This is a poem written by Alexandra Stevenson, 1999 Wimbledon semifinalist and former World No. 18:
The tennis court is meant to showcase grace and power,
Unstoppable athleticism where the ball sails like a fast-moving car
Impossible shots that skid through the court
For one player there is a final shot missed
A ball that is driven twice as hard as needed
Or a lob that arcs the wrong way across the blue sky
A deep volley that is punched into the loose net
The player can hear her coach trying to draw her through it, the words spinning in her mind
"Move your feet … Bend your knees … Spin it … Chip the returns … Get your first serve in."
Meanwhile, the player lifts her body into one last service motion, stretching her fingertips
The ball slams into the net, empty air beside the player, a last error
A feeling of despair, her muscles twitching
The player's racket dangling by her side
The actress inside forcing a cool appearance on her face
But she is thinking, "My God, not again."
The player wipes her hand on her skirt
Shake the opponent's hand, smile, "Good match."
Look at the boy in the audience with the big yellow ball, his eyes following the player
Place the sunglasses on her face, a shield that keeps the world away
See the crowd push for her attention, the boy swaying in the crush, giving his pen and ball to the player
Sign the big yellow ball for the boy who grins with a million-dollar smile at the player
It's time to wave goodbye, a gesture that is warm, unlike the cold certainty of the match result
Quiet in the locker room, the bags spilling over with clothes, ice packs waiting, players looking the other way
The player affectionately touches her rackets, looking at the strings, remembering the beautiful, rolling strokes
In the pressroom, they sit in rows of gray plastic folding chairs, some are standing, and the cameras are clicking
They ask about the games that got away, not the moment when the big, flat serve went down the middle at 124 mph.
They don't ask about the games that showcase beauty, phenomenal power and grace
Instead, they ask, "Why did you lose?"
Nothing has happened to the player's game. It is still there, a level of excellence that is ready to rise
The tears fall down the player's brown-sunburned cheeks as she looks at strangers looking back at her
It is the easiest of conversations to talk about the constructed points, the fluid abandon that the player feels
But, the crisis of the moment is so deep, that she thinks no further.
I don't have anything to say, except that the poem is incredibly beautiful. After reading it, I understand how losing means a lot of things to a player. We, fans, see losing players (I don't want to say the world 'losers') hearing the chair umpire announces the match result ("Game, set, and match, *winning player*. *match scores*."), walking to the net, shaking their opponents' hand, and then leaving the court, sometimes refusing to sign autographs for fans (that's what Sesil Karatantcheva did to some fans at the Hopman Cup this year--she barely even looked at where I stood). We get really upset when our favorite players lose, sometimes without thinking that they may be even more upset. We criticize their games, saying that they need to improve themselves, sometimes without thinking that they may be cursing themselves for not playing good. Even worse, sometimes we stop supporting players who have been struggling with their games, and turn into haters instead.
We see them get upset like we do, but we don't really know what's on their minds and how they feel. I guess there are a lot of things on their minds after losing, things certain fans don't understand and will never understand. I sometimes imagine how they feel after losing matches--especially big ones like Grand Slam finals--when they shake their opponents' hands, see their opponents celebrating, and enter the locker room, imagining some mistakes they did during the match (they probably think, "If only I could return that serve better," or "If only I didn't hit so much errors," or something like that), and then they have to answer dozens of question in the pressroom (I believe there are some journos who are stupid enough to not appreciate what they've done and choose to write a lot of bad things instead, as if they played really badly while they didn't).
I never understand how my favorite players feel after losing, but I always try to understand. At least I avoid to say bad things about their opponents (I did that sometimes when I was less mature than I am now) and criticize their games like experts. Instead I try to praise their opponents, and pray that my favorite players will do better next time. True, I cry sometimes when my favorite players lose, but I know if they were childish enough, they would shed even more tears. True, I get really upset when my favorite players lose, but I know they must be even more upset. And I never stop supporting a player just because he or she loses a match. I stop supporting a player because of his or her personality, not because of his or her game. Let me give you some example: Roger Federer played three disappointing matches this year, all of them against Novak Djokovic. And true that I am quite disappointed--and so are a million of Roger fans out there, but I still support him. There is something inside him that makes his loyal fans never stop loving and supporting him no matter what. Something only true tennis fans can understand.
Like my friend Annmarie once said, we share their dreams, and so we share their pains and disappointments.
The tennis court is meant to showcase grace and power,
Unstoppable athleticism where the ball sails like a fast-moving car
Impossible shots that skid through the court
For one player there is a final shot missed
A ball that is driven twice as hard as needed
Or a lob that arcs the wrong way across the blue sky
A deep volley that is punched into the loose net
The player can hear her coach trying to draw her through it, the words spinning in her mind
"Move your feet … Bend your knees … Spin it … Chip the returns … Get your first serve in."
Meanwhile, the player lifts her body into one last service motion, stretching her fingertips
The ball slams into the net, empty air beside the player, a last error
A feeling of despair, her muscles twitching
The player's racket dangling by her side
The actress inside forcing a cool appearance on her face
But she is thinking, "My God, not again."
The player wipes her hand on her skirt
Shake the opponent's hand, smile, "Good match."
Look at the boy in the audience with the big yellow ball, his eyes following the player
Place the sunglasses on her face, a shield that keeps the world away
See the crowd push for her attention, the boy swaying in the crush, giving his pen and ball to the player
Sign the big yellow ball for the boy who grins with a million-dollar smile at the player
It's time to wave goodbye, a gesture that is warm, unlike the cold certainty of the match result
Quiet in the locker room, the bags spilling over with clothes, ice packs waiting, players looking the other way
The player affectionately touches her rackets, looking at the strings, remembering the beautiful, rolling strokes
In the pressroom, they sit in rows of gray plastic folding chairs, some are standing, and the cameras are clicking
They ask about the games that got away, not the moment when the big, flat serve went down the middle at 124 mph.
They don't ask about the games that showcase beauty, phenomenal power and grace
Instead, they ask, "Why did you lose?"
Nothing has happened to the player's game. It is still there, a level of excellence that is ready to rise
The tears fall down the player's brown-sunburned cheeks as she looks at strangers looking back at her
It is the easiest of conversations to talk about the constructed points, the fluid abandon that the player feels
But, the crisis of the moment is so deep, that she thinks no further.
I don't have anything to say, except that the poem is incredibly beautiful. After reading it, I understand how losing means a lot of things to a player. We, fans, see losing players (I don't want to say the world 'losers') hearing the chair umpire announces the match result ("Game, set, and match, *winning player*. *match scores*."), walking to the net, shaking their opponents' hand, and then leaving the court, sometimes refusing to sign autographs for fans (that's what Sesil Karatantcheva did to some fans at the Hopman Cup this year--she barely even looked at where I stood). We get really upset when our favorite players lose, sometimes without thinking that they may be even more upset. We criticize their games, saying that they need to improve themselves, sometimes without thinking that they may be cursing themselves for not playing good. Even worse, sometimes we stop supporting players who have been struggling with their games, and turn into haters instead.
We see them get upset like we do, but we don't really know what's on their minds and how they feel. I guess there are a lot of things on their minds after losing, things certain fans don't understand and will never understand. I sometimes imagine how they feel after losing matches--especially big ones like Grand Slam finals--when they shake their opponents' hands, see their opponents celebrating, and enter the locker room, imagining some mistakes they did during the match (they probably think, "If only I could return that serve better," or "If only I didn't hit so much errors," or something like that), and then they have to answer dozens of question in the pressroom (I believe there are some journos who are stupid enough to not appreciate what they've done and choose to write a lot of bad things instead, as if they played really badly while they didn't).
I never understand how my favorite players feel after losing, but I always try to understand. At least I avoid to say bad things about their opponents (I did that sometimes when I was less mature than I am now) and criticize their games like experts. Instead I try to praise their opponents, and pray that my favorite players will do better next time. True, I cry sometimes when my favorite players lose, but I know if they were childish enough, they would shed even more tears. True, I get really upset when my favorite players lose, but I know they must be even more upset. And I never stop supporting a player just because he or she loses a match. I stop supporting a player because of his or her personality, not because of his or her game. Let me give you some example: Roger Federer played three disappointing matches this year, all of them against Novak Djokovic. And true that I am quite disappointed--and so are a million of Roger fans out there, but I still support him. There is something inside him that makes his loyal fans never stop loving and supporting him no matter what. Something only true tennis fans can understand.
Like my friend Annmarie once said, we share their dreams, and so we share their pains and disappointments.
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