i'm federer!

Played a spot of tennis yesterday and it was a good feeling. Nothing beats depression like taking it out on a little green ball. I am actually terrible in the courts, in fact I would say I hardly a player.My first tennis session occurred in secondary school. I was invited to play tennis with YF and Tim at Tiffany's courts. Tiffany wasn't there but I heard she was looking out at us from her balcony. It must have been embarrassing when I started to change in the court assuming that no one was around. Maybe she was impressed by what she saw but that's truly a long shot.

Anyway in my first tennis session, YF bought down some "God" balls. They are aptly named because it was black in colour and every ball had an inscription of a verse on them. Being my first session, every other ball flew way over the net, occasionally the ball would fly up into heaven as it vanishes into the distance. I'd like to think they went back to heaven but I think it just ended up in someone's backyard.

Undoubtedly, YF was pissed, we came with a bucket of balls and when we left, its was either half empty or half full, depending on your point of view. Apparently or so he says, the God balls were expensive. From then on, I was never again called down to play tennis and that ended my career.

Fast-forward to yesterday, my backhands were awesome. I was Roger Ferderer. Alright fine, not as good as Ferderer and my backhands only land on the other side of the courts occasionally. Still, I believe it’s a great improvement from those days.

The feeling of hitting a backhand on the sweet spot is extremely satisfying, visualising as I lean back into my office chair, I can feel it, savour it, its almost like true love. You know the dryness in the mouth, the beating of your heart, the awkwardness. Okay fine that sounds a little bit like being in a coma while watching TV but you get the drift.

Perhaps I am not improving at all; maybe it’s just my perception from my own side of the court. I get all these fancy shots in but I don’t win the game. I’d like to destroy my opponents but you know what they say don’t hate the player, hate the game. I guess when you see Nadal lift the trophy, you can only wonder how did it go all wrong.

Thanks Terry, all those Sunday sessions paid off (only 2 actually). Wimbledon watch out! There ‘s a new kid in town and his backhand means business.