I got on the court with a morning-groggy 19-year-old. He plays #1 for a local Division II college. He started the warm up with, “My backhand stinks!”
“Well, we all know that, what do you want to change?”
“My other coach wants me to hit through more.”
“So.”
“I don’t know how. I can’t picture it”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, I want to give him what he wants.”
“What do you want?” I was interested.
He smacked a ball into the ground. “I want to know how to fix it. Just tell me how.”
“And deprive you of the joy of learning?”
We rallied some more and he silently watched the ball. He flowed with his forehand – whacking them with grace and speed. On the backhand side, he looked like he was corkscrewing into the ground, trying way too hard for a player at this level.
“Give me two words to describe your forehand.”
“I just swing. That’s three.”
I gave him a look. He hit a few more, took a deep teenage-breath and said, “Alright, easy and light.”
“Your forehand groundie is easy and light?” It wasn’t what I thought he’d say.
“Yeah – they are so easy to hit.”
“And your backhand is….”
He grumbled, “Stuck.”
“That’s a step up from ‘stink’?”
He smiled, “Barely.” Then he hit a few “stuck” backhands and added, “You remember Agassi’s backhand — how he floated around – everything opened up?”
“Like his new book?”
The word “floated” struck me.
“Would you hit a few as though you are on the moon with no gravity?”
“There’s gravity on the moon – but just a lot less.”
“OK. Like Agassi – hovering over the ground – playing without the appearance of resistance.”
He hit through the ball without the weight of his body restricting him. Even his “light and easy” forehand was freer.
“Did you feel the power shift?” I asked, after a few dozen shots.
“No, was it faster?”
“You don’t know?”
“No, just tell me. Was it less stuck?”
”And deprive you of the joy of learning? No way would I do that.”
“I don’t have time for joy.”
Knowing I would not tell him, he went back to the baseline to hit some more. He felt it this time: Less strain; less stuck.
“I hate to admit it,” he said after the session, “I did like being on the moon. Body and mind. I’m not sure you could have told me how to fix my backhand. It was fun to figure it out for myself.”
We walked to the gate and he asked, “Let me guess—you’re never gonna to tell me anything, are you?”
“When you’re playing on the circuit,” I started a story, “and there’s no coaching, you’ll have to figure things out for yourself. When you’re an executive in a boardroom, pitching a project for a client, you’ll not have time to call a coach, you’ll have to figure it out in the room, on your own feet, for yourself.”
He was listening, so I continued, “One of my favorite Agassi quotes, ‘Tennis is two players in an arena figuring things out.’ That’s what you did today.”
He shook his head. “You’ll never tell me anything. See you Saturday.”
****
I struggle with Agassi’s book and self-promo tour. Why whine? Why ask for compassion on national TV? Why play the victim now? You will not be forgotten. You have a place in history. Many cannot play without you in their tennis fabric. What attention do you need? What’s missing? Couldn’t you find your compassion for yourself and leave us out of the details and the equation? You now seem like a sore winner. And I think you deprive many of the joy of their imagination. Couldn’t you have left these 386 pages in your own TennisDiary?
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