Love/All

A Sunday essay that might almost be about tennis

I played tennis against my brother and his son. It was me and dad against them — billed as “Father/Son” — but it should have been called Three People Who Play Tennis with One Person Who Doesn’t.

At school, I was in the ‘B’ team for tennis. Which was the ultimate proof I was no good. I was in the ‘A’ team for everything else. Since school, over 30 years ago, I have only played tennis when I’ve been forced to — every couple of years one of the three tennis players in the family decides they need a fourth for doubles, and it’s on.

I’m fitter now than I have been over the last two decades. That’s down to walking. I don’t run, I barely go to the gym — though I’m enthusiastic every January about the change for that year, and then the real stretching and moving is in finding new places to hide the rest of that year’s disappointment. I’m more mobile and possibly even more agile than I have been for the first time since school. (We are are talking micro). So in that sense at least, I’m back to ‘B’ Team Tennis. I can swing the bat. I know where that’s at. I’m even more likely to both call it a racket, and not cause one these days.

It was hot. Christmas Day Hot. And I was the only one to not fault on the serving. Just get it over the net. That became the mantra. If you don’t make a mistake you can just wait for your opponent to do so — doubles has the extra edge that your partner might also make a mistake. And you need to know to not take that personally. Which is much easier to do when you have no skin in the game, and only the sweat that you can manage.

We were three games down to begin. And that was correct. We were carrying both the non-player and the oldest person on the court.

And then something unspoken happened. We didn’t just get better, we knew exactly where to be and when to be and we pegged back a game, and then another. Then it was equal. Then we moved ahead. Game after game, I hit the ball over the net — which, in low stakes tennis, is literally all you have to do.

I’m not saying there was some incredible chemistry here — but it was working. It was good enough.

We won the game. We had something to celebrate. It was maybe the closest me and my dad have been in 30 years. Never quite on the same page. But here we were — both not only on the same side of the game, but between us we managed the task of getting it over the net more times than those other two losers.