tradi’tion n. body of beliefs, facts, etc., handed down to generation to generation without being reduced to writing; the process of handing down.
Have not heard back from my challenged friend, Francois, down in the Caribbean. My advise to her has not changed. Poor kid. She’s been sacked from her job. Something about drugs, gringos and backstabbing. The usual intrigue when you are a foreigner. I told her to be careful. If you are playing poker and look around the table...if you don’t see a sucker, you know you are it. All alone thousands of miles away from home. I know how she feels. It helps to be a little older and a little wiser. But not always. Sometimes it is a case of knowing too much...not being able to keep the mouth shut. To not go too far. To be careful, to be cautious. Yes...but back to my advise. What do you tell someone who is looking for the meaning of life? One thing that I always tell them is to play tennis and this is what I have been telling her from day one. Go to the tennis club and meet some nice people participating in a noble activity. You are never alone if you can play a decent game of tennis. At least you can pretend that you are not alone. If Springsteen could find the answer in an old parked car...why not find it on the tennis court? The only other things I told her was to seek the higher power, which is not going to happen as she is firmly convinced otherwise,but you never know, and I advised her to read Celine’s “Journey to the End of the Night”.
Go figure. Good advice, like good coaching is tough to find these days.Francois is a boxer. A woman boxer. That beats all, doesn’t it? I figured the footwork had to be there. And the fighter, too. But anyways, a boxer for a student is not such a bad place to start on the tennis court. I sometimes thought I would of made a good boxer, I throw right but play tennis left, golf right but batted left...both hands are somewhat ready. I can look at life from both sides. You know, the usual win a few, lose a few story. Maybe boxing would of knocked some sense into my noodle. Who knows? Do I sometimes sound confused? Boxing and tennis....both are one on one. Just one opponent, that is, if you don’t count yourself. It’s a fight...in the end. Trying to knock out the other. Or at least knock them off balance. No time to be afraid...you are either defending or on the attack. And neutralizing too. Winning the final point is the goal. No need for the Seals or anyone else for that matter. It’s just you. In the end, you are the captain of your ship.
I regretfully did not have time to watch any of the French Open yesterday. I wanted to see Federer... and only Roger. Gustav watched his match. He said it inspired him. Federer is capable of inspiring young men. He is a classic in a more traditional sense. The Swiss men are on a collision course. Too bad they had to meet in the round of sixteen. Luck of the draw...that is all. Wawrinka came back from down two sets to beat the French hometown favorite in the fifth. That will definitely make a man of him. That’s a long road to hoe. Tsonga’s no pushover. Not in front of that crowd. My wife likes Wawrinka. He’s her favorite. She likes Llodra, too. She doesn't know a whole lot about tennis. Roger will be ready though...he’s not quite ready to turn his ship to England to hone his grass game. He’s the one and only...these days.
Yesterday I was coaching. My three boys, or rather...my three young men, Gustav (16 years), Olof and Philip (both 19 years), are playing up this year in the men’s class. The first couple of matches they have had their asses sort of handed to them, but yesterday they showed signs of benefiting from some our work and training. If I am not the best coach in Europe I advertise that I am the best bang for the buck, at any rate. I go to their matches gratis...because these boys, or rather young men, are very important to me. It was a Friday afternoon/evening at the club. It rained cats and dogs so we went inside on the carpet. Green inside the court, orange on the outside of the lines.
Soon these young men are going to be out there on their own and I am teaching them to play tennis...and to think for themselves. I stress this to them all of the time. School is a place where they teach you some things about some subjects. You can’t deny it. Personally, I never liked school all that much. The occasional teacher perked my interest...inspired me. The tennis court is a place where you will actually learn something...about yourself and about life. If you can put two plus two together. If you put yourself in the fire enough times...you will learn a thing or two. These guys are learning. I’m there to teach them. It’s a tough lesson. It's a tough road to hoe. Winning and losing. Life's no picnic either. Not for most of us. First, you must open the door of being a loser. And then you enter...to the journey. I have done my share of losing.
Gustav won his match 6-1, 6-1. We sat together and talked as we watched Olof and Philip lose in almost identical fashion. Both lost approximately 6-4, 6-1, We talked about a lot of things. One subject was that as an American I see things differently than the Swedes. It is only natural. That is culture. Not that I am a typical American. You have to be careful to not give yourself too much credit when you are a foreigner, though. My ideas are...well you are getting your ideas. Swedes tend to play it a bit safe and they are winning, at least for the moment in some respects...and I am a bit more outside of the box, not that it makes me a gambler. They seem to be alright with me. Maybe more so than Americans. I never seem to quite fit in. I try to play the percentages. We talked about tennis and how it relates to life. We talked about strings and the spin of the ball. No biomechanics or slick presentations. Just basic stuff...man to man. We talked a little bit about forehand technique...how to get more spin on the ball, using Roger as the model. I am waking up to this reality. About the strings, that is.
So I had two scenarios going...my conversation with Gustav while watching the other two play their match. Brain equally divided down the middle. Perfect for me...not really, I am easily annoyed when I am distracted. They both played reasonably well for the first set but lost, then they got discouraged and basically folded and packed it in for the second set. Olof’s serve is improving. Philip needs to work on his concentration and competitive spirit. He’s a musician...trying to be an artist. A little scattered.
The lesson against the backboard is paying off for Olof, I hope. The motion is much better...very promising, in fact. I spent two hours with him on Wednesday when Gustav couldn’t make it to practice because of some school commitment. We focused on his one hand backhand, which we converted from two hands about eight months ago. I started in Budge mode. Then we will graduate to the modern backhand...more Swiss style. He actually came over the ball a few times in his match...it's a sign of confidence. The format for the match is three singles and one doubles and Philip and Olof were scheduled to play the doubles. Both Gustav and I were not sure if these two would have the stomach to play another match but they decided to have a go at it...so the four of us sequestered ourselves in my tiny office and I gave them the talk.
We sat there, Gustav was the only one left standing because there wasn’t a chair, but I had the other two squarely in my sights, looking directly in their eyes. You can feel the love. I talked to them about their first match. I was acting a little tough. Just a little...I don’t want to scare them, I just want them to act tough on the court. I told them how my old coach used to tell me that I must play five tournaments in a row to be match tough. I told them that they both should of beaten their opponents, but losing is a huge part of the lesson. We have only begun, I tell them. Sometimes it is about dealing with losing. Sometimes it is about dealing with winning.
The two masks of drama and life. Dealing with these two impostors...ala Kipling. One is not necessarily a loser if you learn something from the experience. To lose the first set is no reason to pack it up. The fun has just begun. The fight has just begun. Every point. Every point has a meaning. I told them of an old friend of mine, Mike Rose, who was just so much tougher after losing the first set. He really knew how to dig in. You were almost tempted to throw the first set to him in order to have a chance of winning the match. They are looking into my eyes, trying to find themselves...searching the eyes of an old warrior. They trust me. They know that I have been there, that I am there...for them. They went out and won their doubles 7-6, 7-6. A small victory. But not for two young men growing up to be men in Sweden. And an old coach from nowhere...who lives in the woods. Tomorrow I will tell them how proud of them I am. Every Saturday the four of us play doubles. It's a tradition...of sorts.
Now we are in the round of sixteen at the Open...the men are separating themselves from the boys. One set apiece for Del Potro and Djokovic...whose the man? A big break for Del Potro as now it is a two out of three set match...but it's a "different" Djokovic these days.
Will try it out...
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