Taking Myself Back To Court

“Tennis is more than just a sport. It's an art, like the ballet. Or like a performance in the theater..." *

The quote above is true and, like art, ballet, or theater, either you have "it" or you don't. The first time I stepped on a tennis court was in junior high intramurals and I had "it". Despite being black, tarry, and highway-like (poverty-rural-American version tennis), I was immediately drawn in by the court and tennis became a miracle relief from my awkward puberty-ridden frame.

No one else really cared about it much because we lived in basketball country but my body, for the first and only time, knew immediately what to do -- the footwork, the ready-position, getting level with the ball ... FLOWING ... I've never done ballet but I'm sure it's the same ... like figure skaters who make it their routines look so natural and graceful.

There were not many people to play with but I still visited the courts daily. Subsequently from being alone on the courts so often, I developed a very bizarre, but effective, serve which I eventually tried to rectify to better form and is now a mess. For a while, I had someone go out with me and we'd play from morning to evening most of the summer. The only other serious players lived in neighboring towns and were members of elite country clubs that would have nothing to do with the likes of me.

So desperate for ball feeds, that I actually convinced my angry mother to come out to the court on occasion and feed me the balls. I clearly remember her struggling in the 110+ degree Missouri humidity with her face beet red, a ball in one hand, and a cigarette in her other. ...she had to take lots of breaks. I had hoped these outings would convince her to invest in a ball machine for me but that was too expensive.

Anyway, I stopped playing a few years back but, during a recent state of insomnia-mania, I enrolled in a tennis class one AM and had the first session yesterday. I was initially afraid since sitting slumped in front of pc has been my main activity over the past years. With my blood pressure low and fibro pain high, I was afraid that I would be horrible or would faint but I did quite well. Even though I was the weakest hitter in the class – including the elderly – my form was well. For a moment, I felt redeemed.

Today I am quite sore ... but I want to go again for the redemption ... the feeling of my body doing something right again for once ... if you ever find something like that you have to fiercely bite down and clasp like a bulldog protecting all that is his.

*Bill Tilden