This past
Veterans Day I took advantage of the day off from school and drove to Aurora to
visit my parents. That morning I took a walk around the old neighborhood and
when I saw this green court with the white lines and net across the middle, I
snapped a photo for sentimental reasons.
Most just see
an everyday tennis court in that photo. I see something different. I see a
wonderful memory.
12 year old me
fell in love with tennis on July 5th, 1980. On that day, Bjorn Borg defeated
John McEnroe in an epic Wimbledon final. I was mesmerized by the match and
started playing the game shortly thereafter.
I played
regularly during my teen years and even took lessons at the Aurora Tennis Club
for a period of time. As always when it comes to sports, the more I played, the
better I became.
During this
period of my life my Aunt Linda got herself a boyfriend. His name was Rich and
I liked him immediately. Intelligent, funny, interesting, and witty are all
words I'd use to describe him, and we hit it off from the get go, despite our
20+ year age gap. Rich and I found common ground in several areas: Book smarts
(he held a PhD in Philosophy and I was a college student at that time), music,
Chicago sports teams, and last but not least, tennis.
He bragged
about his playing abilities and experience often, and eventually he challenged
me to a match. When I accepted, he began talking a lot of smack. I chose not to
give any in return. I'd let my play on the court do the talking for me.
The match was
held a few weeks after his challenge was issued. We played on a warm Saturday
in the summer of '87 on this court, located close to my parents' house. When I
looked across the net I saw a short, somewhat pudgy man around the age of 40. In
return, he saw a slim 19 year old who was in the prime physical condition of
his life. I don't know what was going through his head in those moments before
the match began, but I clearly recall what was going through mine:
"If he
doesn't know he's going to lose, he's going to find out very soon."
During the
warmup I could tell he had some game. He liked to use spin on as many shots as
possible, especially when it came to his slice backhand. He was also able to
get to more balls than I anticipated. I'm sure he could tell soon after we
began hitting though that I held a distinct advantage in power, court speed,
and overall athleticism.
My Aunt was at
work when we began, so there were no spectators initially. I shot out to an
early lead, moving him all around the court and intentionally extending rallies
instead of putting points away early, tiring him out in the process. I was
determined to make the price of talking smack to me come in the form of defeat and physical exhaustion.
Aunt Linda
arrived on the scene with the score 6-0, 1-0. I clearly recall Rich being full
of perspiration and moving slowly between points. I also recall what she said when she got out of the car and assessed the situation. There was a
tinge of worry and fear in her voice when she spoke her first words, yelling out:
'Kevin! You're
going to kill him!'
To Rich's
everlasting credit, he did not get skunked. He won the fourth game of the
second set fair and square, as the final score read 6-0, 6-1. In addition, he never gave up,
never stopped trying, and was all class at the net for the post match
handshake. 'Boy you're really good' he said as he shook my hand, then wiped the
sweat from his brow for the umpteenth time that afternoon.
At this point
you may be thinking I sat down to write this blog piece as a way to brag or
gloat. That couldn't be further from the truth. You see, today I look back at
that match as a 49 year old man. An arthritic knee ended my playing days a few
years ago. All I have now are the remembrances of that match and others.
Writing out those memories is a way for me to relive them. There is a comfort
drawn from knowing you were once able to do something fun and special, perhaps
even moreso when your body no longer allows you to do it anymore. I cherish
these thoughts of the past.
After the match
was over I was a bit miffed that Rich won that one game. Today, I am elated he
did. In fact, I wish he would have won more. He may have lost in lopsided
fashion, but his pride was kept intact with the avoidance of a 6-0, 6-0
outcome.
Age has given
me perspective. I'm no longer the athletic teenager out for blood on the court.
I'm now the almost 50 year old who has lost a large part of his athleticism to
time, much like Rich had in his early 40's.
If I could take the court in a
similar circumstance today, I'd like to think I would fight like Rich did. I'd
like to think I could win at least one game from a 19 year old. I'd like to
think my teen opponent would look back at the match thirty years later like I'm
doing today and be ecstatic for me.............just like I'm ecstatic for him.
