Sandbagger, part IV

(Here's the conclusion of the mini-series on my tournament experience. Click here for Parts 1 2 and 3.)

Immediately following my semifinal match, I headed over to the scorers' table. Jon-Paul had advanced from the other half of the draw, and he met me there. At the end of my semifinal match I had felt the beginnings of cramping start to set in on my calves, and I knew that I didn't have another match left in me. I also knew that Jon-Paul traveled over an hour from his home to get to this tournament, and that he'd want to play the final today. His first scheduled match this morning never materialized due to a pull-out, so he had only played one match. He also had a bye in the 1st round, so all told he was heading into the final with only 2 matches under his belt; it would have been my 5th.

After reporting my victory to the scorer the tournament director asked us what we wanted to do. "I prepared to play three matches today," my opponent volunteered. "I've played four matches this weekend already,..." I started to say. "Same," he responded. Waaaay-haaay-te just a minute there, buddy. He wasn't entered in the doubles. I knew about his byes. There was no way he could have played the same number of matches as me. I started to argue but the tournament director cut in with "I'm not going to make you play 3 matches," and effectively ended it. We scheduled the final for the following Friday, did an a priori photoshoot: one with me holding the champions trophy, and one with him holding it, and left.

Sunday night felt pretty good. I relaxed a little bit and enjoyed the victories from earlier in the day. Despite my best intentions, a few of my friends found out about the tournament and offered congratulations. But the euphoria was short-lived. Pretty soon I started looking toward the upcoming final, and by Monday night I felt the tournament crucible start to close in. I hadn't had an opportunity to scout my opponent so I had no idea how he played. He could be great for all I knew. Every time I thought about the match my heart skipped a beat. Even my Tuesday night match with Marcus had an uncomfortable edge to it. Whenever I missed a shot I envisioned myself making that error on Friday. It was totally irrational; I actually played well against Marcus and walked away with a 6-4, 6-4 victory, a win that should have emboldened me.

After 4 long days Friday finally rolled around. We had scheduled the showdown for 4pm; a time I was initially happy about. I wouldn't have to worry about waking up early, and the 4pm start was reminiscent of high-school matches, a time when I was dominant. However, as I started stressing about it at work I wished it had been a morning match; I would've just woken up and gone straight into it with little time to overthink.

At quarter to 4 I headed to Pershing. Jon-Paul had staked out Court 6. Not so coincidentally, a bunch of the guys on my summer league team were practicing on the courts next to us, and turned into an audience for the beginning of our match. All day long I had been looking forward to getting on the court; once I got out and started to play, I knew the nerves would go away, and getting a good look at my opponent's game would help. We started to warm up. I could see that his backhand was the weaker wing, with an interesting twist. The harder you hit it at his backhand, the better he handled it. A ball with no pace gave him trouble. I was having trouble of my own, however. I was spraying my backhand in warmup, and wondered if he was going to target it during the match. That would be fine with me, I thought: my backhand is really my steadier shot. I can't do as much damage with my backhand as my forehand, but it doesn't tend to break down, either.

We broke off the warmup and started the match. By this point things had gotten really windy and the temperature had dropped. What had started off as a nice day was quickly devolving into unfriendly conditions. I won the toss and elected to receive. Jon-Paul's first serve was big. He put everything he had into it, and took me by surprise. His 2nd serve was a puffball - he just tapped it in, but I was having trouble getting my act together. He held. I sprayed a few shots in my first service game and all of a sudden I was in a hole again, down 0-2! I took a little walk behind the baseline before I got ready to return and tried to calm down. He served and aced me. Another big first serve that I couldn't handle. A rally that I eventually lost, and I was down 40-0 in game 3, but I dug in and fought back to deuce. I pressed the attack on his backhand and started approaching the net off a slice. That proved very successful, and I was able to break back. Getting on the board was a mental boost and I headed back to the bench rejuventated. I got on a good roll and ran off the next 5 games to take the opening set 6-2.

Taking the opening set really allowed me to settle down. The wind had reached borderline unplayable conditions by this point, and forced me to be less aggressive with my shots. I directed traffic at his backhand until it broke down, or a short ball that I could attack popped up. I still had to contend with his first serve though, and he held to open the set. Eager to stamp out any thoughts of prolonging this match, I reeled off another 5 straight games before he held again, and I stepped to the line to serve for the championship at 5-2. Three quick serves brought me to match point, where we rallied for a few shots before I elicited the final error. And that was it! I took the tournament!

A few final thoughts about the tournament experience as I can finally relax and not worry about playing any more matches. Even though this tournament was relatively meaningless, I still got nervous for my matches. It's given me even more of an appreciation for the pros. Assuming I had the game to cut it on the ATP Tour, I'm not sure I could handle it mentally. At the lower levels of the game, winning literally determines how well you're living week to week. The ones who make a successful living from it are absolutely mental giants. Also, I can see why most of them are so superstitious. I wanted my routine to be the same match to match; I wanted to wear the same shirt and shorts (even if it meant doing the laundry three times!), have my rackets re-strung and re-gripped a certain way, and warm up the same way. Now that it's over I'm looking forward to feeling free with my tennis again. Here's a shot of me with my new hardware!