Backhand Fronthand

There are many shots in tennis. Some of them are actually on the court. When my daughter, Allie, was young she took a few lessons. Afterwards, I asked her what they had worked on. She told me they practiced serves, volleys, backhand and "fronthand". Fronthand? It was so cute that I resisted the impulse to correct her. With adults, it’s another matter entirely.

Players, how often do you say you like to be in forehand or backhand positions? Excuse me? I know this is a righty world, but living with a lefty tennis player has shown me the error of your ways. For a lefty, the deuce court is, in fact, the backhand and vice-versa. Lefties do have their advantages and leave it to me to exploit them to MY advantage.

At the club level, players will often fail to notice their opponent is left handed. When I’m playing with my lefty partners I try to keep it a secret for as long as possible. I’ll deny it even if someone asks. We have several other advantages, as well. Nobody has to serve in the sun and there’s that famous twisty junk. The serve can also spin the opposite way - right into the body. Playing mixed with Eric is a lot like playing with my friend, Trish. It’s maddening for their opponents. They’re both fiery, Irish and very tall, with long wingspans. They can judicially apply the special sauce, although Trish becomes offended when I say she puts junk on the ball. She insists she worked hard to learn how to make the ball bounce backwards away from her opponents. I agree just to placate her. I’d recommend a southpaw partner to anyone. You just have to know how to manage them.

There have been some left-handed tennis players who made the sport seem like a WWF smack down. Tantrums on the court were made famous by Jimmy Connors and even more so by “Superbrat” John McEnroe. Uncomfortable, disgusted, we were unable to turn away from these spectacles and even now can view them on Youtube. In the men’s challenger tournament I recently attended there were plenty of primal screams to be heard. Testosterone and frustration can take over. I should know. In the heat of competition I can feel the testosterone myself. It’s somewhat acceptable. The brat attack is not. Racquet throwing, swearing (even in Hindi) and going after the chair ump is not acceptable. Frustration is part of life. Unfairness is part of life. Bad calls are part of life, especially in sports. It’s a question of how you handle it. My daughter’s water polo coach once wisely said that there are bad passes, bad catches and bad calls. Deal with it.

Eric likes to cheer for the lefties, but I’m not always so sure. Capricious and judgmental, I may not be able to pick my favorite based on cuteness or sock style. Sometimes it’s that character thing. If a player is mean and rude, that settles it. I’m not rooting for them. Actually, I’m rooting against them.

I watched the semi-finals of the singles in the tournament with complete disgust. Sitting in the sponsor box, in the front row, I saw and heard such a display of bad attitude that I wanted to knock the players’ heads together and put them both on a time out. This is the challenger circuit, guys. You’re really, really good, but you wouldn’t be anything without the sponsors who deserve a better show, whether you win or lose. Unfortunately, one of the bad boys had to win and faced eighteen year old American, Ryan Harrison, in the finals. Ryan (with me in photo) made a great showing at the U. S. Open and is considered our next, great hope. He’s also the nicest guy - a wonderful role model for the kids all week. Ultimately, he was crushed by the number one brat ( I mean seed) in the finals, despite all of us rooting for him. These guys are right. Sometimes life isn’t fair.