No Ball Jokes Please
Earlier in the week, I made plans to play tennis with someone yesterday and today at 9 am. We both admitted we weren't very good up front. I have not played tennis in over three years. She claims she's only been playing for three weeks after not having played for over fifteen years. So if we're not both beginners, we're at least both rusty. Yesterday at 8:20, TEN minutes before I was about to leave my house to go meet this person (We'll call her Serena), she called me to say she was sorry but had to cancel due to being called into work. Things happen; I understand. So we agreed to meet today.
Let's just sidetrack to talk about my tennis history. Basically, while I was twirling through dozen of ballet shoes growing up, my brother was climbing the ranks in national tennis competitions. You haven't heard his name, but he was solidly good back in the day. Every so often, he'd teach me a thing or two. I had no deep interest in tennis, but it was a way to get out of the house. While I was in college, I worked as a receptionist part time at a tennis club for two years. When a tennis pro had a free half hour or more and the club was quiet, we'd go onto an empty court and I'd get a free lesson.
You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I'm a natural athlete. Most sports come pretty easily to me, I grasp lessons quite well, and with a little practice, I'm an average tennis/football/whatever player. I've never gotten what would be considered "good" at tennis, and I can't keep score to save my life, but I can volley almost decently. With a little practice, I can volley totally decently.
This morning at 8:55, after standing at the train stop for over 15 minutes, I call Serena to apologize and let her know I'm still waiting for the train and will be about 5 minutes late. At 9:05 I am standing where we agreed to meet. Serena is not there. I call her. No answer. I leave a voice mail. I call her other phone number. She picks up and says she's just getting out of the shower and will be right down. I wait. I stretch my hamstrings. I say hello to some dogs on their morning walks. I say hello to a baby out for a morning jog. I play balance beam on the cement border around some flowers. Finally, Serena arrives, saying she thought we agreed to meet at 9:30. No, we did not agree to that, and I have the e-mail to prove it. But whatever. Game on.
I am wearing a very old pair of khakis, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, the same sneakers I wear every day and carrying a Prince Pro from the 80's that used to be my brother's. Serena is decked out in a tennis outfit, complete with a little skirt, brand new tennis sneakers, and a fancy tennis bag. I wonder if I should be worried, and she's not as much of a beginner as she claimed she was. As we're walking to the tennis courts on the roof of her apartment complex, I twirl my tennis racquet fancily like the tennis pros used to, and Serena's eyes widen a bit. I resist the urge to reassure her that's my only trick. Apparently I'm a bit competitive.
My first swing drives the ball into the net. I have no ego, I have no ego. Do not cry, do not stop playing. We continue, and within five minutes I'm hitting the ball straight to her racquet. We're both doing the pansy serve, and I decide to try a "real" serve, like you see at Wimbleton, minus the dramatic grunt. My serve makes it over the net, though I put a bit too much energy into it and Serena can't return the ball. My mental note to pull back on my next serve helps, and we actually volley a little.
I decide to try a backhand (always my weak spot), swing wildly, and miss by a foot. I keep trying the backhands, and keep missing. I rack my brain to think of anything I might have been taught about backhands that will help me now. All I can come up with is to keep the racquet perpendicular to the ground. I try again and either miss or drive the ball into the net. Four times in a row. Do not cry, do not stop trying. Serena serves and sets me up for a perfect backhand. I connect, and the ball sails beautifully over the net. Do not gloat, try to do it again.
I make a mental note to ask my brother about tennis etiquette regarding picking up tennis balls and such. Serena keeps walking over to her bench to check her cell phone while I wait. Serena keeps taking practice swings while I wait. Serena goes to a nearby wall and practices hitting the ball against the wall while I'm waiting. I get pissed. I get even by hitting the ball within the lines, but not directly to her, making her run to return each ball.
We've now been playing for forty minutes. We'd agreed to play for about another half hour, when Serena's cell phone rings. "What?! FUCK!" She paces around her side of the court shouting expletives while I wait, yet again. I hear her say something about losing over $100,000. She hangs up the phone and tells me her friend is having an emergency and she has to run. Of course I say okay, and she offers to leave the tennis balls with me, in case I want to hit against the wall. I tell her I'll return them to her when we meet up next weekend. Serena agrees and runs off.
On my way home, I think about if I want to play again, and decide I do. I think about if that was a fake emergency Serena staged, and can't decide. If we wind up playing tennis next weekend, then I might think it was real.
Overall, excellent experience. I wish it'd lasted longer, but I had fun and am glad this morning happened.
Let's just sidetrack to talk about my tennis history. Basically, while I was twirling through dozen of ballet shoes growing up, my brother was climbing the ranks in national tennis competitions. You haven't heard his name, but he was solidly good back in the day. Every so often, he'd teach me a thing or two. I had no deep interest in tennis, but it was a way to get out of the house. While I was in college, I worked as a receptionist part time at a tennis club for two years. When a tennis pro had a free half hour or more and the club was quiet, we'd go onto an empty court and I'd get a free lesson.
You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I'm a natural athlete. Most sports come pretty easily to me, I grasp lessons quite well, and with a little practice, I'm an average tennis/football/whatever player. I've never gotten what would be considered "good" at tennis, and I can't keep score to save my life, but I can volley almost decently. With a little practice, I can volley totally decently.
This morning at 8:55, after standing at the train stop for over 15 minutes, I call Serena to apologize and let her know I'm still waiting for the train and will be about 5 minutes late. At 9:05 I am standing where we agreed to meet. Serena is not there. I call her. No answer. I leave a voice mail. I call her other phone number. She picks up and says she's just getting out of the shower and will be right down. I wait. I stretch my hamstrings. I say hello to some dogs on their morning walks. I say hello to a baby out for a morning jog. I play balance beam on the cement border around some flowers. Finally, Serena arrives, saying she thought we agreed to meet at 9:30. No, we did not agree to that, and I have the e-mail to prove it. But whatever. Game on.
I am wearing a very old pair of khakis, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, the same sneakers I wear every day and carrying a Prince Pro from the 80's that used to be my brother's. Serena is decked out in a tennis outfit, complete with a little skirt, brand new tennis sneakers, and a fancy tennis bag. I wonder if I should be worried, and she's not as much of a beginner as she claimed she was. As we're walking to the tennis courts on the roof of her apartment complex, I twirl my tennis racquet fancily like the tennis pros used to, and Serena's eyes widen a bit. I resist the urge to reassure her that's my only trick. Apparently I'm a bit competitive.
My first swing drives the ball into the net. I have no ego, I have no ego. Do not cry, do not stop playing. We continue, and within five minutes I'm hitting the ball straight to her racquet. We're both doing the pansy serve, and I decide to try a "real" serve, like you see at Wimbleton, minus the dramatic grunt. My serve makes it over the net, though I put a bit too much energy into it and Serena can't return the ball. My mental note to pull back on my next serve helps, and we actually volley a little.
I decide to try a backhand (always my weak spot), swing wildly, and miss by a foot. I keep trying the backhands, and keep missing. I rack my brain to think of anything I might have been taught about backhands that will help me now. All I can come up with is to keep the racquet perpendicular to the ground. I try again and either miss or drive the ball into the net. Four times in a row. Do not cry, do not stop trying. Serena serves and sets me up for a perfect backhand. I connect, and the ball sails beautifully over the net. Do not gloat, try to do it again.
I make a mental note to ask my brother about tennis etiquette regarding picking up tennis balls and such. Serena keeps walking over to her bench to check her cell phone while I wait. Serena keeps taking practice swings while I wait. Serena goes to a nearby wall and practices hitting the ball against the wall while I'm waiting. I get pissed. I get even by hitting the ball within the lines, but not directly to her, making her run to return each ball.
We've now been playing for forty minutes. We'd agreed to play for about another half hour, when Serena's cell phone rings. "What?! FUCK!" She paces around her side of the court shouting expletives while I wait, yet again. I hear her say something about losing over $100,000. She hangs up the phone and tells me her friend is having an emergency and she has to run. Of course I say okay, and she offers to leave the tennis balls with me, in case I want to hit against the wall. I tell her I'll return them to her when we meet up next weekend. Serena agrees and runs off.
On my way home, I think about if I want to play again, and decide I do. I think about if that was a fake emergency Serena staged, and can't decide. If we wind up playing tennis next weekend, then I might think it was real.
Overall, excellent experience. I wish it'd lasted longer, but I had fun and am glad this morning happened.
posted by Green at 10/23/2005 08:00:00 PM
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