It’s thought that the word love (zero) in tennis comes from the French ‘l’œuf’ meaning egg which represents the shape of a zero. I fucking l’œuf eggs but I hate losing 6 love. My time in France has ended with my third straight 6-0 loss. I’m trying to remind myself that the point of this adventure is not about winning but at the same time I can’t help but feel like it’s also not about just travelling around and getting slapped up everywhere I go. I, at least, have to put up a bit of a fight, right? Anyone who plays tennis knows that the mental side of the game is arguably more important than ability at a certain point and right now my head is not where it needs to be. Starting a match with the words ‘don’t lose 6-0’ repeating in your head is only going to result in one outcome. I could give a list of excuses but I’m going to try and break each one down.
First of the 3 was Ian someone who I had met last year through a friend of a friend when I was telling them about my project. I was told he is a coach, he’s my age and he is actively trying to improve his ranking. When we had a hit last year the difference in level was clear as day and I walked away feeling like ‘if only I could hit with Ian every week!’ But alas I can’t and I have to stick to Tuesday night socials down at Olney tennis club in the rain where the age range spans from 12 through to 78 and the level has the same variation. Either way I was eager to play him officially for the tour and so after a few texts he agreed and I headed down to the club where he coaches. I was thinking about the match all day – he probably wasn’t. My goal was to get 2 games off him – already not a great mentality but often I like to be realistic with a sprinkling of self deprecating negativity when it comes to my inner dialogue. As we warmed up I thought fuck. Ian hits the ball very hard. He loves that big booming shot even if you leave something short in a warm up. We spin for serve and as I head back to the baseline I say to the camera ‘I’m gonna get battered’ and I did. I felt so conscious of embarrassing myself that I didn’t let myself have fun or play freely. In honestly like 15 minutes it was over (a respectable amount of time in other activities, but not tennis). Ian told me I played significantly worse than the last time we hit – something which actually made me feel a little better. At this point there is no alarm bells ringing – he’s better than me, I played badly – 6-0 is completely fair. We played another set and this time it was 6-2 and as he was serving out the match I felt myself actively trying to take it in as playing someone of this standard is so rare it feels like a privilege!
Anyway my take always were:
Relax.
Play your own game.
And for anyone who might play Ian in the future – keep the ball low – he loves a high bouncing ball.
On my way home a crashed the van which made me feel even better! (Sorry mum, I know I haven’t told you this but I’m fine and the vans fine but it was scary.)
On to the second match. Hadrien Dussoix (what a name) An artist/ tennis coach his whole life and 49 years old. Easily the most interesting character I have met so far on my travels and someone I feel is a kindred spirit. I had briefly met him at an exhibition and he told me he wanted to play when I was next back in town so I searched for him on Instagram and sent him a dm – the match was on. less than 16 hours after my match with Ian and I was back on court. I was tired but I usually always am and to be honest I thought this would be relatively easy – I was wrong. Hadrien has that coaches touch, the one that always gets the ball back and also knows where it’s going – my absolute kryptonite – if there is a game style that beats me 100% of the time this is it. We played indoor on artificial clay – the complete opposite in all aspects from yesterday’s match. I went in to that match wanting to play like Ian plays but of course I am not good enough and I lost 12 points in a row – 3-0 down in a matter of moments. This is when my head started to go. Mistake after mistake forced upon me by Hadrien’s consistency. I was tired from the length of the rallies and again it was over very quickly. All I could do was apologise to Hadrien for wasting his time. The silver lining was on the way home I bought a whole Papette for €5. a delicious consolation, although slightly salty from the tears.
My take aways:
Never underestimate someone.
Quit smoking.
Ease in to a match.
It was time to leave and as I’m making my way to Spain along the south coast of France I coincidently drive past a large building with the words ‘Centre International de Tennis’ across it. *scrrrrrrrrt* a last minute left turn on the roundabout to go and check it out. It would be rude not to! It was Easter Sunday and so there was lots going on – I think that’s how I easily walked in without being questioned. As I walked around there were tournaments going on – training sessions – it was all happening and it was clear this was a serious place! It was the type of place I would have dreamed of attending as a kid – I could see the buildings where these future stars were boarding and the buildings where they attended school. I felt intimidated – I was scared to tell someone about by project and ask for a game – especially off the back of my current form. So I strolled around the centre all afternoon with the same childlike feeling of going to your parents friends houses and not knowing how to act. Shy and ready to apologise for your presence at any given moment. “Cummon tom you fucking pussy this is what you’re here for!” I built up the courage to head to reception. Often when my confidence is low I hate to speak in French and as the receptionist and I catch eyes I say
‘est-ce que tu peux parle englais?’
‘Non’ is her response. Fuck.
Anyway I explain my idea in French and to my surprise she cuts me off half way through, understanding fully that all I’m asking for is someone to play. She walks me over to the academy office where the director is nowhere to be found so she gives him a ring and explains my project to him and he tells her to tell me to come back at 9 in the morning and he will find me someone to play. And so that’s what I did. After a night sleeping in the carpark of the academy I headed to the centre at 9am sharp where I was greeted by the smile of Cathy the receptionist who had been on the website and subsequently my Instagram and said she loved my work – how sweet! But who cares about that right now – I have a match to play. I was told a player had been found for me – he’s 15 and he’s from Monaco. Andrea walks out – he has 2 rackets in his hand a backwards cap and an air of confidence only a 15 year old prodigy would have. We get on court and he is immediately keen to find my ranking – I tell him I don’t have one – he asks for my full name – and unbeknownst to me I do have a ranking on the official UTR system – a system he is currently using to get enough points to attend college in the US.
‘Oh you have a lot of doubles points’ he says but I don’t have the heart to tell him that I sometimes play on the mixed A team for Olney tennis club against knee brace wearing 70 year olds and still lose. Why am I so intimidated by a literal child? ‘Don’t lose 6-0, don’t lose 6-0’ I lost 6-0. His friends had come to watch as he kept telling them there was a YouTuber from England here, another thing I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth that I’m actually just someone having a midlife crisis – I played badly but I was beaten before I stepped on court. The people at the academy were so unbelievably helpful and kind and although this was the third of three 6-0 loses I couldn’t help but feel grateful for all the kind people I’d met and the amazing situations I had found myself in. And plus – I do love eggs and it was easter.
Thanks Ian, Hadrien and Andrea for playing, thanks to Cathy and the academy for making me feel so welcome and thanks tennis.
Speak soon,
Tom