The Lonely Sport of Tennis

I drag white Nike socks over my equally white feet, so that only my tanned skin shows. My feet never see daylight, and I wouldn’t want them to either. It’s embarrassing, when people see the vulgar calluses, and dead flaking skin, so I keep them caged like lions in my tennis shoes, where they are most needed. Riding the elevator to the lobby, I lug my overloaded Babolat tennis bag on one shoulder, while my other hand is stuffed in my hoodie pocket. The lift dings when I reach the lobby, and I emerge. Tennis junkies swarm the hotel’s buffet, to fuel up for the day’s competition. I choose a plate of steamy oatmeal and a packet of peanut butter. If you’ve never tried that combination, you should definitely add it to your bucket list. There is an eerie silence cast upon the tables. Whispers and the clanking of silverware are the only noises.  Some people sit in closely knitted circles, offering advice and coaching for each other’s matches in hushed tones.  Others pose with their hoods up and ear buds in, pumping themselves up by listening to explicit pre-match Eminem raps. Some people sit by their lonesome, like me, eating my peanut-buttered oatmeal, with nervous goose bumps on my arms. I have done this a million times before, but each match is still preceded by nerves. Tennis is a terribly lonely sport. There are no teammates to cheer you up, or with which to celebrate. No coaching is allowed on the court either. There isn’t even an umpire, unless you request one because you suspect that your opponent is cheating. The only company you have on that lonely rectangle is your opponent, but this is no time to strike up a conversation. Tennis is no doubt a lonely sport to most people. However, many of us cherish the ability to conquer each and every match on our own.