tennis

My dedication to supporting the Pan American Games 2015 continued as I had previously purchased tickets to attend the Semi-finals of the Tennis event at the National Tennis Centre at York University. I enlisted a fellow tennis player of mine to come with me, and she and I hopped down there with looming clouds.

We were to be disappointed as after no less than 15 minutes of getting there, matches were suspended due to a torrential downpour. Hours later were were sitting around and as she was showing me how to use Tindr (on her phone of course) I just moaned about how lucky she was and whatnot. Being adorable and nice, albeit oblivious, pays dividends in the dating world.

While we discussed the possibilities of the entire session being rained out, we decided to stick it out. As a result of our dedication we were two of about 20 spectators in Centre Court to witness a Mens Semifinal Match between Argentina and Columbia. It was slightly underwhelming, and as we giggled here and there we both caught the eye of the Argentine player, Guido Andreoozi. While he was beaten in straight sets, he looked up at us (probably her) a few times, and we commented on his lack of form on backhand and slow footspeed. It was a well balanced match, but clearly the better Columbian won and progressed to the gold metal match.

It was at this moment that I resolved to supporting the Argentine player for the rest of the tournament. I discovered that he was in the Semi-finals of all 3 events that he was eligible for: mens singles, mens doubles, mixed doubles. So I thought, okay it will give me something to do.

On being a fan boy…

It was at this moment I decided to follow the 195th ranked in the world player. I knew nothing about him, I knew nothing about his background, I knew nothing about his personal life, I knew nothing about his personality, but I decided that he needed someone other than his coaches to support him. As a result, I was out on the cold Court 1, a few hours later to watch him and his partner play Barbados for a spot in the gold medal game.

Needless to say, when I went outside they were just arriving and the skies were threatening. I curled up in the 3rd row, and started cheering for the Argentine pair to proceed. No less than 20 minutes in, play was suspended due to rain and I was running for the stadium to stay dry. It was at this point that I encountered a few former colleagues of mine, and we chatted out the rain delay for about an hour and half – and then I went back outside. It was at this point approximately 9pm, and the match didn’t end until 10pm. I was one of only a few people in the stands besides coaches, and a bunch of “bros” that were supporting the Barbadian team. With a huge “¡ VAMOS !” to conclude the victory, both myself and the Argentine pair cheering in jubilation that they would play for gold.

I went back into the stadium for a washroom break, and bought tickets for the next day – determined to support my player Guido for his upcoming mixed, singles bronze medal game, and mens doubles gold medal match.

I’m about to share something with the world that very few people actually know about me. It’s been mentioned in the past that I’m a tennis player, or at least at one point in my life I was, but yes it’s true. It’s gone so far as to have been a dream of mine as a child to be a professional tennis player. Unfortunately the circumstances surrounding what I wanted to make of myself was unrealistic and unsupported.

Was I a good tennis player, you ask? Absolutely I think I was, and without tooting my own horn, I really think that I established myself as a decent competitive player. I mean I was ranked, I played tournaments, I gave top ranked players huge runs for their money, and lost to players I shouldn’t have: essentially a wishy-washy junior career. There were defining moments of those times, and forgettable ones as well.

What held me back? Well there was a plethora of reasons: financial support, emotional support, training support, moral support, and most importantly training support. When I think about it, I often get really upset as tennis isn’t just a love in my life, it’s a passion that’s just been pushed aside for many years.

When I went away to university, I lost the opportunity to play and train to my fullest. At the same time, I also had a falling out with the club that I was playing at, in my then current home. As I stated, it all boiled down to support (or lack thereof). My coach always held me back and never treated me the same as everyone else in the competitive group. I was of a different cloth, a different style, and thus I figure he never really knew how to coach me, and treat me in a way that was different from my ‘colleagues.’

All of that compounded with the fact that I had to travel to tournaments, the majority of time myself. As a teenager chasing after a dream all of those things playing against you, it’s just time that adds against you and eventually becomes your demise.

All I can say is that I could only carry myself all by myself for so long, and it fizzled of course. The culmination of my junior competitive career occurred at my home club, on centre court against a player that I should have beaten . The years of lack of support and encouragement got to me, and as the match progressed I could feel more and more that it was ending and that it was over. I had aged too much to be eligible for another tournament, and during the last 12 points of the match I was basically in hysterics crying more than I’d ever cried in my entire life.

It was only compounded by the fact that there was approximately 100 people present, none of which acknowledged my existence. I congratulated my vanquisher, and quite honestly I think he was the only person to ever notice my obvious pain, and even comment on how polite and nice I was, for a loser. I left the club in tears, not to touch a tennis racquet for months. It was only a little time after that, that I was able to face my tennis bag again and get onto the court, and it was at that point that the club I was at started making it even more emotionally painful to attend.

That’s only the surface of the whole story, but it pretty much sums it up. So what’s the moral: if you know someone that is pursuing their passion, support them in any way that you can, in whichever fashion, on whatever level, and as soon as humanly possible. You have no idea how many people’s hearts can be broken by inaction.

The story of my life consists of an infinate, and I mean infinate collection of dispiriting moments. As a culmination of the first day of the week, I’m taking a moment to reflect on this series of unfortunate events, but first before delving into details, a definition. I would define a dispiriting moment as the following:

An exertion of as much effort as possible, and still obtaining nothing.

Sounds simple enough, at least by my standards. And what you may ask is so dispiriting, and of course it’s a fair question. When I sign up for an intramural team, in order to play a sport that I may, or may not enjoy, it’s a commitment on my part to show up on scheduled games. Having a schedule put forth at the beginning eleviates scheduling problems and no-shows.

How is it that a team can play six games, and never, not even once, have a full team to play on a footie field? I just comprehend it at all; and it’s so sad for us that we have to have people from the opposing team play for us. To further compound this, some of the people that show up have absolutely no desire, or exert no effort.

Taking a moment and thinking non-selfishly for everyone this moment. How is that fair to a team, especially when a team sport is based on team spirit and a comittment. I have no patience for people who show up and then opt out, especially when we are short players, and then some people need rest. Not everyone is athletic; totally understandable. But I can say that not only was I at every single game, rain or shine, even when someone defaulted on us, and after exerting the highest level of effort; I still get nothing out of it due to lack of team involvement.

Granted there are some decent players on the team, and I’m by no means the best, or even in the middle of the group; but I’m growing more and more dispirited in life, in general, at the age of twenty-one. How pathetic is that?

Logically you can think of it as the following: weigh the pros and cons for outcomes, and base judgement upon that. So let’s weigh the pros… exercise, team spirt, fresh air, possibility of fun. And now the cons… loosing, lack of effort, defaulting, no fun, lost work time, lost study time, general time comittment.

And thus just after halftime of our game tonight it really hit me, that why am I even doing this, or anything for that matter, when I can’t accomplish anything that I set forth of myself. I don’t set the bar too high, I don’t aim for things that are un-obtainable. And thus even still having low expectations of some things, I still can’t achieve that which I set forward to myself.

Does anyone understand how dispiriting this is? To constantly put one hundred percent effort into something and never make an achievement. It’s my tennis career in a nutshell; the investing of infinate hours, money, and time; and like everything after awhile of being discouraged from every possible angle, it’s just not worth it anymore. And that’s painful, mentally, and emotioanlly.There’s nothing “cool” or “fun” about having a cheer “gracious in defeat” when you loose 1-11, 0-8, 0-7, 1-5, 0-3, 1-5, 0-10 constantly. Granted team improves as they go, and I did as well, but no matter how much I try, in all aspects of my life it’s never quite enough.

Riddle me that; and piss off if you’re offended, because I’m sick of doing my part and having others fall short. Live my life, and if you think that you can do better than I’ve achieved (or not), then you’re completely deluded. I hope you feel just as dispirited as I do, in reading this.

Before you get your knickers in a knot, all the females that are reading this do not take offense to the fact that I’m talking about PMS that affects men. It’s true that men don’t have the horrible things that one calls menstration, but hormones are things that affect all people, male or female.

And so I come to the first day of my monthly Male PMS which I’ve had since I can remember. It usually lasts about three to four days and it happens on a three week cycle I reckon; but in any case it started on Saturday and it was sparked upon weaking up.

I woke up and went to tennis training, came back during the Terry Fox Run, and as a result I felt like shit. Why you ask? Because people were running without shirts, and despite my alright body, it makes me feel self-consious and curse those that passed me. So I walked to Sassy’s and got some binge food to binge on because I felt emo.

The emoness comes with the hormonal imbalance, and I swear… despite my massive lack of testosterone, I sure do have a shitload of hormones flowing through my body. Mood swings quicker than Maritime-weather, that’s pretty damned fast for those non-maritimers, and all around emo-ness. It’s just a recepie for disaster.

In any case the day will move on, and I feel the cramps and the aching already; doesn’t it remind you of female PMS, minus the bleeding? I know it’s eerie, but seroiusly, I get cramps, and emo, and emotional, and bitchy, and hormonal.

Watch out, the bitch is on the loose…

My discontent continues as the shower in the main floor has yet to be fixed. We were told by our “lovely” landlord that we weren’t to use it until it was fixed, but with six people sharing one bathroom, it’s impossible to even imagine that it’s doable. So the seed of discontent was planted; and thus we live in a seeded place. To further my awesome mood, I had to wake up this morning at 07.00 to go to tour guide training. So I knew everything beforehand, why is it that I had to go and do it again? I guess to be a “good” role model or something. So me drinking hot choclate in a room with “no food/drink” sign makes me a good role model? Hmmm

In addition to the woes of the bathroom my temporary thinie that I hang things on that moves, seems to have broken and the plastic just doesn’t cut it. I might just go and buy another one in Amherst as it’s so cheap. But my door fell off the hinges a few days ago; and “Arman” is supposed to fix it. So until then what do I do with a door looking like this? See above photo.

What’s a boy to do, besides kick ass at tomorrow’s tennis tournament? I want to wear something shocking; watch out Sackville. Small town is gonna need shock therapy after this.