Even Mediocre Takes Repetition
A little time, 10,000 hits back and forth, and a lot of caught-and-released lizards later and we're... finally playing tennis
Three summers ago, when my son had just turned four, we discovered playing tennis. Or rather, tennis was forced upon us.
Tennis is great but catching lizards is still the main event.
He was in limbo age-wise. Too young for day or sports camp, too old to sit on a spot on the floor and play cars and watch Daniel Tiger all day. I was given the tall task of finding something to do for hours at a time that didn't cost any money and was relatively safe. He got sunburnt during hikes. The tide pools were a little bit of a drive away. And the frantic-chatty moms at the playground made both of us anxious.
So I found a couple used tennis racquets at the thrift store, his, a Yonex Pro RD, used by Martina Hingis, Anna Kournikova, and Dinara Safina in their juniors careers (yes, I looked up the lineage of his five-dollar racquet with the worn-out grip and the barely-hanging-in-there strings because I'm that person) and off we went.
It was brutal.
Try getting someone who skips half of their ABCs to get to their favorite letter ("W" at the time) to grip a racquet, much less swing, much less make contact. And when he did hit the ball, it was kind of like when he went to go pee. If it made it in the desired area, at all, it was by sheer luck or god's grace, or whatever you want to call it.
The problem wasn't necessarily limited to him and his emerging abilities. There are three courts at our park, and two of the three are always occupied by these old rusty hinge retirees, all knee braces and wrist guards, who engage one another in daily games of doubles. Not that there's anything wrong with that, they're active, they're having fun, and an f-bomb once in a while after the mind says one thing and the body does another doesn't bother me.
But we did bother them.
"Ball on court," from my son's slice, became a regular passive-aggressive (at least to my ears) call out. That also morphed once in a while to become "Kid on court."
I tried to be respectful of our surrounding groups as my aspirations of long rallies with my kid, the next Serena, turned to us shrinking way up in the corner of the court and batting the ball back and forth like patty cake.
One day as that summer was drawing to a close, we were walking out toward the gate, stopping for them to finish their point, and my kid saw a ball resting close to the fence behind the area of play. He decided to grab it to throw back at them, (throwing balls and catching lizards = his real REASON for being there), and he bonked a guy right on his ass while the game was in play.
An exchange I'm not entirely proud of ensued as the old fella turned to us even more beet red than usual and barked out to get the f*ck off HIS court. What can I say? Even papa bears lob back f-bombs every once in a while when pushed.
We took a break for a few weeks after that, mostly because I got ratted out when we got home. But when we returned, apologies were made, and the old guy even came over to give some swing pointers. He was a former country club pro, I guess, and said he appreciated me being out there. "Most parents, they just drop off." So we made our peace.
Now, three summers later, he gives us a wave when we enter the court. My son still has the same Yonex racquet, but he knows how to hold it. His backhand eviscerates me, and his forehand sends trolling lobs. He's working on a serve.
Those long rallies I thought I'd get two weeks in, they exist now. I don't know where they came from. But they didn't just happen. Last summer, the little guy made me count our hits back and forth, and I made it to ten thousand. This summer, when we first stepped on the court, he asked me if we could make it to twenty.
I guess?
The old-timers are still out there. They wave and say hi now. Yesterday, I sent the kiddo back a return, like a real one, just to see it skip by him, assert myself a little. Instead, he made a quick adjustment, strode a couple feet to his left, and sent a backhand winner down the near baseline. I got caught off balance and lost my footing as I flailed, racquet arm extending out in a Gumby pose. My old friend on the court next to us cupped his hand over his mouth and said, "Looks like he's ready for better competition, Dad."
Jazz vs. Clippers Game 5
Speaking of being ready for better competition, the Phoenix Suns, who made quick work of an injured, and tired, and overall underachieving Denver Nuggets squad, will get at least four days' rest to see whether they'll face the suddenly reanimated LA Clippers or the Utah Jazz, who also looked like they were headed to a sweep until they woke the sleeping 2019 NBA Finals MVP, Kawhi Leonard.
After a pair of victories at Staples to knot the series at 2-2, the Western Conference semis return to Utah tonight for game five.
The only problem for the Clips, Kawhi won't take the floor.
The Western Conference’s best small forward, who tweaked his knee late in game four after landing awkwardly on a drive in the lane, will not take the floor tonight will not be in the lineup for the Clippers in Game 5 on Wednesday. His availability for the remainder of the series is also in doubt.
Along with being the spark that ignited his team back at Staples, Leonard is averaging 27.3 points, 7.5 rebounds, and four assists in four games against the Jazz—and, more importantly, seemingly unlocked the cheat codes on how beat Utah underneath—the paint was so deadly in Utah in the top half of the series Jazz fans brought funeral potatoes (Sorry, bad predominant culture joke. I can say that though, I've lived in Utah.)
Utah doesn't really lose much at home (31-5) during the regular season. Prior to tip, they're 2.5-point favorites, and they have a nice record (46-33-2) there as well. They also are 42-26-2 when they're favored by 2.5 points or more. The Clippers, meanwhile, are also above .500 when they're at least 2.5-point underdogs going 36-28 against the spread.
Though with Kawhi in his civvies on the sideline, the closely contested series reminds me more of the 2019 NBA Finals where Kevin Durant blew out his Achilles in game five vs. Leonard's Toronto Raptors. Durant's absence in games five and six derailed the Warriors, who were seemingly cruising to their fourth title in five seasons and third in a row.
Take the Jazz -2.5 vs. the Clippers at 7 p.m. Wednesday on ABC/TNT