Serving to the Backhand: An Essay on Tennis (2024)
Those men served hard. It was to compensate for their tiring legs and slow reaction times. They had years of manual labour, workouts and testosterone over my 17 year-old biceps, and I sometimes thought they would throw their back out when their dominant arm smacked the ball diagonally over the net.
I had decided to play in the off season as I had finished my last summer season, and wasn’t sure where I would be after I graduated Year 12. My boyfriend at the time was looking for a partner for an indoor round-robin tournament whom many of my then team members and other tennis friends had played in.
***
The first round of the winter season competition I was impeccably nervous. My heart was racing, not from running around in the warm up, but fluttering quick and shallow below my collarbone. We finished the doubles match, I don’t remember who won, and I was relieved that the first match was over. I felt more grounded and marginally more relaxed, ready to take on the first of two singles matches.
My first singles was against the opposition's fill-in member, at first glance he was old and a little full of himself. He had big calves and a hard, fat stomach that restricted his range of motion a little. I didn’t win, or play particularly well, but I was proud of my efforts. I scored points, quickly identified his weaknesses and tried my best to cover my own from view. I stood up straight, ran fast, stayed light on my feet and spoke loudly about the score from across the court.
When he won the final point, I jogged into the net and waited for him to shuffle forward. I extended my hand to give a firm handshake followed by a small smile and “good game”, a practised and refined motion. I know that if I can’t win the game, I can be a respectful loser.
“You a fill in?” he retorted. No congratulations, no words of encouragement, not even a snide “good game” or “well-played”. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
Taken aback by such a confident remark, “Uh..” was all that came out. He was the fill-in, the one who shouldn’t be here
For encouragement, I had worn my favourite star-shaped necklace and lucky silver anklet. I put together an outfit containing the pieces that made me feel confident. A bright peach skirt, one of the sporty ones with tight shorts underneath and small pockets to hold spare balls when serving, a tight singlet and pink runners. I truly believed that my motto “look good, play good” would carry me through any situation.
“You his girlfriend or something?” he gestured over to my doubles partner and newly coupled boyfriend, who was still finishing his singles game. He was freakishly talented for his age
“Yeah actually, I am” I answered quietly, unsure whether to be proud of my partner or offended by the assumption that I had flirted my way onto the team. Whilst wondering how he possibly could have guessed we were dating (for all his tennis talent, he wasn’t a very romantically confident boy, and we hadn’t had our first kiss yet), he finished our very one-sided conversation, “Keep on working, you’ll get there eventually” He sauntered off.
***
Tennis was the first sport that I really enjoyed playing, training, socialising, competing, every aspect of it. I felt driven, important, challenged, triumphant. I have always been a part of local competitions, every Saturday of every summer season for almost 12 years, sometimes playing 2 or 3 games in one weekend.
In my final year of playing, I trained with a group of boys who were extremely talented and had a high level of fitness. More importantly than this, they were kind, respectful, generous, and slowly became some of my closest friends. We spent much of our free time training or playing or thinking about this sport.
***
Every hit reverberated up my arm thick and hot. The pain started in my palm, burned through my wrist and shocked my arm.
Out in front, get your arm out in front. I kept repeating to myself, get back and run in low. Preoccupation with form is soon replaced with a desperate prayer for the ball to make it over the net and land within the white lines.
My heart thumping hard and fast in my chest, my legs aching hoping each final sprint would be the last. The tape on my right knee restricted my movement, but allowed me to land over it with confidence. Each back and forth feels longer than the last, and we both think the rally may never end.
When it is finally over, I drop my racket on the ground to hold my wrist. My thumb and pointer finger are tingling and it feels like a rock is lodged right between my hand and forearm. I twist my wrist back and forth and the bones grind against the rock, clicking over its surface. I walk to the net to get a drink of water and add another layer of tape, hoping it will hold me together.
***
The Sydney Moring herald reported one of sports journalisms biggest blunders, Serena Williams being asked the following question:
“After the 2004 Wimbledon match with Maria, I had the opportunity to interview Donald Trump on his LA golf course, and he said that Maria’s shoulder were incredibly alluring and then he came up with this incredible analysis: That you were intimidated by her supermodel good looks. My question is: Have you ever been intimidated by anyone on a tennis court, and what are your thoughts about that occurrence?”
Catherine Hakim’s ‘erotic capital’ theory suggests that with the increase of social media and broadcasting capabilities, sports have become somewhat of a beauty contest. More attractive athletes, not only female, are supported by the public more than those who present as less conventionally attractive. Furthermore, athletes are subjected to more sexualisation based on appearance than ever before.
This ‘erotic capital’ translates visual appearance into social power, whether conscious or subconscious. However, this is not the direct train of thought when choosing your outfit, it slowly will become so. I stopped wearing my favourite skirts, and chose long sleeves, hoping it would bring me a shred of credibility.
More than half of Australian teenagers participate in weekly sport, yet this number drops dramatically after the age of 18. Tertiary studies, employment and the impeding adult life hinders this, as well as the lack of opportunity for the age group. Some reserve teams, social competitions, but nothing compared to the wealth of young adult sporting competitions.
I quit mid-season. Broke up with my boyfriend and told him to find another teammate. I felt horrible, he held me when I cried over these horrible old men, but he never stood up to them. I had to stand up for myself.
Bibliography
Gilmore, J. (2019). Each year, the Australian Open reveals a struggle for women in sport. [online] The Sydney Morning Herald. Available at: https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/each-year-the-australian-open-reveals-a-struggle-for-women-in-sport-20190116-p50rpt.html
Konjer, M., Mutz, M. and Meier, H.E. (2017). Talent alone does not suffice: erotic capital, media visibility and global popularity among professional male and female tennis players. Journal of Gender Studies, 28(1), pp.3–17. doi:https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2017.1365696
Hakim, C. (2010). Erotic Capital. European Sociological Review, 26(5), pp.499–518.
Write on Sports. (n.d.). Sexism in Tennis. [online] Available at: https://www.writeonsports.org/student-work/sexism-in-tennis/
Commission, A.S.C. jurisdiction Australian S. (n.d.). Children and Youth in Sport. [online] Australian Sports Commission. Available at: https://www.clearinghouseforsport.gov.au/kb/children-and-youth-in-sport#:~:text=An%20estimated%201%2C076%2C000%20(62%25)