and every time. I'd go awhile completely focused on tennis, then something would happen and I'd say it, [insert name here], and end up trying to shake her - not my doubles partner - out of my consciousness.
The shocking part? That's not why we lost. If anything it helped my focus. Look, if I pay too much attention to the tennis part of a match, like where my feet are at any given moment, where my toss is supposed to go on my serve, or sometimes even the score, I lose my flow. And flow is the key to everything. If I'm distracted by something, say what I'm planning to eat for lunch (unless I'm too hungry), a fictional character, or a real-life beautiful woman, my flow tends to...well....flow. It's not a perfect system but I've had mountains of success over the years in running, tennis, and - oddly enough - bowling.
Yesterday, it all worked seamlessly, especially in the second set. My jenky knee started feeling less jenky. I was serving exceptionally well. My cross-court forehand was grooving, I hit a really nice down-the-line backhand winner, and I made a couple tricky volleys. Then at the start of the third set tiebreaker, I couldn't find my feet or get anything over the net. No mere mention of [insert name here] was going to bring me back from the brink. For whatever mysterious reason, I completely checked out and my flow disappeared.
So, no... it wasn't [insert name here]'s fault that I played like poo and lost. Then why did I say a couple paragraphs ago that I'd tried unsuccessfully to disentangle myself from the overwhelming knowledge that my doubles partner and my crush are both named [insert name here]? Several reasons -
(1) A fifty year old isn't supposed to have a crazy, high school-esque crush.
(2) The distraction of a crush isn't supposed to be a winning tennis strategy...at any age.
(3) It's just seems disrespectful to think - we'll call them - thoughts about a straight, married woman. Especially while playing a tennis match with a straight, married woman I've previously crushed on (Yes, this means I've had two crushes on women named [insert name here]. Like I said, it's a common name).
(4) I need to stop and she needs to go the way of the last [insert name here] before I show my ass completely. Figuratively speaking, I mean. The literal is so far from the realm of possibility that it really doesn't bear mentioning (though I did just mention it...).
Regardless, yesterday's match was the final match of our league season. I won't play with [insert name here], my doubles partner, until the fall. By then - the good lord willing and the creek don't rise - I'll be done crushing on [insert name here]. I can only hope. But - get this little tidbit I forgot to divulge earlier - I said the same thing at the end of the fall season last year. Surely by spring it'll be over. It was. And then it wasn't. It f***ing wasn't. It f***ing isn't. Meh. I'll go to my death crushing on a straight, married woman. Safe bet there. And, really, as I often say - immaturity and embarrassment factor aside - a crush is so much better than the mess of the real thing. Plus, if it makes me play better...
In the middle of my story, she stopped me.
"You're surrounded aren't you?"
"Wha?" I probably responded - I can be articulate like that - but I knew exactly what she was talking about. Hell, I'd tried for more than two hours, unsuccessfully I might add, to disentangle myself from that very fact.
"Your doubles partner and your current crush. They're both named [insert name here]. Isn't that weird?"
It's not, not really anyway. It's a common enough name, especially for women in my age range. And crazy, coincidental things like that happen to me all the time. For example, the receptionist at my counselor's office had the same name as the ex-girlfriend whose narcissism had landed me in counseling to begin with. My best friend has the same name as one of my great loves. I bet if I asked the new barista at Lola Savannah for her name, it would be [insert name here], the same as my crush and my doubles partner. First world lesbian problems? Probably.
"They spell it differently," I replied, like that makes any difference at all given that the pronunciation is exactly the same.
"Did you realize that?"
Of course, I'd realized it. Of course. Jesus, like all season long every time I said my doubles partner's name. Or someone else said it. Nice shot, [insert name here]. Let's go, [insert name here]. Do you want me to serve first, [insert name here]? Each and every time. I'd go awhile completely focused on tennis, then something would happen and I'd say it, [insert name here], and end up trying to shake her - not my doubles partner - out of my consciousness.
The shocking part? That's not why we lost. If anything it helped my focus. Look, if I pay too much attention to the tennis part of a match, like where my feet are at any given moment, where my toss is supposed to go on my serve, or sometimes even the score, I lose my flow. And flow is the key to everything. If I'm distracted by something, say what I'm planning to eat for lunch (unless I'm too hungry), a fictional character, or a real-life beautiful woman, my flow tends to...well....flow. It's not a perfect system but I've had mountains of success over the years in running, tennis, and - oddly enough - bowling.
Yesterday, it all worked seamlessly, especially in the second set. My jenky knee started feeling less jenky. I was serving exceptionally well. My cross-court forehand was grooving, I hit a really nice down-the-line backhand winner, and I made a couple tricky volleys. Then at the start of the third set tiebreaker, I couldn't find my feet or get anything over the net. No mere mention of [insert name here] was going to bring me back from the brink. For whatever mysterious reason, I completely checked out and my flow disappeared.
So, no... it wasn't [insert name here]'s fault that I played like poo and lost. Then why did I say a couple paragraphs ago that I'd tried unsuccessfully to disentangle myself from the overwhelming knowledge that my doubles partner and my crush are both named [insert name here]? Several reasons -
(1) A fifty year old isn't supposed to have a crazy, high school-esque crush.
(2) The distraction of a crush isn't supposed to be a winning tennis strategy...at any age.
(3) It's just seems disrespectful to think - we'll call them - thoughts about a straight, married woman. Especially while playing a tennis match with a straight, married woman I've previously crushed on (Yes, this means I've had two crushes on women named [insert name here]. Like I said, it's a common name).
(4) I need to stop and she needs to go the way of the last [insert name here] before I show my ass completely. Figuratively speaking, I mean. The literal is so far from the realm of possibility that it really doesn't bear mentioning (though I did just mention it...).
Regardless, yesterday's match was the final match of our league season. I won't play with [insert name here], my doubles partner, until the fall. By then - the good lord willing and the creek don't rise - I'll be done crushing on [insert name here]. I can only hope. But - get this little tidbit I forgot to divulge earlier - I said the same thing at the end of the fall season last year. Surely by spring it'll be over. It was. And then it wasn't. It f***ing wasn't. It f***ing isn't. Meh. I'll go to my death crushing on a straight, married woman. Safe bet there. And, really, as I often say - immaturity and embarrassment factor aside - a crush is so much better than the mess of the real thing. Plus, if it makes me play better...
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