VII Open De Tennis Torredembarra

Played my second tournament this week in a neighboring region, Torredembarra--about an hour's drive away from the Academy.
I was really looking forward my match and getting into the rhythm of tournament spirit.  What surprised me most, though, was how the whole experience proved so much more than I expected.


1.  My opponent was much better than I was.  Ex-top 200 WTA, to be exact.

The accompanying coach, Pollo (pronounced "poh-yeoh"), actually smiled a hopeless smile as he broke the news.  She was Ukranian, 27, extremely pretty, and now a full-time coach in Barcelona.  "Just play your best, yeah?"  Pollo advised.  I thought she was going to smack me like a fly.

In the end, I lost the match 0-6, 1-6.  A trumping by the numbers, but still, the scoreline missed the mood of the match played.  I did make most of the errors, but 60% of the time, it was also after a long or intensely slogged out rally.  


"Not so bad."  I thought to myself during the rally.
"I can take her balls.  And I am running with her."


After one particularly long rallies, she had to bend over, out of breath.  And I just stood there, looking at her.  All's not lost after all!  I may have lost the match, but I think I know what to do to improve further.


2.  I learnt a lot of tactic strategies, just by watching.  And talking to Pollo.

Those of you who play tennis will know that we are always different animals, not just on court, especially during competition.  While it was a relatively small draw--16 for the women and 64 for the men, there were certainly many good players.  There were guys who had ATP points, or top players in Spain for the older age groups.  I saw this guy who had 7 ATP points and a smackalicious backhand.  Another who played smart with his footwork and ball placement.  Best of all, Pollo whom I sat next to bothered to explain good and bad shot choice as the rallies went on.  What I learnt is that tactic is all about 1) Hitting to the weaker side, and 2) Hitting to the empty spaces.


3. I got to get closer to my teammates
Being 5, 8, 10 years older than most of the kids here, age difference is one big challenge for me here at the Academy.  Especially compounded by the fact that you have to think of ways and means to beat the living daylights out of them! 

But being at tournament from the same competing Academy helped somewhat.  Above is Pulock, a very extroverted Indian boy from Dehli with a wicked top spin and an extreme penchant for pretty girls watching his matches.  He got drawn with the number 2 seed (top 5 in u-18 age group in Spain, I think).  He lost 0-6, 1-6 too, but his match was really intense.  We watched each others matches, cheered each other on and huddled under the trees together, away from the fierce sun.  Remnants of my RJ days during national championships naturally started creeping in.

Most of our time cheering was for Jasmine, my teammate from Munich, on the right, sitting down.  She was out on court for a 2.5 hour slug-fest with a very determined opponent who kept on mis-aligning the score and disputing line-calls.  30-15 for Jasmine became 0-40 in her books.  She was so aggressive, she kept calling the tournament director in to dispute marks on the clay, and because she spoke fluent Spanish, most of the time she got her way.  Jasmine was so pissed off she was this close to walking off court, but Pollo wouldn't let her.  In the end she won that very same 0-40 game, and the third set, 6-3.  


The girl on the left, Nuria from Spain, reached the finals (she was so lucky to get a walk-over from the first seed!).  Her opponent was my first-round, top-200 WTA opponent.  She lost in the third 3-6.

The trip back from tournament was highly scenic.  In included tunnels through hills, 

high blue skies 

and sights of sea over country side.

Most of us were knackered, though.  Tournaments are hard work.

Halfway though, though, one of us woke up.  "Stop the car Pollo!  STOP THE CAR!!"  Hamzah, from London started yelling like a stringed chicken.  "My legs are cramping, I need to STREETCCHHH. AHHHHH!!"  Pollo started laughing and eventually pulled over.  


Hamzah lost to the number 1 seed after also another 2.5 hour slug-fest.  He managed to push #1 to three sets but succumbed to talking tactics which the former employed between games.  Pulock was scolding him in his thick Indian accent from the fence "Shaaaat-up mahn!  He's traaying to deeestract you!!"  Hamzah, unfortunately, couldn't reign in his cocky swagger, nor keep his mouth shut.  So he lost in the third.  Still, it was exhilaratingly close and exciting to watch.  Both parties were running left right, left right... endlessly.


When he cramped, it was so bad I had to get out from my front seat and literally pull him out of the van.  He couldn't bend his legs and it was gross bear-hugging this heavy, sweaty, 19 year old boy.  But the fact that he was also reduced to nothing but a whimpering pup was also pretty funny.

He was in so much pain, he also pulled out part of the van's rubber lining.!!  

The rest of us were laughing really hard.  Pulok had to take pictures, 

and then do his Indian version of "Whaaat thee faaaaaaark man!" (hand gesture included)

All this while poor Hamzah tried to stretch and drink out the cramp.


By the time we'd reached the Academy, it was near 5pm, we had missed lunch and officially spent the whole day out on competition.  Hard work, both preparing and playing it--but it was a really great experience.  I'm looking forward to continuing working on my game.  As James Blake's motto stands, everyday, just think "Work hard, get better."  


I believe I'll get there.