Learning New Tricks

I found the game of tennis a bit late in life. I was 57 to be exact when I took my first lesson. For me it was love at first sight. The game didn’t exactly reciprocate. I was surprised by how demanding the sport is. The game requires physical dexterity, athletic ability and mental agility, none of which are in my arsenal. Watching the pros on television makes tennis look like a simple game, especially the way its played today with players seemingly just bashing the ball from baseline to baseline.
The speed and incredible finesse necessary to compete at that level isn’t readily apparent to the casual observer on the tube. Out on the court though, even at the club level, it’s obvious that consistently placing the ball where you want it to go is about as easy as consistently investing your money in exactly the right instrument at the right time.
Still, I press on with unabashed enthusiasm for the game. I take lessons, play in leagues and last year I attended a three day tennis camp at a prestigious tennis academy. I have loads of tennis paraphernalia and now that my left knee has begun to give me fits I’m outfitted with one of the game’s main side effect as well.
I play tennis for the exercise. It’s an enjoyable pastime, much more interesting than the loneliness of a treadmill or the frustration or the deadly monotony of a stationary bike. Tennis is so much fun I can hardly stand it. I have experienced some unexpected benefits from playing the game too. For starters, I’ve become an observer of the way I learn something new.
How many times do I need to hear that footwork is extremely important if I want to produce good, solid ground strokes? How often does an instructor need to tell me that it’s necessary to move to the ball rather than waiting for it to come to me like an obedient Bassett Hound? How often must I read a sentence that says something like, “Concentrate on the ball whenever it’s in play?” Let me put it this way: After three years of instruction I’m still struggling with the basics. Had I learned the alphabet at the same pace I would just be completing my third year of the first grade. I think adults tend to be stubborn about learning new tricks. We struggle with the notion that we don’t know how to do something, especially when it looks a lot easier than it is. I don’t mind paying for the lessons or reading instruction books. But really, how can a guy thirty years my junior really know more than I do about anything? Don’t answer that.
At least the game gives me the chance to experience athletic competition. League play, both singles and doubles, has sharpened my competitive instincts and helped me to manage performance anxiety in a positive way. I don’t mind telling you I was feeling pretty good last week when I managed to get the best of a 22 year old in an early morning singles match. The fact that he had been out all night and was drinking beer between sets didn’t diminish the accomplishment in my own eyes one bit. On the other hand, I’m still learning to accept defeat gracefully. Considering how often I lose you might think that losing was the entire point of the game. Yet, I never take losing lightly regardless of how experienced the other player is. Just last week I endured a thorough beating in another singles match at the hands of a 75 year old. To add insult to injury, when the match was over he lit a cigarette. It was probably wrong of me to let the air out of his tires when he went to the restroom.
Like golf, tennis is a game steeped in tradition. Unlike golf, the game doesn’t require that observers –or players for that matter- speak in hushed tones if they must speak at all during a match. If you’ve seen any professional tennis lately you know that the game has spawned a legion of grunters. Imagine Tiger Woods letting out a 50 decibel grunt every time he putts. Grunting is supposed to help with concentration. I’ve tried it and all it does for me is remind me that eating fried chicken fifteen minutes before the match was another thing I had been warned about and ignored.

Copyright 2008 Len Serafino. All rights reserved.