Thoughts about Tennis Tradition...

[don_budge]

Today's Results...upward tick. don_budge performance analyst self analysis with the mid and long irons.

"Tennis is golf on the run." ...don_budge. Working a new idea from a video image. Tommy Fleetwood in the down swing.

8 iron 151 yards 76 mph 107 mph 1.40
7 iron 165 yards 78 mph 113 mph 1.45
6 iron 178 yards 81 mph 117 mph 1.45
5 iron 192 yards 82 mph 119 mph 1.44

8 iron 153 yards 76 mph 108 mph 1.41
7 iron 165 yards 79 mph 113 mph 1.42 (3 times)
6 iron 181 yards 80 mph 119 mph 1.48
5 iron 196 yards 83 mph 121 mph 1.46

Baby steps. Improved performance in three irons in personal best. Tied the seven iron three times. Distance in golf is comparable to mph in tennis. It is one factor of power. What is power? Control is power...the three elements of control are speed, spin and placement. The same holds true in both endeavours. Today's improvement was unexpected. Six iron crossed the 180 red line for the first time. The five iron jumped over the halfway marker from 190 to 200. The image of the Tommy Fleetwood swing in transition has taken a firmer hold in my mind's eye. Much of this is a question of sustainability at the age of 72. How much room for improvement is there? How much more potential can be farmed out of a body that is well past its prime? This is all an experiment. Perhaps much like our old friend bottle's trip down the path of "The New Year's Serve". His documentation of his experiments in his tennis strokes. As age caught up with bottle he perhaps lost the energy, interest and motivation. There are limits. I will know when it is time to hang it up.

[don_budge]

Thoughts about Tennis Tradition...and how it relates to life by connecting the dots and other thoughts.

Well, there you have it. The 2026 French Open has come and gone. Singularly the most boring display ever in its entirety for a "Grand Slam" tennis tournament. The two "saviours" of the game disappeared from the final for the first time in how many tournaments and what was left? Yesterday's leftovers. Zverev and who. Good luck with that. The game is guarenteed another final missing at least one of these two...Alcarez out indefinitely. For years I harped on the game going down the tube when Roger Federer retired. Roger, being the last link to the traditional game. Complete with the attitude about rejecting a bigger racquet that would have greatly improved his numbers against his rivals. A decision that cost him and one has to ask the question why? Was it a question of ethics? Doubtful. Perhaps something subliminal. A yearning for the traditional game. Pete Sampras always lamented not playing in the wooden racquet era. Roger may have had similar thoughts. Traditional thoughts. It's a dangerous game. To talk of tradition these days. At risk of any number of allegations. Some are sprinkled throughout this thread. Me...a blast from the past. Serving as a warning to others. The messenger.

Update on my golf experiments. I have a golf studio set up in my stable since we no longer have horses on the property. We have a couple of mares for breeding at the trainers down in the south of Sweden. A curious note regarding the breeding. Last year we sold a six month old filly for one hundred and fifty thousand euros. A lottery pick. This stuff doesn't happen. A complete shocker. We split the earnings with the trainer. We own the mare together. I'm not rich by any stretch of the imagination. For years we made it hand to mouth. A layer of security going down the stretch. It's the wife's thing. She is delirious with happiness with the horses. More or less lukewarm about me. Married for twenty-one years now. Married twice now...divorced seventeen or eighteen times. Go figure. But anyways...the golf studio.

I bought a net and most recently an excellent mat to hit off of. I injured my shoulder hitting off the previous mat. A much too thin version that did nothing to alleviate the shock of the underlying cement. The new one is a luxury at the cost of three hundred dollars or so. That included one hundred dollars for shipping out here in the middle of nowhere. The net and mat the best investment I have ever made. At least with regard to my golf endeavour. Which greatly contributes to my mental health and physical well-being. Do what you have to do to keep your head in the game. So here's the deal. At seventy-two I would be road kill if I attempted to be competitive in tennis. Surely I would hurt myself trying to hurl myself around the court trying to play the modern game of shock and awe. It used to be that seniors could maintain a level of respectability by being clever. Being wise. No longer. Seniors are road kill.

What is the best way to learn something as complicated and simple at the same time as a golf swing? Even a tennis serve? Recently I caught a rear view of a Tommy Fleetwood golf swing and something resonated with me. White light and a swoosh simultaneously inspiring an idea. Everything starts with an idea. Like when I bought the net and mat. That was an idea. The image of Fleetwood's swing enabled me to understand something that had been elusive to me. A piece of the puzzle. Tilden and Hogan were like versions of Sherlock Holmes as they used detective like skills to narrow it down in their approach to their respective sports. In addition to the mat and net I have a little device of a lauch monitor. It is called a PBGR. It's accuracy is comparable to very expensive devices. For each swing I get instant feedback on swing speed, ball speed, smash factor and distance. Perhaps a similar process for serve practice. Against the wall.

Progress in tennis and golf is not always uphill. There are periods where there is improvement with work and practice. These trends are inevitably followed by plateaus where you must work through the flat lining to achieve further postitive results. By having this "practice facility" on the premises it enables me to go out and test out any idea or feeling I might have immediately. I can go out there as many times as I like. Generally I must average three a day. Shorter practice sessions. More of them. Sometimes I go out and just work up the swing to full speed for several clubs and call it a session. Other times I go out and grind. Knock myself out. A lot depends on the energy level. You have to know your limits. My Dad and I used to have this conversation a lot. Knowing your limits. Get older...get wiser.

After viewing Tommy Fleetwood's swing from behind my performance spiked and these were the results:

Club Distance Swing Speed. Ball Speed Smash Factor

8 iron 151 yards 76 mph 107 mph 1.40
7 iron 165 yards 78 mph 113 mph 1.45
6 iron 178 yards 81 mph 117 mph 1.45
5 iron 192 yards 82 mph 119 mph 1.44

These distance represent personal best. Generally speaking my stock distance will be around five yards less...on a good day. It can vary on the circumstances of course. Golf shots are situational...as are tennis shots. When I began this process when winter thawed and it was warm enough in the stable my stock yardage goals for an eight iron was 135, seven iron 150, six iron 160 and five iron 170. As my own personal performance analyst I have come to the conclusion, objectively speaking, I have exceeded expectations. Golf is a strange endeavour. Ask anyone who plays. I speak of the greed factor in performance. We are never satisfied. It is never enought. When I broke into the 150's with my eight iron I start to think of 160. When I broke into the 160's with my seven iron I began to think of 170. I'm halfway there. When I broke 170 with my six iron my sights were on 180. Almost there. Now I broke into the 190's with my five iron. Am I insane to dream of two hundred yards? You have to know your limits. At seventy-two years old...you cannot risk injury for superfluous goals. For ego. For vanity. At some point enough is enough.

What is the goal? The goal is this...to shoot my age. To get around the course in even par. My handicap is 4.2 now. I believe I can do it if given enough rounds on the course this summer. I can do it. With practice...belief is forged. Will is reinforced. With the grace of God. The Lord's will. Amen.

[don_budge]

Well Don...I thought nobody would ever ask. Let's see where this leads us.

You are a little late there, Don. Where were you when the Prince was making her debut? I remember going to war with every player that used it against me in tournaments. I was on my way up. The racquets derailed me. I was livid. I thought they were cheating...not only me but the game herself. And she was my great love. I loved her with all my heart and soul. I wanted to kill them. All of them. In defense of her Tradition. There were too many. There was only me...but it made no difference, I didn't care. I stood up. To the machine!

Tradition? Forget about it. You are too late to be concerned with such trivia. In fact if you speak of such things you will have people calling you a "prisoner of your generation" and looking at you cross eyed. I hear the snickering. To which I say...phooey.

One of my last memories in competitive tennis was going three sets with three opponents with Princess racquets in one day, me and my Kramers...lost the third. I tried to scrape myself off the bed the next day. I lost toenails. I went down fighting. I realized a long time ago...the gig was up. Nobody cared. Not like I do...to this very day. They still don't. That was the day the music died. That was the day that Don Quixote died...again.

I wrote the above on May 20, 2011 as my opening post on this thread..."Thoughts about Tennis Tradition". Little did I know that fifteen years later I would still be writing additional posts to this thread. Somehow I have the idea that the question of ethics and thoughts about the traditional aspects of tennis are intertwined. Although, many would argue that it is sacrilegious to question the traditional versus the modern. Fifteen years ago...I was ahead of the curve. Actually forty years ago I was ahead of the curve.

Now take golf for instance. The sport of golf has undergone a transformation as well. I would say that tradition in golf is perhaps a bit deeper ingrained into the sport than tradition in tennis. There is perhaps no place more representative to the traditions of golf than August Golf Club. The home of "The Masters".

https://www.golfpass.com/travel-advisor/2026-masters-augusta-national-chairman-fred-ridley-golf-ball-rollback?utm_campaign=2025-GP_Social_GolfPass_Social_ENG_FBEditorial2025&utm_source=Social&utm_medium=Social&utm_content=Facebook&fbclid=IwY2xjawREbUBleHRuA2FlbQIxMABicmlkETA0ZkZrWnpzM0k2amdoM2doc3J0YwZhcHBfaWQQMjIyMDM5MTc4ODIwMDg5MgABHs8lLV3piQWI9rFlRiZEmNwiRGrmdwEo_Kkd83iTHlTQ4eyTFmSuoHTdmduT_aem_YhNenQl6R7THuhLjB8nNSg

"Until recent years golf has been a game of imagination, creativity and variety. The game has become much more one-dimensional," Ridley said. "As players drive the ball prodigious distances and routinely hit short irons into par-4s and even some par-5s, this issue goes beyond competitive impacts. "

"This issue goes beyond competitive impacts". It certainly does. It crosses the border of ethics. The game of golf has recognized that it has crossed these boundaries. They talk about the integrity of the game. The gentlemen at Augusta Golf Club are a bunch of old-fashioned white guys. A bunch of traditionalists. Hmmm...they represent a conservative element. Where is that conservative element in tennis. It doesn't and hasn't existed for quite some time. I would say that right about the time that Ilie Nastase and John McEnroe were facing off on the clay courts at the traditional Forest Hills tennis club that things were already in the works. 1978 or so. There was some banter in the commentary by the late Howard Cosell regarding Nastase being suspended from playing in some sanctioned tournaments yet he was playing in the event against McEnroe. Tennis was beginning to fray at the seams. It was becoming unraveled.

Golf looks to be taking a stand and turning back the specs on the golf ball. Fascinating stuff if you ask me. In the world of golf there is really nothing to compare The Masters event to. It's great to see that someone is paying attention and standing up for the ethics of the game. Tennis should pay attention. Before it is too late. It probably is...too late. What a pity.

[joeldrucker]

That's a great clip. Two superb stylists. Intriguing also to see the late stage Nastase and the teenaged McEnroe. To think that a year later they'd have quite the match at the US Open, highly flavored by Nastase's antics.

[don_budge]

Well Don...I thought nobody would ever ask. Let's see where this leads us.

You are a little late there, Don. Where were you when the Prince was making her debut? I remember going to war with every player that used it against me in tournaments. I was on my way up. The racquets derailed me. I was livid. I thought they were cheating...not only me but the game herself. And she was my great love. I loved her with all my heart and soul. I wanted to kill them. All of them. In defense of her Tradition. There were too many. There was only me...but it made no difference, I didn't care. I stood up. To the machine!

Tradition? Forget about it. You are too late to be concerned with such trivia. In fact if you speak of such things you will have people calling you a "prisoner of your generation" and looking at you cross eyed. I hear the snickering. To which I say...phooey.

One of my last memories in competitive tennis was going three sets with three opponents with Princess racquets in one day, me and my Kramers...lost the third. I tried to scrape myself off the bed the next day. I lost toenails. I went down fighting. I realized a long time ago...the gig was up. Nobody cared. Not like I do...to this very day. They still don't. That was the day the music died. That was the day that Don Quixote died...again.

15,000 views on a thread that I started with this post some fifteen years ago. My questions have only gotten deeper regarding tradition versus the modern. We see it in society. We have seen it in our beloved game of tennis. Is it a good thing? I maintain that it is the end of reality. Technology has replaced the real world and the one we live in is becoming if it isn't already a simulation.

A note of curiosity...someone has added approximately 500 views to this thread recently. I am curious as to who it is and what do you think of the thread. At any thanks...thank you for taking the time to read what I took the time to write. Every single viewer. I am closing in on 7,000 total posts on tennisplayer.net which makes me a Hall of Famer here on the website. Self-proclaimed without any self endorsement. I just had the idea to write about my experience of tennis. Rooted in classic tennis as it was taught to me by my dear old tennis coach...Sherm Collins. Also a couple of summers at the Don Budge Tennis Camp back in 1972 and 1973 cemented my deep love for the game and its traditions.

So...here is a wonderful video of a wonderful tennis match between the two favorite tennis players of mine when I was growing up in the game. I hope that you enjoy it and love it just as much as I do.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_2W8Fs49_Yk&t=121s

[don_budge]

The American Flag...

Russian tennis players have been playing professional tennis for the last couple of years without having their flag representing them. As if they do not represent their country. Because...supposedly Russia invaded Ukraine without any provocation. If all things were consistent and unbiased, wouldn't it stand for reason that American players will no longer be allowed to represent their country or have the American flag associated with their name. Is there any kind of precedent for this unique situation?

[don_budge]

It's been four weeks now since Jon Faucett passed away. We miss him. We miss John Yandell who passed away about a year ago. Rest in Peace...Brothers. Brothers in Tennis. We miss you both.

The earth spins and travels in orbit around the sun. Each orbit spells out a year. Leaving the past behind. Let's take a moment and give a nod to the past. Tradition. Ways gone by. In 1968, the sport of tennis took a big right turn off course and opened the Grand Slam tournaments to professionals. Were they called Grand Slam tournaments then? Or was it just Majors? In 1968, The Who, a great British rock band came up with the song "Substitute". Listen to the lyrics. Any carry overs? Your life? Life in general? Tennis substituted. In 1968...then and now. "Substitute"...AWESOME song. Music is no longer evolving...as it too, is engineering. "Substitue your lies for facts...the simple things you see are all really complicated".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eswQl-hcvU0&list=RDeswQl-hcvU0&index=1

[don_budge]

Great Thread...stroke!

Forgive me if I get a bit carried away. Wooden racquets are a passion of mine. It's strange how a person wants to plant a flag in a certain spot. Napoleon at Waterloo. Remember the Alamo. I'm like some modern day version of Don Quixote...waving a wooden racquet at the behemoth of history. A voice in the wilderness. As if I am a warning to others. You've been not only patient. I think the "bottle analogy" misses its mark but if you feel good about that...it is yours. Own it.

But anyways...thanks for the thread stroke. I went back and liked every comment by you for the past couple of weeks. I liked those of your PIC buddies too. Hatred is not one of my faults. I could never muster that kind of passion. It's true, I get annoyed too easily. Even with tennis there is some weird sort of a love/hate thing going. I don't expect anyone to understand. I don't even care if anyone dislikes me for it. It is what it is. A part of my imperfect condition. Part of my own personal dysfunction. I own it. Although...I have made a pretty much air tight case for the game of tennis. Although...nobody wants to admit it. The implications are too much to bear. What if similar aspects of our existence are just as fragile in terms of truth. In terms of ethics and justice. How weak we must be in our belief systems. What is left? Jesus is left. There is Him. On this, I have learned to rely. Clarity in a sea of madness.

It's only my dream, stroke. You've been patient. Much more than that. Patience is a virtue, you know. There is so little virtue in the world. True virtue. You have to be true to yourself. It's best to be sure of what you are being true to. A tough ask these days. The line of demarcation between reality and virtual reality becoming more and more blurred. Morality and virtual morality is my focus. Discerning from what is real and what is fake is almost down to an act of God. Well...make of it what you will. I have retreated to my thread called..."Thoughts about Tennis Tradition." It is a spot in my mind like perhaps bottle thought of his "A New Years Serve". I don't expect anyone else to truly understand. I certainly don't expect anyone to agree with me. Last of all...I know that nobody would actually like me. I don't care. Be that as it may...it is Christmas. All over the world people are bowing down in faith. A special day in history for all of us sinners.

I appreciate your words here DB. I have always said you are a great writer, and I have enjoyed reading a lot of your posts on tennis(and other thoughts). I certainly cannot write like that. I think we do have a lot in common about our thoughts on tennis. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you and your wonderful family!!!☃️❄️❤️❄️☃️

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1BezrrCjoe/

Such is life...and death. Dad invented a game...he called it the two word game. He would ask...what are the two most important words in language? My answer...life and death. I said I won. He said there were no winners. In the end...he was right.

A week ago Jon Fausett aka stroke passed away. We'd gone back and forth through the years on the forum. He would just love it when 10splayer would mop the floor with me. He and bottle had a thing. There used to be so many of us on the forum.

Jon and I had this exchange above. He said that he was losing patience with me. I can't say I blame him and I told him as much. He took it all in the right way. He was a man about it. Thank God that I immediately reacted to his comments. We settled the score right quick. As usual. He was the right kind of guy. I told his wife he was a good man. She said he was getting even better. I believe her. I'm so glad we had this exchange and wished each other Merry Christmas. He sent me a picture of Vilas and Borg. No words. Such was his way. When Pam told me he had passed...it took a little time to hit and it hit me in the gut. I've been quite a few times in the past year. John's passing started it. Now Jon.

Life and death. Make good on every day. Mean what you say and say what you mean. In this way we are true to each other. My friend Jon. Our friendship must have meant something, judging from the tears on my cheeks. He was a good man. He was getting better.

[stroke]

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1BezrrCjoe/

[don_budge]

I appreciate your words here DB. I have always said you are a great writer, and I have enjoyed reading a lot of your posts on tennis(and other thoughts). I certainly cannot write like that. I think we do have a lot in common about our thoughts on tennis. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you and your wonderful family!!!☃️❄️❤️❄️☃️

[stroke]

I appreciate your words here DB. I have always said you are a great writer, and I have enjoyed reading a lot of your posts on tennis(and other thoughts). I certainly cannot write like that. I think we do have a lot in common about our thoughts on tennis. Merry Christmas.

[don_budge]

Great Thread...stroke!

Forgive me if I get a bit carried away. Wooden racquets are a passion of mine. It's strange how a person wants to plant a flag in a certain spot. Napoleon at Waterloo. Remember the Alamo. I'm like some modern day version of Don Quixote...waving a wooden racquet at the behemoth of history. A voice in the wilderness. As if I am a warning to others. You've been not only patient. I think the "bottle analogy" misses its mark but if you feel good about that...it is yours. Own it.

From the history of the wooden racquet conspiracy I connect dots to my time on earth. A futile time no doubt. In comparison to for instance...Jesus. A wretched sinner is a rather good description of me. I have my strong points I suppose. To those that know me. Few as they are. One of those was my good...my best...my homie, The Ugly American. He passed away this year. In May. It was at this tournament that he and I became acquainted. What a debut we made. I was armed with a coaches pass to this event and he was in charge of nearly everything else. Such a man that he was. I handed him the pass through the fence near the entrance and the "Greatest Day of Tennis" was a freebee for two. What a time we had! The beginning of a forty year friendship. Stories upon stories. Now he is gone. It's sort of hard believe. I miss him dearly.

I guess when I start writing and reminiscing about this tournament I get carried away. Passion is one of my weaknesses. That is to say...my biggest weakness. Passion being an attribute that cuts both ways. I wonder what bottle would say. He always had something interesting to say. I should say 99% of the time. He had his weakness too. Donald J. Trump. The same as The Ugly American. Both had serious cases of Trump Derangement Syndrome. It always struck me as odd how this particular syndrome can just suddenly take over a persons entire emotional state. Probably in combination with the vaccines. It is incurable. Rest in peace..my Brother. My Brothers. Whatever happened to bottle anyways?

But anyways...thanks for the thread stroke. I went back and liked every comment by you for the past couple of weeks. I liked those of your PIC buddies too. Hatred is not one of my faults. I could never muster that kind of passion. It's true, I get annoyed too easily. Even with tennis there is some weird sort of a love/hate thing going. I don't expect anyone to understand. I don't even care if anyone dislikes me for it. It is what it is. A part of my imperfect condition. Part of my own personal dysfunction. I own it. Although...I have made a pretty much air tight case for the game of tennis. Although...nobody wants to admit it. The implications are too much to bear. What if similar aspects of our existence are just as fragile in terms of truth. In terms of ethics and justice. How weak we must be in our belief systems. What is left? Jesus is left. There is Him. On this, I have learned to rely. Clarity in a sea of madness.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky "agrees" with me:

• Beauty and Truth: Dostoevsky believed Christ was the only "Absolute Beauty" in the world, embodying the highest form of humanity. He suggested that if Christ was proven to be outside the truth, he would remain with Christ rather than "truth".
• The "Crucible of Doubt": His faith was not simple, but forged through personal suffering and profound questioning. He described his "Hosanna" (praise) as passing through a "furnace of doubt".
• The "Idiocy" of Love: In The Idiot, Prince Myshkin is a Christ-like figure designed to show how a truly good, compassionate person is perceived as an "idiot" or outcast by a cynical society.
• Free Will vs. Miracle:
• In the "Grand Inquisitor" chapter of The Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky portrays Christ as refusing to dominate humanity through miracles, preferring instead that people follow him freely out of love.

Key Perspectives

• Christ as Redeemer: Dostoevsky believed that through Christ, even the most fallen individuals can find redemption and regeneration.
• The Image of Christ: He focused on the person of Christ rather than just his teachings, viewing the Gospels as a narrative of a divine figure whose presence saves and transforms.
• Anti-Nihilism: He saw faith in Christ as the only alternative to nihilism and the ultimate source of meaning in a suffering world.

Mr. Dostoyevsky saw "faith in Christ as the only alternative to nihilism and the ultimate source of meaning in a suffering world." Clarity in a sea of madness in my own terms.

Dreams are another world apart from our reality. The strangeness. The sheer parallel dimension to "reality". I've had some doozies. Roger Federer has appeared in four or five of mine. In the last episode he was to have a date with our beautiful granddaughter. I pulled him aside and spoke to him in no uncertain terms that he respect her and no monkey business. He gave me that wonderful smile and assured me that he was on the up and up. You can trust Roger...in your dreams. I have dreamt of people that I barely knew, but somehow in my dreams we are on the most intimate of terms. It all seems so real. I got in my head this Christmas season to dream myself back to the manger scene where Jesus was born. Bethlehem. Maybe tonight. You never know.

You never know. One day back in 1984, my buddy Greg and I were at the U. S. Open for "The Greatest Day of Tennis" ever. I was in the locker room with Connors before his match with McEnroe. I was on the stairway in the main facility face to face with Jack Nicholson and Cheryl Tiegs. Who ever would have guessed I would be there? A friend of mine gave me a pass into the tournament. At the end...we took the subway back to the city and made our way to the Hard Rock Cafe. I remember Dan Akroyd was there. The subway ride was only a blur as it is now. Was it all a dream?

It's only my dream, stroke. You've been patient. Much more than that. Patience is a virtue, you know. There is so little virtue in the world. True virtue. You have to be true to yourself. It's best to be sure of what you are being true to. A tough ask these days. The line of demarcation between reality and virtual reality becoming more and more blurred. Morality and virtual morality is my focus. Discerning from what is real and what is fake is almost down to an act of God. Well...make of it what you will. I have retreated to my thread called..."Thoughts about Tennis Tradition." It is a spot in my mind like perhaps bottle thought of his "A New Years Serve". I don't expect anyone else to truly understand. I certainly don't expect anyone to agree with me. Last of all...I know that nobody would actually like me. I don't care. Be that as it may...it is Christmas. All over the world people are bowing down in faith. A special day in history for all of us sinners.

[don_budge]

image.png

Leo Tolstoy...Tennis Anyone?

[don_budge]

Tennis tradition...Leo Tolstoy (Anna Karenina) playing tennis...Speed Reading

What is power? I ask the student. Control is power. The three elements of control are speed, spin and placement. The universal rhetorical question.

Have you ever read "Anna Karenina" by Leo Tolstoy? How long did it take you to read the eight-hundred fifty-nine pages? Have you ever read any novel by Leo Tolstoy? I've read two. The aforementioned and "War and Peace". Many years ago. I am on Facebook and not being one for the "new fangled" way it is somewhat of a surprise. A couple of things have come to my attention on "my feeds" and one of them of late is from a group called "The Russian Cultural Heritage". Being interested in all things Russian, I take great interest in cultural aspects of odds and ends. Even in tennis it is quite obvious where my interest lies...as in "Thoughts about Tennis Tradition". It isn't something whimsical. It's a deep subject and not to be taken lightly in my estimation. Russia is the current "bad guy of the day", so they get my interest. They have my attention...and my respect. What makes them the bad guy and we the good guy? Point of view? Certainly in their eyes they are not the bad guy. It's perspective. Thus the interest. What is the reality of the thing? Always my focal point. Reality.

So anyways..."Anna Karenina" appears on my feed and Russian Cultural Heritage devotes significant space to Leo Tolstoy of late. My word...one of the most fascinating characters I have read about. I'm doing a deep dive this winter. "Anna Karenina" was first up. I had read this novel thirty years ago or so. Once upon a time in my life when I was approaching the age of forty I turned inwards. I was de-transitioning from being the tennis player to the next character I would assume. I was really done with tennis. Erased from my data base. I'd had a pretty wild ride with the game. But when the equipment was being engineered beyond the recognition of normalcy I became a one man army rebelling against the powers that be. I was searching. So I began reading. Like a mad man. Reading entire Dostoevsky novels in a week. It was athletic in the amount I was reading. I'd pick an author and read everything I could get my hands on. I remember going to Borders Book Store and loading up. Five or six novels at a time, then bunkering down.

Last Friday I got it into my noodle to read this great, great novel once again. I dug in. The first day I was determined to get to the one hundred page marker in the novel. These reads are somewhat difficult in their scope and plot so you have to get to the one hundred marker to know what you are in for. In this case there would be seven-hundred and fifty-nine pages to follow. I started about ten in the morning and just read like I used to. When once upon a time I was turning forty years old. I got my self in position and I read...and I read. I read until I couldn't read much more. Two hundred and fifteen pages. Once I got deep...it occurred to me. How long would this novel take me to read? Two hundred and some pages in I was well aware of the epic nature of the book. It was clear to me that Leo Tolstoy was some kind of other worldly brilliant genius. I figured if I could keep up the pace that I could finish the entire novel in four days.

Reading is really an amazing ability. I truly realized it once I got myself in a marathon mood. I became hyper aware of the letters and the words put together to form sentences and paragraphs that morphed into ideas and even bigger concepts. The print was burning through my optics and searing into my brain. Making pictures. After the second day...I was deeply entranced and living with the characters who were brought to life...through the letters, sentences, paragraphs. Turning page after page. Endlessly turning the page. All day long. Plodding along at times. Racing through at others. Keeping up the pace. Two hundred and fifteen pages a day. The third day again. Deeper and deeper. Understanding each character's psychology, dilemmas, pondering over their mental processes. Into the fourth day...when things got a bit difficult. I didn't sleep all that well on the final day. Making it difficult to keep up the pace at times. Feeling drowsy at times. Relying on the sheer brilliance of Tolstoy to keep the process going. Letters, sentences, paragraphs and page after page after page. Until the end. The End. Three days...nine hours and forty-nine minutes. This had to be right up there with anything I have accomplished in terms of effort, focus, concentration and understanding. At seventy-two years old (actually 72 in March but I round up) my mind is still intact. Capable of processing the white light of Leo Tolstoy. I felt accomplished. I felt...blessed.

At any rate...I know that the readers of this forum do not tolerate deviation from the basic tennis thread. "You must keep it limited to tennis", they shout in unison. You are a deviant if you try to connect dots to other realms as they relate to tennis...be it a stretch of the imagination at times. The mind need not be so limited in my world. But it was the speed that I read this novel that was powerful. Spin and placement? How about wisdom and understanding? Just some thoughts. Traditionally Russian. A great, great culture. No less than any other on the face of the earth. Certainly in philosophy, literature, music and even tennis. Why shouldn't we be friends? Why not mutual respect? The world would be a far greater place. It is going to take a tunnel or a bridge from Russia to Alaska to convince the rest of the world. I have gamed it out. I see the road ahead. Much as I did back in 1984 watching the U. S. Open. All four men's semifinalists using over-sized racquets for the first time. I knew...it was the end. The End.

So...wait for it. The tennis link to this post. The three dots...the three little dots. Well here it is my darlings. Leo Tolstoy interjected this short passage into his eight-hundred and fifty-nine page novel. A short scene in a time removed from modern times by one hundred and how many years. Way back...way back in time. Before we were even an idea of our parents. Leo Tolstoy was playing and writing about tennis. I remember when I first came to Sweden...my wife and I went out for a long, long walk. As we walked we came across a home out here in the Swedish countryside that had a tennis court. I'll never forget that moment. Somehow it was a defining moment. A moment that contributed to the feeling that I could change my entire life and move to the other side of the world. The tennis court with those beautiful finite lines. It was like a vision. A hallucination. Much like it felt like to read this short passage in "Anna Karenina" after days of marathon reading. Out of nowhere...in the Russian countryside. In an other worldly novel...those lines appeared out of nowhere. A tennis court. Around 1870 or so? A long time ago...

"The dinner, the wines, the service were all excellent; but it all seemed to Dolly, though she had grown out of the habit of them, too much like a big formal dinner party or a ball: there was the same impersonal atmosphere and strain, and so on an everyday occasion and in a small gathering they produced a disagreeable impression on her.

After dinner they sat out on the terrace for a while, and then proceeded to play lawn-tennis. The players, having chosen their partners, took their places on the carefully leveled and rolled croquet-lawn, on either side of the net stretched between two gilt posts. Dolly made an attempt to play, but it was a long while before she could understand the game, and by the time she did understand it she felt so tired that she gave up and sat down to watch by the Princess Varvara. Her partner Tushkevich also gave up, but the others continued for a long time. Sviazhsky and Vronsky both played very well and earnestly. They kept their eyes on the balls served to them, and without haste or getting in each other’s way ran adroitly up, waited for the ball to bounce, and then , striking well and truly with the racquet, returned it across the net. Veslovsky was a poor player. He got too excited, but, to make up for that, his high spirits inspired the others. His laughter and outcries were never silent. With the ladies’ permission the men had taken off their coats, and he made an impressive picture with his fine, handsome figure in white shirt-sleeves, his red perspiring face and impetuous movements. When Dolly lay in bed that night, as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw Vasenka veslovsky flying about the croquet-lawn."

Three days...nine hours and forty-nine minutes. I wonder how many have read this novel as quickly as I. Not many. Considering the effort it took. The concentration. The eyes working over the pages. The pages and the pages turning and turning. By the tens and the twenties. The hundreds. To two-hundred and fifteen pages a day. For three days and some hours. Keeping the pace. Keeping an eye on the goal. To finish. To the very end. The story burned into my mind...from turning the pages. The letters, sentences, paragraphs and pages passing through the brain cells of my mind. Making pictures. From cover to cover. What a trip! Thank you...Lord. Thank you...Leo.

https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/why-tolstoy-took-up-tennis

[don_budge]

Thoughts about Tennis and Golf Tradition...

Tennis and golf are God's gift to mankind in terms of recreation. Both of these games tests the human being on every level of their humanness. Intellectually, physically, psychologically, emotionally...and even spiritually. The two are related if not distant cousins in the world of recreation. Spawn from the same creator it might seems on some level. Both games are games of shots and the metaphysics of the shot don't change over time. The fundamentals will always be the same. In today's modern times and times of professional sports much has been cast aside in the name of progress. Much as it happens in real life. These games metaphorically match the times with their mere existence. Adapting as to stay relevant. Like the human counterpart...it's the condition under which they are always played.

I like to look admiringly at the past at these games. At the competitors and the conditions under which these games were contested. Years ago...things were different as it was a different world in which we played. I remember playing tennis as a boy and a young man. Growing up with the great game of tennis at my side. No matter what the conditions...my trusty game was always there. But as in life...things change and so did tennis. Something was lost where most thought something was gained. It's the nature of life too...where the masses might see progress there are those that might hold out for something else. The less obvious. The spiritual.

Here is a video about one of golf's greatest competitors. Ben Hogan...the video is titles "Bantam Ben". Take a look at it. You don't have to be a golfer to appreciate the message. Much as you don't need to be a tennis player to appreciate a story about a character named Richard Gonzales. Ben Hogan is what you would call the ultimate "Game Guy". What is a "Game Guy"? Look it up in the dictionary and you will find the pictures of the likes of Hogan and Gonzales.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulYyosFu0ac

Last year I traveled to the United States of America twice. The country that I called home for the first fifty years of my life. I hadn't been home for twelve years and returning felt like a past life experience. I was reading "The Razor's Edge" on the plane home and finishing the final chapter in which the main character is describing the effect upon his life where he had spent some years isolated with Hindu swami's in India. Sitting next to me on the plane was an Indian man who just happened to be exactly the same number of years as I. He also happened to be a doctor/surgeon..and of course he was a Hindu too. He noticed the book that I was reading and we engaged in some conversation...he spoke to me of reincarnation and good and evil. How time works it's magic on the soul. I landed in America and I was caught in a delicious hallucination. A hallucination that included my own personal stuff and it was including the campaign for the Presidency between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. America's soul was being split in two...divided equally into two angry sides.

I saw family and friends that I hadn't seen for twelve years. I found myself swirling in a culture that seemed to be traveling at the speed of light compared to that of the Swedish culture that I have found myself adopted by. The freeways were churning and the businesses and restaurants were cha-chinging around the clock it seemed. Out of the madness I was fortunate to catch up with my life long friend...The Ugly American...and we managed a couple of rounds of golf together. He hadn't changed...he smoked and I got high watching.

Towards the end there was an unfinished piece of business to take care of. I wished to see my old tennis coach. A man who was like a second father to me and a person in my life that I surely needed and in some ways I am sorry that I didn't dedicate myself to his teaching more than I did. But this is life and this is how it transpires. We do what we do and then we look back and sometimes we wonder. My father and I drove to his home clear on the other side of town and once we had found the apartment or condominium I walked into another time warp. How many years had it been since I had seen this beacon of my youth? But here he was some 87 years old or so and inside he didn't seem to have changed at all. After touring his home we headed out to go to lunch but first there was a stop he wanted to make. The tennis court. We hit some balls in ninety something degree heat and he had some pearls to give me about the game...about teaching the game. The return of serve and the overhead he expounded on...he is still relevant.

We batted the ball back and forth a bit. I used all of my power of control to deliver the ball to him one bounce waist high. We hit a couple of serves. He actually aced me on the first ball...he hit a rather surprising slice to my backhand in the deuce court. Me being left handed. Just like old times. Old, old times. So many years ago. A lifetime. A past life.

So anyways...I run the risk of being or sounding sentimental or melancholy. Nostalgic. It's nearly against the law to be nostalgic nowadays. Perhaps it has always been this way and it is only now that I have transgressed to the other side of life. But the old tennis coach really hits me right in the heart. I remember those old days...I was a wild and bewildered youth and he was a stern yet patient...tough yet gentle mentor. I still hear his voice in my head. Some of the scenes from the past go whirring in the dizzying hallucination from then to now.

He gave me something when I left that day. Some words that he had come across that somehow struck him the way that things struck him. He was a rather upright fellow...he is a rather upright fellow. Time and conditions will not change him. Age will not change him. He may be hobbling from the knee replacements...the hip replacements. The shoulder replacement. But to me he is a Bionic Man...one for all of the ages. My coach. The only coach that I would have taken on tour if I had the chance. His knowledge and reverence for the great game of tennis second to none...in my eyes.

Here is what he gave me on that hot July afternoon in the year of 2016. In the midst of all of the nonsense. The American "election". An election where the votes don't count. The fix is in...always. Here are the words that he gave me. My coach is a devout Christian but I never once remember him interjecting his religious faith into any conversation until it was all said and done. Then he would casually mention his church...and his faith. So here they are...the words he gave me. "A Game Guy's Prayer".

A GAME GUY'S PRAYER...Author Unknown

Help me to be a sport in the little game of life. I don't ask for any place in the lineup; play me where You need me. I only ask for the stuff to give you a hundred per cent of what I've got. If all the hard drives come my way I thank You for the compliment. Help me to remember You won't let anything come that You and I together can't handle. And help me to take the bad breaks as part of the game. Help make me thankful for them.

And, God, help me always to play on the square, no matter what the other players do. Help me to come clean. Help me to see that often the best part of the game is helping other guys. Help me to be a "regular fellow" with the other players.

Finally, God, if fate seems to uppercut me with both hands and I'm laid up on the shelf in sickness or old age, help me to take that as a part of the game also. Help me not to whimper or squeal that the game was a dream-up or that I had a raw deal. When in the dusk I get the final bell, I ask for no lying complimentary stones. I'd only like to know that You feel I've been a good guy.

As read by Mel Allen on Edward R. Murrow's Person to Person program on CBS television.

In God We Trust...Amen.

I loved this forum...