Sport Billy

We started a work tennis team last week, and had our first game on Thursday. We play at a lovely tennis club that has the most redeeming feature of being 1 block from my house, against other work teams from around Tauranga.
Part of my 2008 scheme, along with putting on more handcream (eek) and eating better (um) is to Get Out And DO THINGS! So when the invite for this team came along, I was the first to sign up.
Now when I was at school, I was quite a good tennis player. I am lefthanded, so had a quite a killer backhand. When it went in. My step dad used to say I'd win Wimbledon if the courts were 8 feet longer. We had to play sports 5 days a week at school, so we were playing tennis for about 8 hours a week. I have never taken anything more for granted than the fact that we HAD to play sports. It just was part of our day. Since school, because it is not structured into my day, exercise and I have not been friends.
So as tennis drew closer, and I realised that I had not seriously played since 1996, other than playing in jandals on a bumpy clay court at Lake Tarawera, I enlisted the help of a friend to get my shots looking relatively normal. One hours practice to make up for over a decade of nothing.
Surprisingly, this went well. Much like beginner's luck. I began to believe I was naturally gifted at tennis, and had wasted my 20's being a Beauty Therapist and a PA, when I could have been on the cover of mens' magazines instead of Anna Kournikova, because I would actually win stuff.
Thursday rolled around, and I rocked up to the courts in my nifty little skirt and work branded shirt, all ready to blow the competition away.
Warming up, I hit the ball into the net approximately forty times. The other girls were only getting warm by running to retrieve the ball I had hit 3 courts over. I got all stressed out and red faced and nervous and we hadn't even started.
We start playing. It's mixed doubles, and our opponents are both pretty good players, keen for a good run round and a bit of fun. I serve. Double fault. Laughing shrilly, I switch sides and double fault again. My heart sinks. Switching sides again, I double fault, and say a bad word. Game over. The other team haven't even moved. I am humbled. My confidence is in tatters, and every time they hit the ball to me I say to myself JUST GET THE BLOODY THING OVER THE NET...which I do, but still not within the realms of the court.
Anyhoo, it's about 5-0, and the perfect backhand is set up for me. I think, fuck it, and take out my frustration on the ball. It rockets over the net landing in the far right corner. Kick ass.
This is called the ego shot, and once you've done it, you can relax. Unfortunately I relaxed too much, and we lost. There is nothing worse than losing continuously. It's so boring.
So anyway I did have a lot of fun running around in the late evening sun, and having a nice cold beer with my team mates afterwards - especially when they cost $3.50 each. But tonight I am going to the courts and am going to practice practice practice. Maybe there's an Enrique Iglesias for me yet.