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Category: Optimism

  • The Doubles Conundrum

    It was Pro To Go, aka Chris Phelan who laid down the truth for me.

    “For guys our age, doubles is our future.”

    Now, PTG might be 50 but he sure as hell isn’t 65, like I am. My natural response was, “Yeah, fuck you, buddy.”

    Thing is, I really like PTG. He spoke a good deal of truth to me about my tennis game. I’m not sure when, but I know I will make it back to visit him next time and I’m in the desert.

    But, what he said implied I was rapidly getting too old to play singles. That’s what generated my somewhat tongue-in-cheek FU.

    Right or wrong, I still believe I can play singles. I know there are guys at my club who are 65 or older who persist in playing singles. But, when the opportunity to join a Tuesday mixed-doubles group was presented, I jumped at it. The experience would be good for my game.

    It’s fun and unconventionally challenging. The other guy doesn’t hit the ball real hard either on his serve or with his ground strokes. I can hit pretty hard on both fronts and occasionally do. But hitting consistently hard is a horrible idea when it comes to mixed. Male players have to constantly judge just how hard they want to hit a given shot while visually scanning the other side of the next.

    If a female player accidentally (or purposefully) hits an opponent with the ball, she might offer a smiling apology, but she probably won’t mean it. If a male player accidentally grenades a female he will instantly apologize and swear to all manner of excuses.

    I’m so sorry — I totally missed that. It was supposed to be between the two of you! My Bad. Won’t happen again. I’ll be more careful. I promise.

    For the record, I am completely OK with this double standard. Still, it is an ongoing challenge to judge exactly how hard to hit the ball and at whom when playing mixed doubles.

    Last weekend, the females of our group played in a doubles tournament down in Orange County. When I asked how the tournament was, they turned sad. Turns out they lost in a tiebreak. In my mind, this was a big success. Forcing a tiebreak means they were competitive throughout the match. Whether or not they came out on top at the end of the 7-point tiebreaker was far less meaningful in my mind.

    We sometimes finish our hour and a half session with a few games of the men versus women. But, most of our time is spent playing mixed. But, since the women had worked so hard prepping for their tournament, they decided they wanted to play against the men from the get-go. And this was fine by me. It wasn’t like I expected the men to win or that I expected the women to win. It was enough to be confident things were unlikely to end with another heartbreaking tiebreak.

    1-0 Men

    2-1 Men

    2-2 Men

    4-3 Men

    In between games my guy comes up to me and says, “I’m not hitting my returns hard enough.” I nodded and told him it could be a tricky balance. But, I thought it was Ok for him to hit with a bit more pace. As I said before, he is not a hard hitter.

    5-5

    6-5 Men

    Then my guy lost his serve, by overhitting as you might have guessed.

    Tiebreak.

    During the tiebreak, I was hoping the women would find a way to pull it out while trying not to hit obviously stupid shots. The tiebreak sea-sawed back and forth, just like the rest of the set but it ended 7-5 men. Ouch. My guy and I tapped rackets in muted appreciation for our play. For the women it was an obvious reminder of the USTA tiebreaker they lost over the weekend. I hoped they could find a way to be happy for the way they played if not the outcome they had hoped for. Tt

  • Losing a tennis partner is never fun.

    One of my tennis partners blew up at a coach from the court next to ours. I had arrived early — along with the coach who would be teaching on the adjoining court. The coach asked me (since I got there first) if he could put some of his gear on half of our bench since he would be moving to our court when we were done, more than an hour and a half later. 

    That was fine by me. But when my partner arrived a few minutes later he demanded that the coach move his gear even though I had said it was Ok. Eventually, things calmed down and we finished hitting, mostly in silence. As I walked off court I handed the coach my business card and asked him to text me when he had a minute. I wanted to apologize for my partner again. As we approached our cars my partner demanded to know why I gave the coach my card. I told him he failed to show respect to me — since I had granted the coach permission and failed to show respect for the coach — who was trying to earn his living and to the student who was actually paying for her coach’s time. My partner got in his car and drove off. Fin.

    Local hitting partners have been hard to come by. Tomorrow I’m going to post a Looking for Hitting Partner sign at my nearby park. I’m not likely to find anyone worse. My departed partner’s behavior had worsened over time. He always trended toward the irascible but I was usually able to beat him back into line with a little chiding humor. 

    The penultimate time we hit my partner uttered a racial slur loudly enough to make me cringe. That was unsettling enough but yesterday was more worrying since his anger was directed at the unfortunate coach. And, I did expect, or at least hope my partner could have admitted — for his own sake — that he had been out of line. 

    It’s a bummer when someone brings their bad day onto the court — the exact place and time I look to make a good day even better.

  • Toroline Mint Overgrip

    Man, this stuff is tacky.

    Mint is the tackiest of the three Toroline colors, along with Lavender. Neon Pink is aparently less tacky but it’s Neon Pink, which doesn’t work with any of my rackets or Kimony dampeners. Toroline, being a clever group of folks does things a little different. Their overgrips are tapered on both ends so, in a better world than this, you wouldn’t have to trim the top part before you put on the finishing tape. But, reality intrudes and I ended up having to trim mine anyway.

    I prefer two overgrips to any replaacement grip, grip. Toroline does not spec their overgrip’s thickness but I would say it’s on the thin side side two of them render my 4 3/8 grip comfy but firm and the bevels easily felt.

    Did I mention this stuff is tacky? Who knows how long it will stay tacky or how durable it is or even, at this point, if it’s too tacky. We will see. Thing is, in golf I was grip obsessed, always trying to find the perfect combination of durometer, compound, texture and tackiness (or smoothness in some cases). I guess it should come as no surprise I’m the same with tennis, always happy to try something new and different. If you’re at all like me give these Torolines a try. Oh, a couple final notes. First, the inner plastic is extremely thin. How thin? I almost accidentally wrapped the grip with it in place. I would love it if someone would come up with a grip that had less plastic. Of course, I am sadly doubtful the grip material itself is exactly Earth Friendly. Tt

  • Old Pete likes to hit hard.

    Let me back up.

    Right around New Years I took a lesson from Chris Phelan, aka, Pro-To-Go in Palm Springs. At one point Chris met me at the net and said, “Look, you hit the ball great. You move Ok. But, you work too hard.”

    I admit it. I didn’t get it. In fact, I thought about it a great deal for the rest of our trip and after we got home. Gradually, very gradually, I came to understand. The point Chris was trying to make was, that at my level, what I needed to do is hit the ball deep, with top spin rather than always, or at least usually, putting great value on simply hitting the ball hard.

    Today I hit with Old Pete, an off and on student of Caesar.

    As we walked onto the court he said. “Listen, I like to hit hard.”

    I said, “Rock on, dude. Hit it as hard as you like.”

    And, he did.

    Chris Phelan in
    Palm Springs

    It took me about five minutes to find myself wondering what, exactly, was the point of relentlessly trying to hit the ball as Old Pete? I still do not have an answer but when I shared my experience with Chris he said: “Sad, but his loss. In the bigger picture, consistency equals a longer tennis life. Since no one enjoys self-destruction, the real fun is in developing a more versatile toolbox—one that includes a soft grip and relaxed wrist to get you out of trouble and make your opponent play one more ball, maybe one more than he’s able to return.”

    Sure, I am pointing the finger at Old Pete, and he deserves it. His style of play is neither effective nor enjoyable but if I am being honest, I’ve been guilty of something similar. It says something about me and my development as a tennis player that I didn’t get what Chris Phelan said when he said what he said back in January, in a sincere effort to help me play better tennis for longer.

    But now I do, and I’m happy about that and endlessly thankful to Chris Phelan. I can’t wait to get onto the tennis court with him again — maybe this fall. Maybe over the winter, it doesn’t matter.

    This time, I’m gonna get what he’s telling me without having to mull it over for a few weeks or a month.

    This time I will pay attention, Chris.

    I promise! Tt

  • More — always more — on rackets.

    As most of you know, I have only been playing tennis for three years. And, I didn’t start playing tennis until I was 62. I’ll be 65 later this month and I have been through a pretty good number of tennis rackets over that time. Honestly, my early preferences were based on brand and later on color and graphics. If you skip to the end you might conclude they still do.

    After a year or so I noticed I liked the look of 98 square inch heads. 98 square inches is a preference that has stood the test of time. Later, I noted a preference for rackets with a strung weight north of 320g that weren’t too stiff. Still later, I started to play more (currently four to five days a week) and in longer sessions with players who hit the ball harder. I remained dedicated to heavier rackets, which I found I swung more smoothly. 

    I have used rackets with grips sizes ranging from 1/4 to 3/8 and as small as 1/8. When confronted with the ubiquitous and simplistic ring finger measurement tool I measure at 3/8 but my palm is somewhat large for the length of my fingers so 1/4 is closer to ideal. I forgot, the first racket I bought was a Wilson Six.One One Hundred that was 1/2. My coach — taking pity on me for my unwise $35 purchase — expertly peeled off the original leather grip and put on two of his Tecnifibre over grips. He said of the leather grip, “Keep this. It’s in perfect shape.” Ah, the two over grips felt lots better!

    I wrote recently about MIB’s Wilson Shift — the one I put on a weight reduction program — and then found I liked. The Shift got me thinking of finding a racket of similar weight and stiffness but with a correct 1/4 grip size, preferably with a 98 square inch head. I found a cache of NOS Head Radical MP from God knows how long ago. Said to have a strung weight of 310g, it was promising and cost less than a $100 bucks delivered. It arrived strung with black Head SynGut. My initial thought was to have it immediately restrung with my second set of Head Lynx Power Soft Proto I picked up from TW for a buck a set. Then I reconsidered and I took the Radical out to hit a few serves. It feels just dandy, pretty much like every racket I’ve tried save an unfortunate few that shall remain nameless.

    I confess I may be largely insensitive to racket variations but I still have some favorites, spec wise, and I believe I’ve settled on a workable weight range. I think my ability or lack of same means I can play with a wide variety of rackets and be happy. That said, I enjoy trying different rackets in the same way I enjoy tasting different craft beers rather than continually ordering the same beers from the same breweries. Sometimes a different racket is simply enjoyable to look at. I could say the same about some beers, come to think of it.

    My age even more than my basic ability limits my top end in tennis, no matter how much I play or practice or learn about the tactics and strategy of the game. Or, even how much I love and enjoy the game. Still, I think it’s a good thing my rackets have started to measure and play more like each other. Plus, I dig my new Head’s paint job.

    NOS Radical MP

  • Sometimes a one-off tennis lesson comes with a dose of just plain weird and that’s OK.

    I really enjoy taking one-off tennis lessons. I like to see how I will respond and I also like to see how a tennis pro facing the challenge of helping a student they are unlikely ever to see again faces the challenge. This time the fun took place during an unusual heatwave that made it all the way to California’s Central Coast where we have had a four-day getaway planned for months.

    The pro was a lefty and even older than me, if you can imagine. I was quite upfront that I was looking for someone to rally with but that instructive comment was always welcome. The rally lasted all but five minutes before the question, “Can you slice your forehand?” I said I could but found the shot less than common. Sure, it’s fun but it’s seldom needed or effective. But, I was game so I hit a few to show the shot was no problem for me

    Here’s where things got weird. The coach wanted to talk about the split step. It seems that a lot of his students land flat footed when asked to split step. He then asked if I knew about split step and float? I confessed that I did not. The coach went on to say that split step and float means the player lands on one foot, so as to aid their ability to move in that direction.

    No.

    That’s what I said, for a couple reasons. First, how is the player supposed to know which direction they need to know at the moment they split step? Second, the idea of hopping off both feet and landing on one seems like an unwise practice.

    Sorry.

    After the lesson I really felt badly. You see, the coach had hit on two genuinely good points. The first was a more level driving motion on high bouncing one-handed backhands. The second was to use the ball point to rotate the off arm toward the striking arm to aid in spacing. Both of those thoughts worked great.

    Yup, I would take another lesson from this guy.

    Yes, I think he was dead-wrong about the split step.

    Yes, I learned something during the lesson and I enjoyed myself.

  • Long Term Follow-up: The Cancha Racket Bag Pro is a Year Old!

    Time flies!

    MIB, ready to be, well, MIB!

    MIB has been using the Cancha Racket Bag Pro for a year. I know because I shipped the bag to him last February. He’s been using it as his one and only bag ever since.

    Now, MIB is not your typical recreational player. No, he’s a three to four day a week doubles warrior. He not only admits to being hard on tennis gear, he occasionally celebrates the fact. Tennis racket blood sacrifices into trash cans and the like—you get the idea. When MIB told me he had shipped the back back to me I was expecting the worst. Instead, the Cancha Racket Bag Pro looked new.

    Have a look.

    MIB used the hell out of the Cancha Racket Bag Pro but you could not tell by how the bag looks after a full year.

    Zippers are perfect.

    MOLLE points are perfect.

    Fabric is perfect.

    Straps and handle the same.

    I am quite certain the bag could pass for new. Ok, so my trusty California patch would give it away but otherwise the bag looks like new. So, now it’s my turn with the Cancha Racket Bag Pro. It swallows up my rackets and two pair of shoes and everything else that needs to be inside. I am really looking forward to traveling with the bag on a tennis trip later this month and for my birthday getaway in April. I will report back once I get the Cancha Racket Bag Pro out on court. But if I were you, I would cut to the chase and expect me to be even more impressed with this fantastic bag once I have had the chance to use it myself. Well done, Cancha! Tt

  • Tennis Partners

    When I started playing tennis, MIB warned me I would find it a challenge to find suitable tennis partners. He was right. My plan, to engage in formal instruction rather than developing what I somewhat disparagingly have referred to as a park game was the right way to go—for me. The downside was that the social or networking aspect of tennis—the ability to get a game or a hit—had to be developed after I’d gotten fairly adept at hitting the ball. Connections are not always easily made. So, I want to write a bit about a few of the tennis partners I’ve shared a court with.

    Phil: I found Phil on the Tennis Players Looking for partners database at Calabasas. He was a commercial property manager. He emphasized that he only did commercial, no residential. When I asked him why he said it was because a commercial property manager didn’t have to listen to as many sob stories as a residential property manager. “You know, it’s not personal. You’re not paying. It’s time to move your business or go out of business.” It made sense. Phil was 45 I think, but his pattern of play has become well-known to me over the last year or so. Even though he was in decent shape, he didn’t move much. So, I either had to hit it right at him, preferably at his forehand, or my ball was going straight to the back fence. He did give two interesting bits of advice. First, was about two local guys who organized mixed-doubles meetups, one at CSUN and the other at Sherman Oaks Park. His other bit of advice was a good one. Phil said, “I’ll tell you what I’ve learned about doubles. Only play mixed. Taking out 50% of the testosterone out of tennis makes the game a lot more fun.”

    Stan / Johann: These guys were great fun. I started out with Stan, a mid-40s accountant. He’d been playing for years but wasn’t very good. He moved like a fit 40 year old, which I enjoyed. We were hitting once a week and chatted about the idea of playing doubles. As the birth of his daughter drew near, he was nice enough to pass me off to his buddy Johann. He was more fit but his tennis skills were a little shaky but he was such a pleasant guy. Then one day he just kind of vanished. When he surfaced again he said he’d been inundated by work and family life. I get it.

    Brisbane Stew: I was practicing my serve at The Rose Bowl, earbuds wedged into my ears, when I thought I heard someone talking to me from the court next to me. That someone was none other than Brisbane Stew. He was looking for a quick hit so we rallied for a while. Turns out he was a pilot for Qantas and found himself in Pasadena for a few days before flying back to Australia. A couple years younger, but a lot more fit, Stew gave me all I could handle. In fact, he was a big motivation in my (somewhat shaky) decision to convert to a two-handed backhand. We tried to meet up once a trip and I had gotten used to an occasional text from him saying when he would be in town. Stew has an excellent serve and likes to play angles you would expect to see in a good doubles match. Then one day Stew told me Qantas was changing planes for the BNE to LAX flight. I hope I’ve not seen the last of Brisbane Stew. He was great fun to play with.

    Pasadena Steve: The tennis gods take and then they give. Not long ago I was practicing my serve at Grant Park in Pasadena when Pasadena Steve strolled up, resplendent in his bucket hat, and asked me if I wanted to hit a few balls. Since then, we try to meet up every week or so. Steve’s a retired schoolteacher from LAUSD and is a relatively new Pasadena resident and a refugee from nearby Glendale. There’s a lot of talking during our sessions and that’s fine by me. It’s nice to blather on about politics, writing, baseball and Mexican food with someone who shares many of my same reference points. Steve plays in a long-established doubles group at the Rose Bowl that’s been going through some changes of late with one player going to the great tennis court in the sky and another threatening to move. Tennis is always about adjustment.

    MIB: I will always be able to brag that someone traveled 2,000 miles to play tennis with me, on my birthday no less. Sure, that was MIB. And, sure, he was in Los Angeles on business but he still went out of his way to extend his trip by a day so he could get all the way to hell and gone (Calabasas) on my birthday. We played during my lesson with Caesar and it was a great experience for me and one I detailed in Tennis thing the book.

    Then, last summer, following our family reunion in the QCs, we made the trip to SE Michigan to see the MIB in his own back yard. Yes, tennis was played. Yes, bourbon was sipped. Yes, LPs were played. Playing tennis with MIB was a hoot. He honored me by playing full out and I really savored the challenge. It reminded me of the movie The Rookie, where high school baseball players in a small Texas town in get better by trying to catch up with the major-league fastball of their coach, Jim Morris.

    I think you have to see high-level athletic performance to get an Idea for how close you can get to it yourself. Better than seeing is actually experiencing. I imagine some people would shrink from such experience, worried about proof beyond doubt that they could never deal whatever the athletic prowess they admire. Me? I think the experience itself can exalting, so long as one is serious, like I was when I played with MIB. Playing with MIB, even more so than Stew, gave me the sense of what I could do and what I could not. It clarified the size of the court and what it meant to actually cover it. One thing is certain, if I were lucky enough to play with MIB on a regular basis I would be a far better tennis player.

    Federer said that in tennis you could feel your opponent through contact with the ball. As soon as I heard this I nodded. The same is true in baseball. I can still remember the sense of hitting a heavy slider off some guys. My hands remember the feeling and in my brain that fragment of sense-memory connects me with those guys, even after all these years. It’s only been a few months since I played tennis with MIB but I still remember how it looked and felt.

    Lord willing, MIB and I will find ourselves on another tennis court someday soon. I’m looking forward to it.Tt

  • Tumble on down

    About a month ago, I was playing with Pasadena Steve when he lobbed me—successfully, as it turned out. I say as it turned out because I got to the ball in plenty of time. The problem was that I was still going back, well beyond the baseline, waiting for the ball’s first bounce to finally be in the zone for an overhead. It was the first time we’d ever played on this court and there was a lot going on. The adjacent court was full of kids taking a group lesson. A couple parents were using our court’s bench to watch their kid.

    Worse, as I moved back for the ball I had the sense I was getting close to the fence. I was, but I wasn’t so close that my next step would have me crashing into it. At the moment I was slowing down and raising my racket above my head, I lost my footing.

    It was a classic case of tanglefoot.

    I knew I was going down, but there was little I could do about it other than try to roll into my right side as gently as possible. I hit with the right front of my right knee, then the outer part of my right knee and then my right hip before settling onto my back to appraise the damage. My hip hurt and my knee started to sting. Then I realized I was bleeding from another abrasion on my right elbow. But, overall I felt Ok, so I got back on my feet. By then I could hear Pasadena Steve—three years older than me—calling out to see if I was Ok.

    In the moment, I considered asking him if I looked like a big fucking baby. Instead, I picked up the ball and fed him a forehand.

    “Right back on the horse,” Steve called.

    Yup.

    Steve’s a nice guy. He’d just finished reading my first novel and had pages marked with Post-its so he could remember his questions. As I drove him home, I felt just a little shocky, like I had just been in a fender bender.

    My elbow was still bleeding but Pasadena Steve went on asking questions:

    Now, was Ally based on a little girl you knew?

    Me: “Yeah, she was based on a kid my ex-wife taught, second grade, as I recall. Her name was Daisy and she had terrible asthma yet her idiot parents both smoked at home in their tiny two-bedroom apartment.“

    And what about the name, Gerry Garcia?

    Me: “I wanted a name that was a little odd, Gerry with a G, and Garcia, vaguely Spanish sounding yet the guy’s a pale-skinned redhead. So, nothing really fits Gerry Garcia, not even his name.”

    Steve’s what I call a kindly and gentle reader. Even though he reads a great deal (he’s in three book clubs) he’s not jaded. He’s still ready to enjoy a new book on its own terms.

    When I pulled up in front of his condo, Steve asked me to sign both copies of the books I’d given him. I pulled out my trusty N°BK92 All-weather pocket pen and composed inscriptions while my elbow oozed blood. I’m really sorry I didn’t manage to sign my name in blood. As I drove toward home, I was especially thankful we would be in time for the end of happy hour at our beloved T. Boyle. In my book, a tumble on a hard court earns a bourbon. And if one is good, two are better.

    I was very grateful I hadn’t hurt myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I fell on something as hard and unforgiving as a tennis court. Decades, for sure. As much as I don’t want to do it again, I was impressed that I’d gotten away with it even once. The abrasions are pretty much healed now. I still have a bit of tenderness in my right hip. The strangest part is the stubborn pain in my right side. At first I thought my right elbow had been driven into my ribs but the pain wasn’t exactly in my ribs. It’s still hard to sleep on my right side. No matter where it was, I was very happy I didn’t have to sneeze a single time over the next couple weeks. It would have hurt.

    Which brings me back to gratitude. And to the fundamental constant in tennis: uncertainty. Lord willing, as my father would say, I will be 65 in a couple months. As much as I hope to avoid another unplanned trip to the court’s surface, I am undeterred. Tennis and I are good. We’re both worth it, come what may. Tt

  • The art and science of warming up to serve.

    This has been bothering me for a while. How should a club player warm up to serve? My main problem is this: I tend to hit too fast too early. What’s strange to me is that the speed seems to come automatically. In other words, I am not trying to hit my serves fast or hard. Compare this to my baseball career where I found it very easy to warm up gradually. I enjoyed playing short toss before moving up to long toss before refocusing on pitching at full speed from 60 feet 6 inches. For me, properly warming up to serve would take a little more thought. At first I tried to work it out by myself but I continued to find myself at 75% with two or three serves.

    That can’t be good.

    Lexie, My tennis coach!

    So, I decided to reach out to two trusted experts. Coach Lexie is one of my favorite tennis coaches at Instagram. Every time she says, “I’m Lexie, your tennis coach.” I smile. It’s nice to think that I’m actually Lexie’s student and her posts always make it feel that way. When I asked her about warm up to serve she was generous enough to write this for me.

    “When I warm up the serve, I start by preparing the body and shoulder before hitting balls. I use light dynamic movements like arm circles, shoulder rolls, torso rotations, and wrist prep to open up my range of motion.

    On court, I add shadow swings and light throwing to groove the service motion and rhythm without tension. From there, I move into a progressive serving routine—starting easy to find feel, then gradually adding direction, different targets, and serve types (flat, slice, kick), always focusing on a consistent toss.

    A good serve warm-up is about rhythm and feel first—speed comes last.”

    All of that make sense to me but it’s not easy. I have tried to formalize the process as much as I can. I start by tossing along the fence (another technique Lexie shared on Instagram). My toss tends to creep lower and lower as I hit my serves faster but a fence-high toss allows me body more time to impact the ball with a nice sense of flow.

    Then, I move to the baseline and I toss and catch, another bit of advice from Lexie. This is very helpful because it gives me instant feedback about whether my toss is even in the ballpark. Sometimes it’s not.

    Then, I finally make contact with the ball. My goal for the first ball is to hit the ball as slowly as possible for at least five balls. That’s not easy for me, but I am trying. I promise. In fact, my practice goal is not to exceed 30% when I am hitting serve after serve. Hey, I’m gonna be 65 in April. Sixty–fucking–five!

    Another Instagram coach who has helped with my warm up is Coach Kirsche. As soon as I started to follow him he came out with a warm up guide for the shoulder. Talk about timing!

    Me? I love this dynamic resistance band stuff but I have to admit that I have a hard time implementing it. Why? Did I mention I was going to be 65 in April? Thing is, every time I’ve tried any resistance band work, even light stuff, I have ended up with a shoulder that’s more sore than it would be after thirty serves. Still, I am going to dedicate myself to doing more of this. I just need to find the sweet spot between overdoing it (my style) and not doing it at all (also my style. You figure that out.

    I’d like to extend my sincere thanks and gratitude to Lexie and Kirsche. Just the feeling of having two great coaches out there who want me to improve makes me want to improve even more.

    Tt