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Tag: Pasadena

  • 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

  • Big news out of Brisbane: My buddy Stew is club champ at Kawana Tennis Club!

    Let me back up.

    Yeah, I know. Stew looks a little intense here. But stay with me while I fill in the blanks. A year or so ago I was hitting serves at The Rose Bowl Tennis courts right here in Pasadena. Suddenly I hear a voice over the ANC of my Apple AirPod Pro.

    “Hey mate, you wanna have a little hit?”

    Now remember I was beginner at the time (I still am, when you get right down to it). That was the first time anyone had ever asked to hit with me. Truth be told, I didn’t want to. Of course, I said, “You Bet!” In my ears rang the words of the MIB. “Paulie, you’re going to have to put yourself out there to meet people to play tennis with!”

    First time and last time, hitting balls with Stew was an adventure. He hit the ball great and moved lots better than me being a couple years younger and much fitter. But, there weren’t untold miles between us and I never felt like Stew was bored by hitting with me, at least that’s how I want to remember it. After our hit, I asked Stew what his deal was and he told me he flew the Qantas route from Brisbane to LAX. That put him in Pasadena from time to time, usually for three or four days.

    So, every now and then I’d get a text or email from Stew and we’d meet up at the Rose Bowl and give the ball the old what for, or what Stew called, the full treatment. We rallied a lot and played some. I was overjoyed to have held my first serve but over time Stew would grind me into dust. But, the grinding process was fun and educational. Stew plays a lot of doubles so whenever the opportunity arose, he’d come in. After this happened a few times I noticed he was waiting to play a forehand volley at a sharp angle. Once I grasped this pattern I tried to make sure never to give him a shot he could hit with his forehand when he was approaching the net. So was born my earliest awareness of tennis tactics en situ.

    We had some good chats. I liked to ask him about where he lived and how he came to be a pilot. He told me about his club and how he liked to work on his diesel Jeep. Stew was like me. For us, it was never too hot or windy or cold to play. When it was time for me to go, Stew would scan the courts looking for someone else to hit with. Looking back, I wish I had freed up more time to play when Stew was in town. I was especially sorry to have missed Stew when he wandered his way to the San Marino Tennis Club looking for a hit. The guy was ready to hit anywhere and with anyone.

    The end came, as it always does. A few weeks ago I reached out to Stew, asking when he’d be in Pasadena. He sent a message that said his route had changed planes to the Boeing 787 and absent a very unlikely development, he wouldn’t be flying the Brisbane to LAX route anytime soon. Sigh.

    Then, a few days ago, I got this photo from Stew. He had won his club’s, The Kawana Tennis Club, Over-50 Men’s Singles Championship (I told you he was good!). Of course, I’m happy for Stew and he told me he was chuffed. Still, I miss Stew and miss playing with him (in that order). I don’t know how it could happen but I hope our paths cross again. Stew’s a great guy to play tennis with and he taught me a lot without even trying.