John McEnroe Made Me Quit Tennis, by Tara Goedjen

“Tennis: a racket sport in which two players compete to see who has the shortest temper, the worst memory, the poorest eyesight, and the slowest watch.” -Anon

We all know that tennis players are theatrical jerks. They pitch rackets. They cheat. They argue. They throw tantrums.

What we don’t know is why is this very un-Zen behavior is tolerated.  After meditating over a bucket of serves, I decided that it has something to do with John McEnroe and that that has something to do with why I quit competitive tennis.

Last weekend, I came out of retirement to play a money tournament. (My earnings amounted to -$60. Coincidentally, the entry fee was $60.) The teenagers I lost to reminded me of all the reasons why—after a college career spent playing foreign recruits of Big XII universities—I was happy to hang up my rackets.

Reason one for quitting:

Lack of umpires.

In most tournaments, matches aren’t umpired until the final rounds, meaning that, until then, each player is free to call their opponent’s balls. If the ball touches the line, or if it’s not seen clearly, the rule is that the ball should be called “in”. But this is akin to asking everyone to state verbally whether they owe money to the IRS as opposed to having them file a return every year.

With no umpires, close matches are usually won by the best liar. I’ve often thought, while playing in a match, “If professional tennis doesn’t pan out for this *&%#, she ought to consider a career in criminal defense.”

But even when there are umpires, they aren’t much help. After my last match, during which my opponent chose to neglect all rules of tennis etiquette by parroting the score while I served and throwing the stray balls at me instead of to me, I walked past another court just in time to witness full-blown cheating and get schooled on keeping a poker face.

The girl, or in this case, the cheater, called a ball “out” before it had landed. When it landed in, she reversed her call by giving the “good” signal (probably because a roving line judge was nearby). However, when she noticed that her opponent hadn’t seen her change the call, she decided to insist that it was out.

“What do you mean the ball was out?!” her opponent shouted. When a player walks up to the net you know there’s trouble. This girl was practically straddling the net. “It was in! The ball was inside the line! This is incredible!” The cheater’s victim put her hands on her hips and made audible sighs. Finally, she turned to the roving line judge who, ironically, was beside their court. “Did you see that!?” she shouted.

“No,” he said.

Of course he didn’t see it. I have never seen a roving line judge who is actually paying attention. They are supposed to be observing all of the courts but in fact they are observing none.

John McEnroe took advantage of the timidity and infamous blindness of tennis umpires and line judges. He epitomized the tennis tantrum, rocking a sport known for its polite spectators. Umpires didn’t stand a chance against his scathing tongue. Neither did his first wife.

“It was on the line. Answer my question! The question, jerk!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, umpire. I was talking to myself. What did I say, umpire, tell me. Please tell me! You are pathetic, do you know that? You are the worst umpire that I’ve ever seen in my life. You’re never going to work another match.”

“You cannot be serious! Everyone in this whole stadium knows it was in, and you call it out. Explain this to me. You’re the pits of the world.”

After my recent final match, I studied his tactics on Youtube. I should probably remember them the next time I play another superbrat who prides herself on mental warfare during a match. I may be twice her age, but mind games know no expiration date…

And that’s just reason one.

Reason two:

Most tennis players hate tennis, or at least act like they do. McEnroe, Agassi…even tennis champions hate tennis. As far as anyone watching can tell, this breed of angry players is definitely not having fun on the court. They act like being on the tennis court is painful. Not physically painful, mind you.  Emotionally painful.  Psychologically painful.  I don’t know of any other sport where players scold themselves as much. Aloud. In third person. With expletives.

“The disgust is evident” one commentator said during one of McEnroe’s matches. During the post-match interview he was asked: “Do you regret using personal abuse in a game like this?” McEnroe silenced the reporter by saying:  “What I regret is when I come to places like this and I have to deal with people like you. That’s what I regret.”

I’m ashamed to admit that as a teenager, I too tossed a few tennis rackets. I yelled at myself: “You should walk off the court, Tara. This is pathetic, Tara!” I alternated between self-loathing and sarcasm. “Nice shot! Really beautiful. Unfuckingbelievable.” Now I’m embarrassed to witness a teenager throwing a fit on the court.  Too many flashbacks. Tennis is a frustrating game. There’s no substitution, no half-time, no way out (unless, of course, you choose to default, which is equivalent to the military’s unhonorable discharge.). Like Sampras said, “it’s one-on-one out there. I can’t pass the ball.”

Reason three for quitting:

The inescapable grunting.

Tennis players are constantly hassled about their soundtracks. It’s all the fault of the exhale. As a teenager I dreaded tennis practice because I knew, inevitably, that some group of guys would walk past the courts and imitate (read: exaggerate) what they heard. And the jokes don’t stop with immature school boys; foreign television commercials takes a stab, too…

The skirts don’t help. My friend (a non-tennis player) came to watch my second match, which was delayed. “Why does everyone wear skirts?” she asked. My other friend replied, quickly and matter-of-factly, “So more people will watch.” It seemed like a good answer. The louder the exhales and the skimpier the skirts are directly correlated to the size of the audience. This trend might explain why men wore hazardously short Lacrosse shorts in the ’70s and ’80s, too…

And, reason four:

Tennis parents.

While parents can be nasty, tennis parents can be downright vicious. Often, they can’t distinguish where they end and where their offspring begin. For example, at a junior tournament in Florida a decade ago, I remember asking a parent if her daughter won or not. “Yes,” she  triumphantly answered. “We won.”

One of my opponents this weekend was only out there for her dad. Not surprisingly, she didn’t mind losing, but he sure did. At least he didn’t poison my water bottle. Or did he…?

Then again, the main reason I played tennis as a kid was to get out of chores. Which, possibly, is why I couldn’t cook until my mid-twenties.  That tennis court did provide some sanctuary.  Maybe those kids are smarter than I realized…

My latest foray into the world of tennis showed me that if I had wanted to turn pro, I should have practiced less tennis and more acting. Maybe then I could have intimidated my opponents off the court…in real life instead of just in my oncourt fantasies. But I’ll leave that to Johnny Mac, who is still making fans (and the author) laugh with his shouting antics during exhibition matches.

“What is the single most important quality in a tennis champion?” he was once asked. His reply: “I would have to say desire, staying in there and winning matches when you are not playing that well.”

You cannot be serious, McEnroe. Continental forehand aside, your single most important quality was (and is) your theatrics. Sometimes what it takes to win matches is a little show, a touch of self-loathing, and the ability to withstand the most overbearing parents this side of a teen beauty contest. (And maybe some cheating.)

I think I’m okay with losing $60 every few months and staying average.