THE EVILUTION OF TENNIS BY OLE PRO

Written by: ole pro on 18th September 2014

THE EVILUTION OF TENNIS BY OLE PRO |

Photo by Alejandro Gonzalez

Good God I love this game – the new can’s hiss-pop revelation of scented rubber, the scuff and squeak of ever-evolving tennis shoes as they tread to and fro across the rectangle’s limit lines, the brushing thwack of gut string on woven felt, followed by a parabolic arc from adversary to foe, dewdrops leaping from atop the net as the first ball slaps the tape, and the shameful, strained grunt of a player desperately stretching for a well-struck shot – the sounds, the smells, the agony and ecstasy of our sport.

There are days when I flick the ball machine’s pre-tech metal toggles and hustle to the opposite court to grumble and bitch and twist parts of my body into what will become tomorrow’s icepacks, just so I can master a single shot. Whether your name is Sampras or dumbass, it’s 15,000 reps to change a stroke, they say.

Too, there are moments when I’m inside the point, the adrenalin thundering through my bloodstream as I crossover, shuffle and sprint from sideline to sideline in a balletic ritual practiced hour upon hour when my competitors have gone home to well-cooked meals and I just can’t quite get the fight out of me.

I can recall forehands that felt so fluid the court was like parchment for my calligraphic swings. I also remember watching a framed backhand sail skyward with the sort of unmitigated betrayal one regrets forever. Yes, I know I shanked you, but did you have to travel over three courts and then interrupt a point so all the club’s players would know how badly I can mishit a shot? Goddamn ball!

In day’s past, I could decipher a tendency or a pattern and feel a step ahead of the play. Once in a while, I’d even catch onto a serve toss or a turned toe that would indicate an inside-out versus an inside-in forehand. And, at times, scouting a match would take the form of a pen and paper and a few hours on a weekend afternoon trying to formulate a game plan just so I could touch that $23 golden trophy that would eventually end up in a box in my garage.

Even at my now-advanced age, I still keep in touch with Carlos and Steve and a few other teenagers-now-turned-grey who battled me through the junior trenches and then sat beside me while we ate pizza and talked about the cute girls in the 18’s draws. Friendships formed early often fade, but competition creates moments and memories that last forever. When I see those guys these days, we re-live the wins and losses over cold beers and too much laughter.

Those days are past now, as I stand behind my coaching basket, staring into the young, dream-filled faces of the future. For several years, I’ve been watching these kids chase the grail, envious of their enthusiasm for the sport and knowing the advantageous lessons they will gain from the endless battles in their future.

Good God I love this game.

But recently, something started changing. Among the factions involved in creating champions, infighting arose. The governing body’s player development folks mandated certain teaching methods. Academies popped up across the globe and kids bounced around to whatever coach du jour made the best offer. Entry fees skyrocketed, and what once was a fun family weekend to watch a son or daughter play tennis, suddenly turned into a business opportunity for entrepreneurial tournament directors. The USTA national tournament draws shrunk to eliminate the possibility of a grander stage for many kids. The tournament directors took away the third set in place of a ten-point tiebreaker. In the hunt for scholarships, parents began chasing rankings points and avoiding competition. In college, the scoring systems went to No-Ad and someone told the kids they didn’t have to finish their matches. Escalating lesson fees and high-priced club memberships and ungodly tournament costs and rising racket prices all made the sport increasingly inaccessible to a large population of potential players. And just the other day, the USTA Board was accused of “taking care of their own members by supporting companies they were involved in.”

The powers-that-be seem to be taking our sport into very new territory and there are a lot of people who think it is a frontier we don’t want to explore.

When I grew up, the game’s guardians focused on expanding the sport’s traditions. Judge Kelleher brought the sport’s major tournaments from the amateur stage to the professional arena, introducing the Open era of tennis. Gladys Heldman provided the first professional contracts for female tennis players, ushering in prize money for the ladies. Gardnar Mulloy made Florida its own section. These changes launched tennis onto the world stage and sent the sport into its 1970’s boom. Courts were full, parents played with kids, adults mentored the best juniors, and thousands of youngsters played set after set until twilight made the ball disappear into the dusk.

Today, however, in the hierarchy of American athletics, tennis no longer holds a high ranking. The nation’s governing body is in search of the next top player to reconstitute our place in the pantheon of tennis excellence. There is a certain belief that suggests, if we don’t have an American champion soon, the game will begin to sunset. So they are changing the sport, the rules, and the traditions. With no consent, nor research, and in the face of oppositional market surveys, they are moving the proverbial lines on the court.

Certainly, with the X-games and MMA and various other innovative outdoor activities, tennis must evolve to compete in the global arena. But the recent changes are more than an evolution. The powers-that-be have transformed the game, turned a once perfect host into an almost unrecognizable mutation, an evilution. No longer shall we see conditioning play a role in the junior realm. Never again will college teams have to finish on all courts with team members cheering a number six mate to get the one point that will avoid a shutout. Never will we see hundreds of kids hanging at the big national events and making new friends and creating memories. In the future, youngsters will have to wait until their eleventh birthday to play with a real tennis ball. And no more shall we ever see hard-fought three-setters where tactics and adjustments and growing pressure and REAL learning take place. In the quest to raise the bar, we have simply lowered the entire field.

Tennis history used to mean something. I remember giving up my Slazenger for a Prince and my wooden press for a graphite frame. I remember when Babolat was a string and not a racket. I remember when Wimbledon’s lawns browned above the service line and when Spaniards couldn’t hit winners. I even remember when going to college matches provided a whole afternoon of entertainment and junior tennis delivered lessons about character and commitment.

Then again, I could have it all wrong. Maybe the mutations will all work out and my son or grandson will tell me about his $300 entry fee, twelve-minute, no-ad match that got him into college and allowed him to play nine no-ad games against a future world number one while earning a participation trophy that meant something to him. Perhaps I am a dinosaur, staring at the stratifications where the fossils of tradition now litter the landscape.

I truly hope this all works out for the kids of the future and I wish the best for whatever tennis mutates into over the next few years. As for me, I’m heading back to my teaching court to coach a kid how to fight through fatigue and how to play the deuce point at 5-5 in the third when a title and trophy are on the line, and his entire family came out to enjoy the final.

Good God I used to love this game.

Topics: Evilution of tennis, Gar Mulloy, Glady's Heldman, Judge Kelleher, ole pro, Tennis, Usta