The Tennis Titan

The day I decided to take tennis seriously was a day when tennis was the last thing on my mind. Liz and I enjoy taking our children to playgrounds, and we’re always on the hunt for one we haven’t visited.

One steaming summer in Florida, Liz announced that she had found a new playground, and she assured me that even I would love it. “There’s plenty of shade,”  she said.

“Really?” I hate playgrounds built in the middle of what used to be a baseball field, no trees in sight.

“Yes, you’ll love it,” she replied.

When we arrived, I immediately fell in love with the number of trees, and the park even had a gazebo and a cold drinking fountain. Heaven on earth in Florida. I played with the kids on the swings and bars for a while, but I eventually called it quits and relaxed under the gazebo. Liz stayed with the kids, and I thought we were the only people there until I spied an elderly gentleman on one of the two tennis courts just beyond the soccer field. He looked to be in his sixties, based on his full head of gray and the gingerly way he moved when serving tennis balls.

He was alone, and I figured he was practicing his serve until his opponent arrived, but after fifteen minutes and still no arriving opponent, I made my way over to him. I was getting bored, but I didn’t feel up to taking more chances with the monkey bars.

“Hi ya doin’?” I asked, peering through the fence that surrounded both courts.

“Howdy,” he said with a warm smile.

I noticed his bulging tennis bag, and I figured he had more rackets. “Would you like someone to hit with?” I hadn’t played in a long time, and I never took the game seriously. It was safe to say that my game looked like I was playing badminton, but I figured I could hang with the old man, give him a little workout.

He didn’t hesitate as he stepped over to his bag. “Sure. I’d really appreciate that.”

I stepped inside, and we exchanged names and shook hands before he offered me a racket.

Now, I could get the ball back most of the time, but this guy never missed, and what made it worse was that he never hit the ball to me. His shots always angled away, making me scramble like crazy. He wasn’t particularly fast, but he didn’t have to be because just getting my shots over the net was the best I could do when chasing his shots left and right.

This went on for a good thirty minutes before I felt what I thought at the time was a mild heart attack, but I didn’t let on. Still, I said, “Hold on a sec. I have to speak to my wife.”

I yelled for Liz, and I met her at the fence, a good distance from the old man so he couldn’t hear.

“What’s up?” she asked.

I took a second to catch my breath before whispering, “Listen, in about five minutes, come back over here and say that you’re ready to go. This guy is killing me, and I need some Gatorade and a nap.”

It’s great to have a wife who cares about your ego almost as much as you do. She agreed to do it, and five minutes later, she rescued her man from the tennis titan. I shook the old guy’s hand, and he thanked me for hitting with him. He also explained that he didn’t hit much since his kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids moved up north.

“Wait,” I said. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll be eighty-two in September.”

Needless to say, my jaw dropped to the court.

I’ve been playing tennis ever since, including USTA tournaments and the like. I vowed that an eighty-something-year-old would never pummel me again. So far, I’ve kept my word, but there have been a few narrow escapes. Hopefully, one day, I'll be able to do to my grandchildren what that titan did to me. It's good to have goals as a tennis player.