Point of View: Always Something
Just when I thought I knew it all, I was blessed — yes, blessed — the other night to discover that I have a glaring weakness: I cannot hit, when receiving in the deuce court, a serve curved from the far corner.
Well, I can hit it, but not with any authority, and it is authority that one strives ever more for as one is in his decline. Sometimes, of course, authority is simply accorded, as when young people whose high school athletic careers I’ve followed and whose names I’ve misspelled for God knows how long say, “Hi, Mr. Graves” in passing, but among my mad dog Wednesday night tennis-playing peers there is no standing on ceremony, even in passing — especially in passing. They are out to kick my butt and I am out to kick theirs.
At times I have even kicked my own, in the form of severe cramping of the feet and calves after I’ve played, the result, I’m told, of not having sufficiently hydrated.
I’ve said before that having reached a certain age drugs should be mandatory, and that was only partly tongue-in-cheek: We all need an edge, especially as we approach it.
The pro I hit with in Mexico told me that the Gatorade I’d brought along was “poison,” more or less in the same ballpark as the Coke that he said was cynically peddled throughout Central and South America, and recommended that I drink lots of water instead.
I’m not a great fan of water, except in its crushed-ice form in a Margarita, though I promised I would. He also recommended a diet of vegetables, nuts, and lots of fruit, a regime that I at this late date find to be more unattainable than sustainable, though I have been eating more apples lately, drinking a little more water, and have laid off the poppyseed bagels slathered in butter and the maple-glazed scones.
But back to the glaring weakness, my aforementioned inability to hit with any authority a serve that has pulled me off the court toward my backhand side. I think a two-handed backhand return is indicated, which will, of course, require work, inasmuch as I’ve always had a one-handed backhand. Lisa Jones, I’m sure, can help me in this regard.
“There’s always something,” my stepfather used to say when it came to fixing things around the house. He said it not with a sigh, but with gratitude almost. It’s sort of the way I feel now. There’s something to work on, something to master.