Welcome to the Rochester Tennis League's third year of doubles competition. We'll be hosting our largest turnout ever this season (a total of eighteen teams in two divisions), encouraging evidence that what started in 2012 as a tentative experiment has blossomed in 2014 into a thriving enterprise. We're delighted you've decided to sign up for the league, and we look forward to enjoying an action-packed summer of fun and fellowship.
Though current weather conditions might suggest otherwise, competition commences next week. Following are several regulations and guidelines with which you should be familiar. If you've participated in the league in previous years, much of this content will be a refresher for you. If you're new to the league, however, please review this post very carefully. It's essential that we remain on the same page with regard to conventions and procedures. Educating yourselves now will deter misconceptions later. A high-school teacher gave me a similar warning, but I refused to listen to her. The result has often been bleak.
League structure: Division One contains ten teams. Division Two has eight. Division One is divided into two groups: A and B. The groups aren't segregated by skill level; they exist merely to accommodate the large turnout of teams in Division One. Teams from Group A won't meet those from Group B until the playoffs. Division Two teams, on the other hand, will adhere to a round-robin format throughout session one, playing each team in their division once until the conclusion of the seven-week stretch.
Configuration of rosters: Each team consists of three players, and each player is of equal eligibility. You may pair the same two players up all session long, dubbing your third player a sub of sorts, or you may vary your roster at your discretion. You may not, however, add players to your roster in the middle of the session. Should injury, relocation, or personal emergency force a player to withdraw from your team, please let Max and me know immediately.
Designated evenings for competition: Division One matches will occur on Mondays, Division Two matches on Wednesdays. We've selected specific days for competition to make your lives easier, not to complicate them. Getting four players on a court at the same time can be unimaginably challenging. Removing ambiguity from the conversation is advantageous to everyone.
Flexibility, however, is a trait we encourage. If two teams prefer to play on, say, a Tuesday night or a Saturday morning, they're free to give it a go. Be aware, though, that you can't require a team to play at a random time. The decision to do so must be mutual. If a Division One team, for example, is prepared to play on a Monday night but the other team can't assemble a roster at that time, the available squad has the right to impose a forfeit upon its opponents. We are, I hope, here to play tennis, not to win matches on technicalities, so please pull out the forfeit card as sparingly as possible -- and ideally not at all.
Scheduling matches: Captains are responsible for scheduling matches. They should contact opposing captains as early as possible to confirm the availability of both teams. Please reply to scheduling-related communications with cordial rapidity. We all have a lot to do. Waiting interminably to determine when we'll be playing tennis is a burden we shouldn't have to entertain.
Making up matches: Should weather or some similar obstacle prevent you from playing on your designated day, Sunday is the official time for making up matches. Again, flexibility is a vapor we should all be breathing. If you can't play on a Wednesday, go for Thursday if everyone else is on board with it. Completing matches is of greater urgency than rigidly clinging to guidelines.
Match deadlines: All matches, regardless of your division, must be completed by Sunday evening. For instance, next week's matches, which kick off on Monday May 5, must be played by Sunday May 11. You can stage matches as far in advance of their scheduled dates as you wish, but you MAY NOT complete them beyond their Sunday deadlines. This critical dictate is non-negotiable.
Score reporting: The captain of the winning team is expected to report scores. (Captains can, of course, delegate this task to other players on an as-needed basis.) Scores should be emailed to me within twenty-four hours of match completion. Scores not submitted by Sunday night will result in DNPs (Did Not Play), which will cause both teams to lose half a point in the standings. I encourage captains of losing teams to keep an eye on standings to ensure that winning captains have accurately reported scores.
The contact list Max sent you contains the email addresses of team captains and accompanying players. Schedules for both divisions are posted on the RTL website: www.RochesterTennisLeague.com. You can also follow league standings on the RTL site throughout the season.
Please email scores to me at the following address: CMJones@CMJonesTutoring.com. In addition, don't hesitate to contact me with questions. Seeking clarification is always better than lingering in confusion -- unless you're dealing with the IRS. Engaging them will only augment your bewilderment.
Here's to a happy summer of outdoor tennis. Good luck in your opening matches next week. If the rain persists, we might be playing on arks with canopies. We won't be able to lob, but at least we'll be outside for a few months.
Rochester Tennis League Doubles Blog
Monday, April 28, 2014
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Doubles Tactics: Back to the Basics
As you gain experience in a sport, your natural tendency might be to presume that you've mastered its fundamentals and no longer need to take note of them. That may be true to an extent, but as your mind centers on more complex elements, it may dismiss some essential building blocks along the way, hampering your ability to apply new principles. The outcome is that you're spinning your wheels without gaining mileage, and frustration is your inevitable destination.
Tennis in no exception to this pattern. It's a fast-moving, intricate sport that requires you to do a lot at once to make things click. Doubles presents even more concerns, as you have to cooperate with a partner to overcome two opponents at the same time. Taking a random strategical approach rarely renders positive results, and a revisitation of the basics can be of benefit to players of all levels.
I recently watched a five-minute video that nicely enumerates the key elements of doubles without bogging the viewer down in detail. The video was produced by the David Lloyd School of Tennis, a reputable academy founded in the UK. The British invented the game, so Lloyd must know what he's talking about. The link to the video appears at the bottom of this post, but here's a rundown of its central tenets.
Communicate well: Doubles isn't an introspective affair that welcomes silent brooding. Interacting with your partner is the best way to stay alert and engaged. Calling balls by saying "I've got it!" helps avoid on-court collisions, and encouraging your partner throughout the match keeps spirits high. Bear in mind that no one misses shots deliberately, so criticizing your partner is the fastest path to destruction.
Be consistent: A common misreading in doubles is that every point should end after two or three shots. But just as in singles, there's a time to keep the ball in play and a time to put it away. The urge to go for winners can lead to lots of unforced errors, so try to keep your head on straight and accept that you aren't Roger Federer.
Be accurate: Doubles is a war of geometry. Because you have two players to pass on the other side of the net, finding the angles is paramount. Try to take advantage of openings down the middle, and capitalize upon moments when poor communication traps your opponents in the same half of the court.
Maintain good position: Knowing when to charge the net or hug the baseline can be the difference between a win and a loss in doubles. The position you select will depend upon factors such as the strength of your opponents' serves, the quality of your partner's serve return, and so on. Obviously, holding solid court position requires ongoing communication with your partner.
Play to your strengths: It's important to recognize your team's capacities and disabilities. If your partner has an offensive serve return, treat it as an opportunity for attack. If he or she doesn't, prepare to step back and defend the point. Your strategy should adapt to the specifics of each serve/return paradigm.
Exploit your opponents' weaknesses: I'm reminded of warm-ups before matches. My team is always scouting the oppositions' strokes and searching for vulnerabilities. "This guy has no backhand" or "The other guy doesn't move forward well" are examples of the flaws we look for. If we perceive no initial failings, we search for them as the match develops. We also presume that the other team is engaging in a similar process, so such analysis is a reciprocal equation that can also be used against us.
Here's the link to the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0wjV3YaPcw
Tennis in no exception to this pattern. It's a fast-moving, intricate sport that requires you to do a lot at once to make things click. Doubles presents even more concerns, as you have to cooperate with a partner to overcome two opponents at the same time. Taking a random strategical approach rarely renders positive results, and a revisitation of the basics can be of benefit to players of all levels.
I recently watched a five-minute video that nicely enumerates the key elements of doubles without bogging the viewer down in detail. The video was produced by the David Lloyd School of Tennis, a reputable academy founded in the UK. The British invented the game, so Lloyd must know what he's talking about. The link to the video appears at the bottom of this post, but here's a rundown of its central tenets.
Communicate well: Doubles isn't an introspective affair that welcomes silent brooding. Interacting with your partner is the best way to stay alert and engaged. Calling balls by saying "I've got it!" helps avoid on-court collisions, and encouraging your partner throughout the match keeps spirits high. Bear in mind that no one misses shots deliberately, so criticizing your partner is the fastest path to destruction.
Be consistent: A common misreading in doubles is that every point should end after two or three shots. But just as in singles, there's a time to keep the ball in play and a time to put it away. The urge to go for winners can lead to lots of unforced errors, so try to keep your head on straight and accept that you aren't Roger Federer.
Be accurate: Doubles is a war of geometry. Because you have two players to pass on the other side of the net, finding the angles is paramount. Try to take advantage of openings down the middle, and capitalize upon moments when poor communication traps your opponents in the same half of the court.
Maintain good position: Knowing when to charge the net or hug the baseline can be the difference between a win and a loss in doubles. The position you select will depend upon factors such as the strength of your opponents' serves, the quality of your partner's serve return, and so on. Obviously, holding solid court position requires ongoing communication with your partner.
Play to your strengths: It's important to recognize your team's capacities and disabilities. If your partner has an offensive serve return, treat it as an opportunity for attack. If he or she doesn't, prepare to step back and defend the point. Your strategy should adapt to the specifics of each serve/return paradigm.
Exploit your opponents' weaknesses: I'm reminded of warm-ups before matches. My team is always scouting the oppositions' strokes and searching for vulnerabilities. "This guy has no backhand" or "The other guy doesn't move forward well" are examples of the flaws we look for. If we perceive no initial failings, we search for them as the match develops. We also presume that the other team is engaging in a similar process, so such analysis is a reciprocal equation that can also be used against us.
Here's the link to the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d0wjV3YaPcw
Monday, May 6, 2013
The Courts Are Clear, Thanks to Maksim and Oprah
In the wee hours of last Thursday morn, in the midst of our
unseasonable and unprecedented snowstorm, a bizarre event befell my wife and me.
As we lay fast asleep, our mammoth German Shepherd, whose custom is to lounge
beside our bed, leapt up and began to bark ferociously, seemingly without
cause. He was drawn to a window that looks out on our front yard. Curious and concerned, my wife climbed out of
bed, threw back the shutters, and investigated the scene. Her findings were both alarming
and confounding.
“There’s a guy in a yellow bathrobe jumping up and down in our yard,” she said.
Noticing me –- and sneering as though I was an interloper on my own property -- Maksim threatened to arrest me if I didn't leave the premises. Then his insanity became even more palpable.
“My plan looks something like this,” he said.
Racing toward a helpless tree, he doused its bark with toxic fluid, waved his flaming racket around the trunk, and set the scene ablaze. The timber incinerated in seconds, surprisingly to my pleasure. I intend to replace the tree with rubber shrubbery, as I loathe raking leaves in October.
Still, it was time to intervene, and I had to act quickly. Lacking expertise in the behavioral sciences, I concluded that enlisting the authorities was my only option. I phoned the Big Barn Looney Bin and patiently awaited their arrival.
Without warning, a rather burly chap emanated from the van, tackling Maksim upon sight. I could hear Maksim weeping gently, but I knew his turmoil would eventually give way to tranquility. I was thinking the same for myself until a Looney official addressed me.
“Sir, your friend has no identification, so you’ll need to serve as his primary contact.”
Right around noon, just after I had swallowed ninety-thousand milligrams of ibuprofen in an effort to combat my pounding head, distressing news arrived by telephone. A Looney Bin administrator reported that Maksim had covered himself in Vaseline and had slipped through an aperture in the back of his cell, earning his liberty by covert means. How he attained the Vaseline remained a mystery, but I informed the administrator that Maksim’s robe was practically a Wal-Mart made of cotton, containing a vast array of pharmaceuticals, auto supplies, and lawn furniture. She seemed impressed, inquiring where she might find a similar garment.
He snorted, snickered, and sighed. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out the bottle of ketchup, and paraded it as though wielding a weapon. Fear overwhelmed me. I had on a nice jacket, and ketchup stains are hard to remove.
“Okay. Please don’t open that bottle.”
“But I was hoping . . .”
There’s a time in every man’s life when a transcendental revelation descends upon him, often against his own will. His doubts transform quietly into unquestioned truths, and the supernatural seems as tactile as a bottle of beer. What happened at Soldiers Field was such an experience for me.
The snow-covered parking lot at Soldiers marked the end of our drive.
Makism is currently on display at the Sociopathic Museum of Tennis History. You can view him for an admission fee of ten dollars. If you give him a lollipop, he might sing a song for you. But please practice extreme caution when approaching him. He sometimes pees on people.
“There’s a guy in a yellow bathrobe jumping up and down in our yard,” she said.
I yawned and rubbed my eyes. “Are you sure it’s not your dad?”
“Whatever. This guy’s disguised in goggles and a snorkel,
and he has a quiver filled with arrows on his back, though I don’t see a bow. He’s
also holding a torch of some sort, which appears to be a burning tennis racket. And I think he’s wearing Hello Kitty snow boots. He’s probably a friend of
yours.“
“How tall is he?”
“About eight feet or so. Maybe even taller.”
A feeling of illness rose in my stomach. Getting up reluctantly, I walked as slowly as
possible to the window, hoping not to see what I anticipated. Moments later, my greatest fears were
confirmed. The lunatic in my yard was Maksim Lecic, founder and CEO of the
Rochester Tennis League. My day was done for before it began.
I put on a coat, a pair of lumberjack boots, and a Canadian
trapper’s hat and ventured outside to address the emergency. When I reached my yard, Maksim was building a
snowman that resembled Al Franken and was singing a Justin Bieber
song. Already I regretted my decision to confront him.Noticing me –- and sneering as though I was an interloper on my own property -- Maksim threatened to arrest me if I didn't leave the premises. Then his insanity became even more palpable.
“It’s snowing again, and we have RTL matches to play,” he
said. “We have to make it stop.”
“No problem. I’ll drop God an email. I’m sure he takes
weather requests.”
“We have to melt the snow.”
“Sure thing. I’ll dash out to the garage and get my flamethrower.
It’s on a shelf next to my grenades and bayonets.”
“I have a plan.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I suspect the FBI has already wired your snow boots.”
“You have to help me. You will help me.”
And with that cryptic statement he reached into his pocket
and withdrew a bottle of ketchup. Realizing he had accessed the wrong pocket, however,
he screeched like an exotic fowl, restored the ketchup to the first pocket, placed
his hand in another pocket, and produced a can of lighter fluid. I knew his tennis-racket torch had to be linked to some sinister aim, and my prediction came true in a heartbeat. “My plan looks something like this,” he said.
Racing toward a helpless tree, he doused its bark with toxic fluid, waved his flaming racket around the trunk, and set the scene ablaze. The timber incinerated in seconds, surprisingly to my pleasure. I intend to replace the tree with rubber shrubbery, as I loathe raking leaves in October.
Still, it was time to intervene, and I had to act quickly. Lacking expertise in the behavioral sciences, I concluded that enlisting the authorities was my only option. I phoned the Big Barn Looney Bin and patiently awaited their arrival.
The Big Barn Looney Bin is just that, a big barn that houses
loonies. It’s a squalid den of vice and misery, but it's the only place
prepared to detain someone as deranged as Maksim. In addition, the Big Barn has a makeshift
wading pool, so I thought Maksim might find some application for his goggles
and snorkel. It’s important for a psychotic
to achieve a sense of productivity, especially when he has a penchant for
pyromania.
As I stood in my driveway, Maksim worked calmly on his snow woman, which was starting to look like Michelle Bachman. He was bellowing
the second verse of some Whitney Houston song when the Looney Van pulled up to
the curb. Relief washed over me, and I looked forward to returning to bed.Without warning, a rather burly chap emanated from the van, tackling Maksim upon sight. I could hear Maksim weeping gently, but I knew his turmoil would eventually give way to tranquility. I was thinking the same for myself until a Looney official addressed me.
“Sir, your friend has no identification, so you’ll need to serve as his primary contact.”
“Please don’t publicize him as my friend. I have a reputation to uphold in the local
community. Also, I’m leaving town soon.”
“When?”
“About thirty seconds from now.“
“Where are you going?”
“Into an oncoming train or off the highest cliff I can find. I need to erase this experience from memory.”
The warden didn’t approve, requiring me to stick around. I watched the van pull away in the dim morning light.
Maksim’s contorted face, made even stranger by his goggles and snorkel, was
plastered to the back window. Damp and
depleted, I went back inside and had a bottle of Scotch for breakfast. I should
have downed two bottles, for nothing could have fortified me for the onslaught
that followed.Right around noon, just after I had swallowed ninety-thousand milligrams of ibuprofen in an effort to combat my pounding head, distressing news arrived by telephone. A Looney Bin administrator reported that Maksim had covered himself in Vaseline and had slipped through an aperture in the back of his cell, earning his liberty by covert means. How he attained the Vaseline remained a mystery, but I informed the administrator that Maksim’s robe was practically a Wal-Mart made of cotton, containing a vast array of pharmaceuticals, auto supplies, and lawn furniture. She seemed impressed, inquiring where she might find a similar garment.
I scrambled to pack my bags, knowing that my chances of escape
were poor. Carrying a toothbrush in one hand and a new bottle of Scotch in the
other, I leapt into my SUV, revved up the engine, and put the pedal to the floor.
Unfortunately, the transmission was in drive rather than reverse, and I left a gaping hole in
the wall of my garage. After scolding myself, I backed out slowly, regaining my
composure and pondering my destination.
As I drove down Highway 52, I thought I smelled lighter
fluid, an illusion I attributed to post-traumatic stress disorder. But when I glanced
through my rear view mirror and saw the tip of a snorkel bobbing up and down, I
knew my fate was sealed. Maksim had broken into my garage and stowed himself
away in my vehicle. The horrors of hell couldn’t have been so unsettling.
Caked in Vaseline, Maksim slithered into the front seat
and started barking commands.
“Take me to a hardware store!”
“For what? You’ve already got a tool chest in your robe.”
“Follow my orders. Now!”He snorted, snickered, and sighed. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out the bottle of ketchup, and paraded it as though wielding a weapon. Fear overwhelmed me. I had on a nice jacket, and ketchup stains are hard to remove.
“Okay. Please don’t open that bottle.”
As I waited in the parking lot of Ace Hardware, I thought of
fleeing but realized the futility of the maneuver. You can’t run away from a
boob in a bathrobe. He’ll track you down every time. As I weighed my
alternatives, Maksim returned with two large lollipops and three-million pounds
of wood chips. Something they injected him with at the Looney Bin must have given
him superhuman strength. He tied down the
lumber on my utility rack and fell into the front seat.
“Would you like a lollipop?” he asked.
“No.”
“Take me to Soldiers Field.”“But I was hoping . . .”
Take me there! Now!”
He started to reach for the bottle of ketchup, but I gave in
before you could say “unnecessary cleaning bill.”There’s a time in every man’s life when a transcendental revelation descends upon him, often against his own will. His doubts transform quietly into unquestioned truths, and the supernatural seems as tactile as a bottle of beer. What happened at Soldiers Field was such an experience for me.
The snow-covered parking lot at Soldiers marked the end of our drive.
“Stay in the car,” commanded Maksim.” And hold this until I
get back.”
He handed me a Frisbee that bore the inscription “Hawaii is
a nice place to eat a frog.” The force of the sentiment remains beyond my
grasp. Like the enigma of the Holy
Trinity, I’ll never unravel it.
Trudging through the slush, Maksim unloaded his inventory of
woodchips, evenly distributing them on the frozen courts. He kneeled on the ground and lifted his head
to the heavens, entreating every deity in the history of Western Civilization.
His mastery of classical literature surprised me. He invoked Zeus and Jupiter,
Hermes and Metis, Cronus and Phoebe, and the fearsome Poseidon, king of the
sea. He even gave a shout out to Oprah Winfrey, who probably possesses more
power than all gods combined.
Having completed his archaic ceremony, Maksim bathed the
woodchips in lighter fluid, struck fifty matches, and sparked a pyre that
produced enough carbon monoxide to make an elephant lose his lunch. Within five
minutes, the snow had vanished, and the courts were ready for tennis. I can’t
help but think that Oprah played a critical role in the restoration. It's not as though she has anything better to do. Makism is currently on display at the Sociopathic Museum of Tennis History. You can view him for an admission fee of ten dollars. If you give him a lollipop, he might sing a song for you. But please practice extreme caution when approaching him. He sometimes pees on people.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Final Standings, Community, and Tedious Statistics: A Season in Review
The final scores are in, and the standings are up to date. Here are the winners:
Division One: Jones/Pewowaruk/Hodge
Division Two: Fursa/Hettinger
I present my team's lineup not in order of importance but in accordance with the roster listed on the league website. Ours was an evenly distributed effort from start to finish. When Dave P. went down in week three, Dave Hodge stepped in to keep us afloat. Then, like clockwork, when I fell prey to a mild bout of forearm strain last week, Dave P. returned from retirement to seal our first-place status with a week-seven win. It's an inspiring reminder that cooperation and commitment form the foundation of a doubles squad's success.
What a session of memorable matches we witnessed! There were lots of three setters and countless extended points. No one enters a tennis match with the belief that losing is desirable, but I'd like to think (hoping not to sound cliche) that the most rewarding benefit we've derived over the last seven weeks is a strong sense of community with our fellow players. It's great to be able to hop on my bike on any given evening and find league participants slugging it out at Soldiers Field. Such a setting in every way mirrors the underlying purpose of a local tennis league.
I'm not fond of numbers, but I guess I'll provide a few. Division One saw a match-completion rate of 86 percent. The 14-percent deficit represents repeated forfeits by one team. In Division Two, 67 percent of all matches were played, with several forfeits spawned by injuries. Match completion is a delicate and vulnerable entity. It's also the most reliable measurement of a league's potency. If we aren't playing matches, we don't have much of a tennis league. I hope we can improve our numbers a bit next year. Thanks, however, to those of you who did everything in your power to play every week.
As you know, the structure of our first doubles session was governed by trial and error in many ways. Maksim and I have several changes in mind for next year. One involves the implementation of three-player teams rather than two-player teams with subs. Maybe three-player teams with subs would work as well. If you have thoughts on how we might improve the league in any fashion, please don't hesitate to pass them on. Just email Maksim or me at your convenience.
The potential still exists for a mid-summer or late-summer doubles tournament. We'll be in touch as details take shape. Feel free to offer input on that possibility as well.
Thanks to Maksim for taking on the herculean task of adding doubles to his already demanding management duties. Thanks also to Steven Soltis for improving the efficiency of the documents we use to calculate standings. And thanks, of course, to everyone who participated in the doubles league this session. We hope to see you again next spring.
Division One: Jones/Pewowaruk/Hodge
Division Two: Fursa/Hettinger
I present my team's lineup not in order of importance but in accordance with the roster listed on the league website. Ours was an evenly distributed effort from start to finish. When Dave P. went down in week three, Dave Hodge stepped in to keep us afloat. Then, like clockwork, when I fell prey to a mild bout of forearm strain last week, Dave P. returned from retirement to seal our first-place status with a week-seven win. It's an inspiring reminder that cooperation and commitment form the foundation of a doubles squad's success.
What a session of memorable matches we witnessed! There were lots of three setters and countless extended points. No one enters a tennis match with the belief that losing is desirable, but I'd like to think (hoping not to sound cliche) that the most rewarding benefit we've derived over the last seven weeks is a strong sense of community with our fellow players. It's great to be able to hop on my bike on any given evening and find league participants slugging it out at Soldiers Field. Such a setting in every way mirrors the underlying purpose of a local tennis league.
I'm not fond of numbers, but I guess I'll provide a few. Division One saw a match-completion rate of 86 percent. The 14-percent deficit represents repeated forfeits by one team. In Division Two, 67 percent of all matches were played, with several forfeits spawned by injuries. Match completion is a delicate and vulnerable entity. It's also the most reliable measurement of a league's potency. If we aren't playing matches, we don't have much of a tennis league. I hope we can improve our numbers a bit next year. Thanks, however, to those of you who did everything in your power to play every week.
As you know, the structure of our first doubles session was governed by trial and error in many ways. Maksim and I have several changes in mind for next year. One involves the implementation of three-player teams rather than two-player teams with subs. Maybe three-player teams with subs would work as well. If you have thoughts on how we might improve the league in any fashion, please don't hesitate to pass them on. Just email Maksim or me at your convenience.
The potential still exists for a mid-summer or late-summer doubles tournament. We'll be in touch as details take shape. Feel free to offer input on that possibility as well.
Thanks to Maksim for taking on the herculean task of adding doubles to his already demanding management duties. Thanks also to Steven Soltis for improving the efficiency of the documents we use to calculate standings. And thanks, of course, to everyone who participated in the doubles league this session. We hope to see you again next spring.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Match of the Week: A Tall Tale
After endless blather and unbearable anticipation, here's the first edition of the incomparably riveting, inimitably engaging, and unprecedentedly delightful "Match of the Week." The stars of this week's tall tale: Jones/Hodge vs. Hubert/Soltis. It's so unbelievable that it has to be told.
I know what you're thinking. What's wrong with this chump? Why's he writing about one of his own matches? How narcissistic do you have to be to highlight your own performance when you're the administrator of the doubles league? Does this loser spend half his time flexing his muscles in a mirror and the other half pretending to comb hair that he hasn't had in over a decade?
While the preceding criticisms have numerous merits, I can assure you that my decision is perfectly logical. First, I haven't seen other league matches in their entirety, so I'm unqualified to elaborate on them. Second, all participants in the match I've chosen to cover (including Maksim, a spectator) have encouraged me to write this narrative (except maybe Hodge, who replied with silence). Thus, on one hand, I'm simply making maximum use of my limited knowledge. On the other, I'm catering to the call of my public. Please read with patience before hurling blunt objects.
It was last Thursday evening, a clear night permeated by mild air. I rode my new bicycle, a replication of a 1930s cruiser, to Soldiers Field, feeling that I should be sporting knickers rather than Nikes. When I dismounted, Soltis and Hodge were warming up alone. According to Soltis, Hubert was running a trifle late. I envisioned Hubert lounging in the parking lot of a Kwik Trip, chugging a forty-ounce malt liquor and gorging a box of glazed donuts. He was seeking, no doubt, to stifle his fear. It was a futile exercise he would live to regret.
Hubert arrived moments later, wearing a mask of indifference. Carrying his tennis bag at his side like a stoic assassin, he said, "I don't need to warm up." Then the clouds parted, revealing the secret of his tardiness: He had been hitting for an hour with a tennis pro, a last-ditch effort to disguise the crippling flaws of his game. I committed myself to making him regret his ridiculous waste of time and money.
I had already hit plenty of groundstrokes during my warm-up, but I told Hubert I needed a few volleys. He launched each ball toward my head, chest, and stomach, an act of aggression I found most unsportsmanlike. Naturally, I fielded each attack with precision and grace, but the sentiment was nevertheless unsettling.
Then the battle started.
Hodge and I have taken each other on lots of times in singles matches, but we don't have a lengthy heritage as a doubles team. Since Dave P.'s career-ending injury, Hodge and I have established the custom of getting off to slow starts in doubles matches. This outing was no different. Early on, we played well at times, but our shots were either just long or wide at fatal moments, and we rapidly found ourselves in a 2/5 hole.
As a rule, Hodge is a self-possessed, well-behaved fellow, and I've never had reason to fear him. But during our court transition at 2/5, only one loss away from dropping the first set, something demonic took hold of him, and I considered fleeing the scene. He employed every insult in the book in an effort to summon my competitive spirit. He assured me that if I didn't get focused and turn things around, he would box my ears, destroy my rackets, and reduce my home to a mound of ashes. He even went so far as to threaten the safety of the children my wife and I are yet to conceive. I never dreamed that such a consummate gentleman as Hodge could be so vile in his pursuit of victory. Spellbound, I listened obediently.
Needless to state, Hodge provided a stern wake-up call that brought out the best in my game. A forehand winner here, a brilliant volley there, and we turned the tables in the blink of an eye, taking five straight games and prevailing 7-5 in the first set. Soltis looked dazed and in need of a blood transfusion. Hubert feigned composure, but I could tell he was devastated internally. His universe had come unhinged, its bottom on the verge of crumbling.
I don't mind admitting that a slight arrogance may have overwhelmed Hodge and me, leading us to grow lax in the second set. As I recall, we traded games with Hubert and Soltis until they came up with a break point and took the set 6-4. We braced ourselves for a long night of turmoil.
I really needed to pee. Soldiers Field isn't quite the Wimbledon Lawn and Racket Club, so I had to settle for a Porta-Potty, a plastic vault of pestilence that I've never entered without wishing I hadn't. As I emerged from the sewage, delirium gripped me, and my senses were distant and dulled. To my horror, I thought I beheld an albino Sasquatch lumbering about the courts. I soon realized, however, that Hubert had simply removed his shirt. I'm not a very politically active chap, but I plan to storm the mayor's office to demand that the following policies be implemented at once:
I. Rochester must increase its selection of lighted tennis courts.
II. Bob Hubert will be subject to felony charges should he disrobe in public.
The third set unfolded.
What a cyclone of lead changes we withstood! One team would go up a game, only to lose the next one. Then a team would go up 40/love and soon find themselves in an ad-out conundrum. It was Lob City every other point, and when Hubert and I were at the net, Hodge and Soltis exchanged a few cross-court rallies that made the Second Coming of Christ seem like a two-minute wait.
Hodge hit a cross-court forehand.
"What will I have for breakfast tomorrow?" I thought.
Soltis hit a cross-court backhand.
"Have we ever elected a bearded president, or have presidents always grown beards after their inaugurations?" I pondered.
Hodge hit a drop shot and retreated to the baseline.
"Maybe I can pee again and make it back before the end of the rally," I wondered.
Soltis volleyed and retreated to the baseline.
"If I threw my racket at Hubert, would he duck in time?" I asked.
It went on like that for bloody ever. I even toyed with the idea of going home to wash my SUV. Alas, the rallies concluded, and Hodge and I were up 5-4. It was my serve.
As I released my first toss of the game, violence swept over me. I wanted to unleash heavy artillery, and I struck the ball cunningly and with science. My serves were offensive and well placed, but they were no better than the pinpoint volleys Hodge put to rest. We were up 40/love. I served harshly to Soltis's backhand, and his return sailed beyond the baseline. Hodge and I planted our flag, and the bugles sang our triumph. Our three-set Civil War had come to an end.
Hubert handled the loss with pride and confidence, but Soltis's cheeks were stained with tears. Believe it or not, his bitterness culminated in theft. After the match, he asked if he might try out my new bicycle. Knowing he's an avid cyclist, I granted his request. But he hopped on the seat and raced down the street, laughing savagely as he disappeared in the darkness. I telephoned the police, and they apprehended him on North Broadway. To my knowledge, he remains imprisoned. To my relief, my bicycle is safe and sound.
I know what you're thinking. What's wrong with this chump? Why's he writing about one of his own matches? How narcissistic do you have to be to highlight your own performance when you're the administrator of the doubles league? Does this loser spend half his time flexing his muscles in a mirror and the other half pretending to comb hair that he hasn't had in over a decade?
While the preceding criticisms have numerous merits, I can assure you that my decision is perfectly logical. First, I haven't seen other league matches in their entirety, so I'm unqualified to elaborate on them. Second, all participants in the match I've chosen to cover (including Maksim, a spectator) have encouraged me to write this narrative (except maybe Hodge, who replied with silence). Thus, on one hand, I'm simply making maximum use of my limited knowledge. On the other, I'm catering to the call of my public. Please read with patience before hurling blunt objects.
It was last Thursday evening, a clear night permeated by mild air. I rode my new bicycle, a replication of a 1930s cruiser, to Soldiers Field, feeling that I should be sporting knickers rather than Nikes. When I dismounted, Soltis and Hodge were warming up alone. According to Soltis, Hubert was running a trifle late. I envisioned Hubert lounging in the parking lot of a Kwik Trip, chugging a forty-ounce malt liquor and gorging a box of glazed donuts. He was seeking, no doubt, to stifle his fear. It was a futile exercise he would live to regret.
Hubert arrived moments later, wearing a mask of indifference. Carrying his tennis bag at his side like a stoic assassin, he said, "I don't need to warm up." Then the clouds parted, revealing the secret of his tardiness: He had been hitting for an hour with a tennis pro, a last-ditch effort to disguise the crippling flaws of his game. I committed myself to making him regret his ridiculous waste of time and money.
I had already hit plenty of groundstrokes during my warm-up, but I told Hubert I needed a few volleys. He launched each ball toward my head, chest, and stomach, an act of aggression I found most unsportsmanlike. Naturally, I fielded each attack with precision and grace, but the sentiment was nevertheless unsettling.
Then the battle started.
Hodge and I have taken each other on lots of times in singles matches, but we don't have a lengthy heritage as a doubles team. Since Dave P.'s career-ending injury, Hodge and I have established the custom of getting off to slow starts in doubles matches. This outing was no different. Early on, we played well at times, but our shots were either just long or wide at fatal moments, and we rapidly found ourselves in a 2/5 hole.
As a rule, Hodge is a self-possessed, well-behaved fellow, and I've never had reason to fear him. But during our court transition at 2/5, only one loss away from dropping the first set, something demonic took hold of him, and I considered fleeing the scene. He employed every insult in the book in an effort to summon my competitive spirit. He assured me that if I didn't get focused and turn things around, he would box my ears, destroy my rackets, and reduce my home to a mound of ashes. He even went so far as to threaten the safety of the children my wife and I are yet to conceive. I never dreamed that such a consummate gentleman as Hodge could be so vile in his pursuit of victory. Spellbound, I listened obediently.
Needless to state, Hodge provided a stern wake-up call that brought out the best in my game. A forehand winner here, a brilliant volley there, and we turned the tables in the blink of an eye, taking five straight games and prevailing 7-5 in the first set. Soltis looked dazed and in need of a blood transfusion. Hubert feigned composure, but I could tell he was devastated internally. His universe had come unhinged, its bottom on the verge of crumbling.
I don't mind admitting that a slight arrogance may have overwhelmed Hodge and me, leading us to grow lax in the second set. As I recall, we traded games with Hubert and Soltis until they came up with a break point and took the set 6-4. We braced ourselves for a long night of turmoil.
I really needed to pee. Soldiers Field isn't quite the Wimbledon Lawn and Racket Club, so I had to settle for a Porta-Potty, a plastic vault of pestilence that I've never entered without wishing I hadn't. As I emerged from the sewage, delirium gripped me, and my senses were distant and dulled. To my horror, I thought I beheld an albino Sasquatch lumbering about the courts. I soon realized, however, that Hubert had simply removed his shirt. I'm not a very politically active chap, but I plan to storm the mayor's office to demand that the following policies be implemented at once:
I. Rochester must increase its selection of lighted tennis courts.
II. Bob Hubert will be subject to felony charges should he disrobe in public.
The third set unfolded.
What a cyclone of lead changes we withstood! One team would go up a game, only to lose the next one. Then a team would go up 40/love and soon find themselves in an ad-out conundrum. It was Lob City every other point, and when Hubert and I were at the net, Hodge and Soltis exchanged a few cross-court rallies that made the Second Coming of Christ seem like a two-minute wait.
Hodge hit a cross-court forehand.
"What will I have for breakfast tomorrow?" I thought.
Soltis hit a cross-court backhand.
"Have we ever elected a bearded president, or have presidents always grown beards after their inaugurations?" I pondered.
Hodge hit a drop shot and retreated to the baseline.
"Maybe I can pee again and make it back before the end of the rally," I wondered.
Soltis volleyed and retreated to the baseline.
"If I threw my racket at Hubert, would he duck in time?" I asked.
It went on like that for bloody ever. I even toyed with the idea of going home to wash my SUV. Alas, the rallies concluded, and Hodge and I were up 5-4. It was my serve.
As I released my first toss of the game, violence swept over me. I wanted to unleash heavy artillery, and I struck the ball cunningly and with science. My serves were offensive and well placed, but they were no better than the pinpoint volleys Hodge put to rest. We were up 40/love. I served harshly to Soltis's backhand, and his return sailed beyond the baseline. Hodge and I planted our flag, and the bugles sang our triumph. Our three-set Civil War had come to an end.
Hubert handled the loss with pride and confidence, but Soltis's cheeks were stained with tears. Believe it or not, his bitterness culminated in theft. After the match, he asked if he might try out my new bicycle. Knowing he's an avid cyclist, I granted his request. But he hopped on the seat and raced down the street, laughing savagely as he disappeared in the darkness. I telephoned the police, and they apprehended him on North Broadway. To my knowledge, he remains imprisoned. To my relief, my bicycle is safe and sound.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Only Three Weeks Left
It's hard to believe that our doubles session is moving along so rapidly. As Week Four draws to a close, our success rate for match completion remains impressive. Since the start of the season, we've had a total of three forfeits in both divisions combined. While zero forfeits is clearly a preferable calculation, it's a tough ideal to attain given that doubles requires the cooperation of four players. If one gets injured or experiences an emergency, the whole equation stops functioning. This is why careful scheduling and reliable subs are imperative to the flow of our league.
To those of you who found subs and reported them by last Saturday at noon, I appreciate your efforts. If your team remains without a sub, however, it's too late to find one. For the remainder of the season, you may only play your current roster. Forfeit is your only alternative.
I've wanted desperately to observe some doubles action and compose a "Match of the Week" feature, but I've been playing so much tennis that I've lacked the leisure to assume the role of spectator. Last Thursday night, Maksim and I were slugging it out in our RTL singles match as Steven Soltis and Will Stott took on the Brothers Truong on an adjacent court. It was a great contest with a surplus of extended points, but I caught only glimpses of it and can't do it justice without being overly creative in my narrative. Next week, I hope to witness at least one doubles match in its entirety.
Maksim and I have toyed with various ways to determine division winners this session. I wanted to stage championship matches that would involve the top two teams in each division battling for the crown. Maksim's response was along these paraphrased lines:
Now that your team has lost a match, people might think you're coming up with a desperate way to win it all if you finish in second place during the regular session.
That's pretty funny. Division One is so tight at the moment that spots one through four are up for grabs every day. My team is in first place at present but could easily be in fourth place tomorrow. Bloody point differentials!
We'll probably just let regular-season victories and "bloody point differentials" decide division winners this time around. If two teams end up with the same number of wins and identical point differentials, their head-to-head statistics will decide their placement in the standings. Next year, a more riveting criterion might emerge.
In my discussions with players, the backhand stroke has seemed a popular topic as of late, namely the differences between the one-handed backhand and the two-handed backhand. I hit a two-hander when I'm returning serve and pounding from the baseline and a one-hander when I'm slicing the ball or producing approach shots (that is, when I'm moving forward and coming to the net). I favor the two-hander because it offers greater stability and control, but some players feel that the one-hander is a superior doubles tool, chiefly because the goal in doubles is to charge the net.
Here's a link to a brief piece that explores the virtues and limitations of both backhands:
http://www.ushsta.org/PLAYERS/PUBLICAREA/HSTMAG/2002/202twohand.htm
The gist of the article is that the one-handed backhand certainly has its place but that the two-handed backhand is a better option for most players. Give it a glance and see what side of the argument you come down on. You might even be persuaded to modify your backhand along the way.
To those of you who found subs and reported them by last Saturday at noon, I appreciate your efforts. If your team remains without a sub, however, it's too late to find one. For the remainder of the season, you may only play your current roster. Forfeit is your only alternative.
I've wanted desperately to observe some doubles action and compose a "Match of the Week" feature, but I've been playing so much tennis that I've lacked the leisure to assume the role of spectator. Last Thursday night, Maksim and I were slugging it out in our RTL singles match as Steven Soltis and Will Stott took on the Brothers Truong on an adjacent court. It was a great contest with a surplus of extended points, but I caught only glimpses of it and can't do it justice without being overly creative in my narrative. Next week, I hope to witness at least one doubles match in its entirety.
Maksim and I have toyed with various ways to determine division winners this session. I wanted to stage championship matches that would involve the top two teams in each division battling for the crown. Maksim's response was along these paraphrased lines:
Now that your team has lost a match, people might think you're coming up with a desperate way to win it all if you finish in second place during the regular session.
That's pretty funny. Division One is so tight at the moment that spots one through four are up for grabs every day. My team is in first place at present but could easily be in fourth place tomorrow. Bloody point differentials!
We'll probably just let regular-season victories and "bloody point differentials" decide division winners this time around. If two teams end up with the same number of wins and identical point differentials, their head-to-head statistics will decide their placement in the standings. Next year, a more riveting criterion might emerge.
In my discussions with players, the backhand stroke has seemed a popular topic as of late, namely the differences between the one-handed backhand and the two-handed backhand. I hit a two-hander when I'm returning serve and pounding from the baseline and a one-hander when I'm slicing the ball or producing approach shots (that is, when I'm moving forward and coming to the net). I favor the two-hander because it offers greater stability and control, but some players feel that the one-hander is a superior doubles tool, chiefly because the goal in doubles is to charge the net.
Here's a link to a brief piece that explores the virtues and limitations of both backhands:
http://www.ushsta.org/PLAYERS/PUBLICAREA/HSTMAG/2002/202twohand.htm
The gist of the article is that the one-handed backhand certainly has its place but that the two-handed backhand is a better option for most players. Give it a glance and see what side of the argument you come down on. You might even be persuaded to modify your backhand along the way.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Tightening the Ship
Before I outline how pleased I've been with our first two weeks of competition, I'd like to get some tedium out of the way. The use of subs has been a matter of minor uncertainty this session, owing primarily to the obscure way their role has been defined. Some teams selected subs before the season even started. Others are yet to do so. To inject formality into the sub structure, the following edicts are effective immediately:
I. Teams have until this Saturday (May 5) at noon to select and report their subs. Please email names to me at CJones@Chatham.edu.
II. Each team can have only one sub. Only that sub can participate in league matches. If a primary team member and that team's approved sub are unavailable for a match, a random sub can play for the sake of ensuring that the match takes place. In the standings, however, victory will go to the team that shows up with its approved roster.
III. A sub cannot play on more than one team.
IV. There are no limits on the number of matches approved subs can play. Teams may utilize their subs however they wish.
It's not the RTL's goal to be the communists of Minnesota tennis. We're just trying to introduce fidelity to a system that could be corrupted by the random application of subs. Subs should be of skill levels appropriate to their divisions. Please don't recruit 3.0 subs for Division One teams or 4.5 subs for Division Two teams. We aren't imposing a rigid rating system in this case. Let's just try to be reasonable when assessing the abilities of our subs.
Like week one, week two was a huge success, with all matches played and promptly reported. Tuesday night at Soldiers Field was an all-out RTL occupation. We practically showed up with tanks! At one point, every court was hosting a Division One match. I wasn't present for Division Two matches on Wednesday, but I can only presume that the setting was similar, given that all scores were submitted to me by late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning. Thanks so much for your impressive commitment to upholding our schedule.
I'll do my best to observe a match or two this week. I still want to feature a "Match of the Week" on an ongoing basis. My doubles match is scheduled for tonight, so I'll try to visit Soldiers Field tomorrow and Wednesday to take in the action. Unfortunately, this week's weather might disrupt our format.
Check out this article on tennis elbow, a problem plaguing several players at the moment: http://www.pponline.co.uk/encyc/sports-injuries-prevention-and-treatment-of-tennis-elbow-194. Tennis elbow can be caused by excessive play, the use of light rackets, poor technique, age-related tendon degeneration, and a variety of other factors. Let's do our best to stay healthy and not miss any court time.
I. Teams have until this Saturday (May 5) at noon to select and report their subs. Please email names to me at CJones@Chatham.edu.
II. Each team can have only one sub. Only that sub can participate in league matches. If a primary team member and that team's approved sub are unavailable for a match, a random sub can play for the sake of ensuring that the match takes place. In the standings, however, victory will go to the team that shows up with its approved roster.
III. A sub cannot play on more than one team.
IV. There are no limits on the number of matches approved subs can play. Teams may utilize their subs however they wish.
It's not the RTL's goal to be the communists of Minnesota tennis. We're just trying to introduce fidelity to a system that could be corrupted by the random application of subs. Subs should be of skill levels appropriate to their divisions. Please don't recruit 3.0 subs for Division One teams or 4.5 subs for Division Two teams. We aren't imposing a rigid rating system in this case. Let's just try to be reasonable when assessing the abilities of our subs.
Like week one, week two was a huge success, with all matches played and promptly reported. Tuesday night at Soldiers Field was an all-out RTL occupation. We practically showed up with tanks! At one point, every court was hosting a Division One match. I wasn't present for Division Two matches on Wednesday, but I can only presume that the setting was similar, given that all scores were submitted to me by late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning. Thanks so much for your impressive commitment to upholding our schedule.
I'll do my best to observe a match or two this week. I still want to feature a "Match of the Week" on an ongoing basis. My doubles match is scheduled for tonight, so I'll try to visit Soldiers Field tomorrow and Wednesday to take in the action. Unfortunately, this week's weather might disrupt our format.
Check out this article on tennis elbow, a problem plaguing several players at the moment: http://www.pponline.co.uk/encyc/sports-injuries-prevention-and-treatment-of-tennis-elbow-194. Tennis elbow can be caused by excessive play, the use of light rackets, poor technique, age-related tendon degeneration, and a variety of other factors. Let's do our best to stay healthy and not miss any court time.
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