Guest Post - The Nerve Monster

It’s almost a 2 hour ride from Stoughton, MA to Bloomfield, CT. Lots of time for Deuce to think. He was on his way to a USTA tournament – not his first. His first was about 30 years ago in Norwood, MA, not long after he had joined his first tennis club. Most of the details were sketchy in his memory, but he remembered losing handily to a guy he probably should have beaten. Except for nerves. His muscles were so tight he could barely keep the ball in the court. And his opponent had an incredible spin serve that went left or right, and all Deuce could do was guess which way he needed to go to have a chance of returning it.

Nerves are a funny thing. Deuce had played many competitive matches since that day, some in leagues, most among friends. And most of the time, he had been able to make tension into a positive force, a motivator if you will. But every once in a while, the muscles would tighten when least expected, as if to say “I’m still here and I can ruin you on a whim!” And I guess that facing off that demon was one of his goals in signing up for an Over 60 USTA Tournament. Having some fun with a different experience was the other.

I arrived at the Bloomfield tennis Club around 10:15am…It’s a bare bones facility, no exercise room, no stretching area, older lockers and shower areas, but the courts were in good shape, and there was a lounge with leather couches, good TVs and free coffee and bagels.

The director, Rick Wu, was not exactly a bundle of personality. ‘You’re on court 4 at 11:30” he said when I checked in. I was expecting a bit of a welcome I guess after driving 2 hours. Maybe a “There’s the locker room, help yourself to coffee”, something, but no, that was it, and then he went out to have a smoke.

My opponent was Dick from Natick, recently moved up from the 55 division, and he was a nice guy. Told me that there were only a handful of superstars in this division, but you never know when they will show up. Everyone else was like him and I, and had at least a chance to score some points. I could tell during warm-up that we were evenly matched, and this could go either way.

He was about 5 feet 11, receding hairline, in decent shape (for a 60-year-old)…Hard serve, powerful strokes. The first set confirmed that we were indeed evenly matched…1 all, 2 all, 3 all and then I was able to break in the seventh game, to go up 4-3 on my serve. I held to 5-3, and he held so I served at 5-4 for the set – and got broken! Luckily I broke back to go up 6-5, and won the set on a long rally where his last shot landed 4 inches too deep. I was thrilled that I had one set under my belt, and although I heard some murmurs from the nerves, they stayed in the background.

Dick had trouble with my backhand slice. He’d try to generate pace and send it long most of the time. Later he said (a little too often), “I can’t get my timing down on your low slices – I’m used to balls going faster in rallies!”

Second set, I got off to a good start, up 4-1. he comes back with some nice shot-making, but I’m once again serving at 5-4, and once again I get broken! But it was not nerves that got me in that game. He just played 3 remarkable points in a row. So that was OK. I had broken him several times, and was pretty sure I could do it again.

I should mention that the surface was clay (on a carpet), so the serve was not as much as an advantage as it would have been on a hard court. But once again I break back, with my best shot of the day, a scorching forehand pass cross-court. This time I will not be denied.

I don’t even stop at the changeover chair, but go right to the other side to wait for him to be ready. He sits down and makes me wait a minute, but I’m using the time to gather my focus. I serve full-throttle and win 2 easy points. The third serve bounces funny off the tape, and it’s 40-love…I serve and volley and connect with a volley to his forehand that he cannot reach. Game-set–match. A fun win because it could have gone either way. And I beat the Nerves Monster!

I have an hour break before my next opponent. Scouting reports trickle in. It is Russian Alex, the #1 seed of the Tournament (Intimidation 1). Someone says he used to be on the Russian National Team! (Intimidation 2). I see him in the locker room rubbing liniment on his legs. (Intimidation 3) Who does that? Liniment? Nobody in my Friday Night Doubles crowd that I know of rubs liniment on his legs!! Finally we are on the court warming up, and he hits the ball like a Teaching Pro. Nice and easy, drives through the ball, like it’s a walk in the park (Intimidation 4).

I realize I have a better chance of hitting Power Ball than beating this guy. But that’s OK. It will be a free lesson. I just want to avoid the double bagel (and the Nerves Monster.) But 6 games later the first set is concluded. (And he is flipping the freakin’ score cards over at each changeover! Was that really necessary?). I’m winning some points in almost every game, but to do it, every one of my shots had to be perfect. I’m not used to that type of pressure.

But now is my moment – I am serving the first game of the second set, and it goes to multiple deuces. I decide it’s now or never and serve and volley the next point and hit a winning volley. I serve to his backhand on the add side, and it’s a short reply. I move in for the attack, but my approach is so-so sitter down the middle. He can do anything he wants with it. But I guess forehand, guess right, and hit a winning volley down the line. I raise my hands in mock celebration and say ‘Yeah’! (quietly). Alex does not seem to get my humor, but I can see he is rattled. So rattled he reels off the next 6 games straight. And I don’t lose track of the score, because Alex thoughtfully turns the scorecards on every changeover.

After the match, he was polite. He says the ‘Russian National Team’ thing was just gossip (but he did not directly deny it!). He says he was #1 in the 50-and-overs for a while, and #2 in the 55-and-overs for a while. And I did not feel bad about the day at all. I had won a USTA match. I was beaten by a better player but did not embarrass myself. And the Nerve Monster stayed in the trunk (Although I swear, on the ride back to Stoughton, I heard a small voice say “I’ll be back!)