Sets 511-512:
Stuart v. X. at South Austin Tennis Center. Winner: X. 7-6(1), 7-5.
My Mojo: Delayed.
The keyword today was "sluggish." I seemed to get to everything just a teeny bit late, and was just reacting to the game rather than being a participant in it. That having been said, I did spectacularly well, considering.
Today was only a bit short of an hour and a half. We took very short breaks between games even though we both did a lot of moving around the court. My serve was a little better than it was in the last match, but not spectacular. I did get in a few whizzing winners, and that set the tone for most of the games that I won.
In the first set, I was getting slowly eaten. Munch, munch. I was down 5-2 due to the fact that my neurons seemed to be vacationing. But I started concentrating on anticipating the ball, and then I was at least able to hit it back and keep it in play. My confidence started crescendoing, and I won the next few games to the point that I was up 6-5. Then I hit the wall; my opponent not only came back to win the next game, but obliterated me in the tiebreaker.
The second set was more neck-and-neck through most of it, chiefly due to my serve having improved to the point that i was able to take charge or dominate in games that I served. But then when he served, I wasn't dealing with it well.
I have a hard time playing against a player with this style. He's got a "short-punch" game that doesn't give me much time to react. His serve was fast with not much backswing, he hit a lot of shots on the upbounce, and took a lot of contemplation time away from me. So, since I tend to play a defensive game anyway, I end up playing almost manic raw reactivity with a player like this.
Also he had a really good angle punch that was nailing me, especially when I hit shots that ended up short. He was good at taking advantage of those. So his serve games were dominant for him, and mine were dominant for me. I thought I'd do well in the second set after I broke his serve, but I was never able to wedge it open, and once he broke my serve to tie the score up at 5-5, my game shattered like a dropped mirror. I lost the next two games as my game spazzed out quicker than a tasered cheetah, and my fate was sealed.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Grueling Even By My Standards
Sets 508-510:
Stuart v. V. at McCallum High School. Winner: Stuart 5-7, 7-5, 7-5.
My Mojo: Mood-Swingy, But Steady At The Right Times.
Geez, this was a marathon. Two and a half hours of constant running around the court. We had so many games that went back and forth from deuce to ad. A few of the games lasted between ten and fifteen minutes. This was just a wear-down extravaganza. But I actually feel pretty good right now, except for my toes.
When I got to the courts, I realized, to my horror, that I had put on the wrong shoes. I absent-mindedly put on a ratty old falling-apart pair of totally unsuitable shows with holes in the bottom and cracks in the sides. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But I had little choice other than to play anyway. It was time and my opponent was there. Crapola.
So I played the first set, and it was pretty lackluster play on my part. But my opponent was making a lot of errors. Near the middle of the first set I was up 5-3, and then I just lost focus. I lost the next four games before I even knew what was happening. And my opponent played really well, too.
By the time the first set ended, I felt like there was gravel in my shoes under both of my big toes. I took my shoes off and my socks were soaked in blood. I had worn all the skin off of the bottom of both of my big toes from constant bad friction due to my cruddy shoes. Great. That'll teach me to wear the wrong shoes. And it was only the end of the first set. I still had at least one more to go.
The second and third sets were where the marathon play really started. I started out the second set playing well, but being outplayed by my opponent. His net play was starting to really improve, and my serve was not quite on (neither my first or second serves), and I rely on my serve a lot. So I was down 5-3 in the second set. I had also been starting to get really irritated due to having to rub my skin-deprived toes against the courts over and over again, and because of the fact that my piece-of-crap shoes were not letting me change directions fast enough.
But I pulled it together mentally, and managed to go to a calm place. The next two games were probably the longest ones of the who match. They seemed interminable. We just kept going back and forth from deuce, to ad, to deuce, to ad again, over and over. And then the one of us who was ahead would predictably choke, or the one behind would get in a beautiful, unreturnable shot. I was beginning to wonder what circle of hell this was.
I squeaked out these two long games and brought the score to 5-5. This really helped my confidence, and I won the next two games fairly easily.
In the third set, my opponent seemed to get that steely determination that comes from being behind, where you just dig in and say to yourself, "Not on my watch." Of course, I don't know what he was thinking, but his play got really aggressive and error-free. And I was falling apart both mentally and strategically. My errors increased, my toes hurt like hell, and I found myself screaming cuss words upon flubbing points. I got mad in my usual way, though; I would scream out an obscenity and then feel sheepish and stupidly laugh. I rarely hold on to the anger. Next thing you know, I was down 4-1, and the first three games weren't even competitive at all. I think I only scored about two points in the first three games of the third set. Elvis was nowhere near the building.
But then I did the same thing I had done in the second set and just brought it home. I stopped making as many errors, and started playing steadily and methodically. I won the next game to get to 4-2, then lost another game, when my opponent surged. So now i was down 5-2. Then I played really well in the next three games. I tied it up at 5-5. Now I was confident again, but I never would have predicted this outcome from how I started out the third set. By this time, my opponent's body language was starting to seem defeated, and I was feeling like I was in it for the long haul. The next two games were tough, but I squeezed it through the birth canal again and pulled out the set. It was two and a half hours after the start of the match, the pads of my toes were absolutely shredded (hey, what is the worst that could happen? staph infection, amputation, death?), and I did it.
Stuart v. V. at McCallum High School. Winner: Stuart 5-7, 7-5, 7-5.
My Mojo: Mood-Swingy, But Steady At The Right Times.
Geez, this was a marathon. Two and a half hours of constant running around the court. We had so many games that went back and forth from deuce to ad. A few of the games lasted between ten and fifteen minutes. This was just a wear-down extravaganza. But I actually feel pretty good right now, except for my toes.
When I got to the courts, I realized, to my horror, that I had put on the wrong shoes. I absent-mindedly put on a ratty old falling-apart pair of totally unsuitable shows with holes in the bottom and cracks in the sides. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But I had little choice other than to play anyway. It was time and my opponent was there. Crapola.
So I played the first set, and it was pretty lackluster play on my part. But my opponent was making a lot of errors. Near the middle of the first set I was up 5-3, and then I just lost focus. I lost the next four games before I even knew what was happening. And my opponent played really well, too.
By the time the first set ended, I felt like there was gravel in my shoes under both of my big toes. I took my shoes off and my socks were soaked in blood. I had worn all the skin off of the bottom of both of my big toes from constant bad friction due to my cruddy shoes. Great. That'll teach me to wear the wrong shoes. And it was only the end of the first set. I still had at least one more to go.
The second and third sets were where the marathon play really started. I started out the second set playing well, but being outplayed by my opponent. His net play was starting to really improve, and my serve was not quite on (neither my first or second serves), and I rely on my serve a lot. So I was down 5-3 in the second set. I had also been starting to get really irritated due to having to rub my skin-deprived toes against the courts over and over again, and because of the fact that my piece-of-crap shoes were not letting me change directions fast enough.
But I pulled it together mentally, and managed to go to a calm place. The next two games were probably the longest ones of the who match. They seemed interminable. We just kept going back and forth from deuce, to ad, to deuce, to ad again, over and over. And then the one of us who was ahead would predictably choke, or the one behind would get in a beautiful, unreturnable shot. I was beginning to wonder what circle of hell this was.
I squeaked out these two long games and brought the score to 5-5. This really helped my confidence, and I won the next two games fairly easily.
In the third set, my opponent seemed to get that steely determination that comes from being behind, where you just dig in and say to yourself, "Not on my watch." Of course, I don't know what he was thinking, but his play got really aggressive and error-free. And I was falling apart both mentally and strategically. My errors increased, my toes hurt like hell, and I found myself screaming cuss words upon flubbing points. I got mad in my usual way, though; I would scream out an obscenity and then feel sheepish and stupidly laugh. I rarely hold on to the anger. Next thing you know, I was down 4-1, and the first three games weren't even competitive at all. I think I only scored about two points in the first three games of the third set. Elvis was nowhere near the building.
But then I did the same thing I had done in the second set and just brought it home. I stopped making as many errors, and started playing steadily and methodically. I won the next game to get to 4-2, then lost another game, when my opponent surged. So now i was down 5-2. Then I played really well in the next three games. I tied it up at 5-5. Now I was confident again, but I never would have predicted this outcome from how I started out the third set. By this time, my opponent's body language was starting to seem defeated, and I was feeling like I was in it for the long haul. The next two games were tough, but I squeezed it through the birth canal again and pulled out the set. It was two and a half hours after the start of the match, the pads of my toes were absolutely shredded (hey, what is the worst that could happen? staph infection, amputation, death?), and I did it.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Out Of My League
Sets 506-507:
Stuart v. N. at McCallum High School. Winner: N. 6-1, 6-0.
My Mojo: Completely Outclassed.
I was so out of my league in this match. This guy was so much better than me that there was probably no way I was going to beat him. I was lucky to win one game.
I mean, I'm no slouch. I've got a pretty decent game, but the strategy N. used against me was so good, I just couldn't get to the ball a lot of the time. And I'm the guy who has the reputation of getting to everything. Blarf.
Stuart v. N. at McCallum High School. Winner: N. 6-1, 6-0.
My Mojo: Completely Outclassed.
I was so out of my league in this match. This guy was so much better than me that there was probably no way I was going to beat him. I was lucky to win one game.
I mean, I'm no slouch. I've got a pretty decent game, but the strategy N. used against me was so good, I just couldn't get to the ball a lot of the time. And I'm the guy who has the reputation of getting to everything. Blarf.
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