OCTO-TENNIS

by Jim Freund

            “Great shot!”

             “What a terrific backhand, Jim!”

             “Hey, Dick, that was some serve you just hit!”

             “Excellent footwork!”

             These are just a few of the supportive sounds that an observer would hear (if one were present, although none ever are) emanating from the tennis court at Dick Eisner’s home in Weston, CT (or from a nearby indoor facility during the winter or  when the weather doesn’t cooperate) almost every Sunday of the year. They’re the  sounds of Dick and Jim resuming our tennis activity that began almost eight decades ago.

             In our younger days, it might have been termed a rivalry, though it lacked any of that term’s negative implications. The fact is that we’ve been the best of friends since sharing a 3rd grade classroom in 1943. Still, we went at the game with a certain level of intensity – each with a desire to prevail that day, and both acutely aware of what the score was.

             Well, we just can’t do that sort of thing any more. The physical strains of our octogenarian decade have limited our mobility and tax our conditioning, and the frustrations that would invariably attend any attempt to resuscitate the old days are simply too much to bear. Yet we’ve never stopped heading out to the court each Sunday morning (except those days when an errant knee or balky shoulder acts up).

             Each of us have friends who for years were rabid tennis players but now, well into their 80’s, have abandoned the sport as various physical ailments undermined their talents. They just don’t take well to under-performing in the activity at which they once preformed so ably. For some of them, no doubt, this was the right decision to make.

             But for others who once enjoyed the game but have now given it up in their 80’s, Dick and I view this as unnecessary termination of a desirable activity. So I decided to write this essay to tout the kind of tennis Dick and I have been playing throughout our 80’s – “Octo-tennis” we call it – and to urge others similarly situated to give it a try. That’s provided, of course, you can find a companion who’s willing and able to share your fresh approach to the sport (or, if none is available, locating a solicitous pro).

             Here’s what Dick and I figured out. Notwithstanding the acrobatic exploits of talented youngsters like Spanish newcomer Carlos Alcazar, the essence of tennis is shot-making. You take aim, swing the racket and hit the ball. Hopefully it sails over the net and lands in bounds. You’re able to react to what you just did – with pleasure if the shot’s a good one, with disappointment if it isn’t, and without emotion if it’s just so-so. Guys like us derive a lot more pleasure out of hitting a good shot than any  disappointment that accompanies a bad one. Put another way, it’s the ability to rack up a few high-grade shots that keeps us playing the game.

             Now, to be sure, it takes a little footwork to hit that good shot, but this is something we’re still capable of – provided, of course, that the ball to be hit shows up in our vicinity. Aye, but there’s the rub for us octo’s. A competitive guy on the other side of the net is deliberately aiming his shot at a place on your side that you don’t occupy, and your age-decreased mobility isn’t up to conveying you there in time to make a decent return.

            Okay, I know what you’re probably thinking – that mobility is the very essence of tennis, and you dread proof that it has abandoned your aging self. You’re a competitor, and the resulting despair you’re likely to feel as the score mounts up against you (point-game-set-match) gnaws at your psyche. In fact, it’s this expectation of despair that likely keeps you on the sidelines.

             Well, here’s the simple solution that Dick and I have devised to cope with this problem – we just don’t keep score. We may play a given point to the hilt, but we don’t aggregate their totality. Neither of us knows or cares who would be “winning” or “losing” if we did – a state of mind that eliminates any pressure to push ourselves beyond what’s comfortable. 

            Speaking of “to the hilt,” I’ll confess that in recognition of our relative lack of mobility, we do not play every point to the hilt. Whacking every ball to the opposite side of the court to where the other guy is (or even worse, to a spot just over the net where it promptly breathes its last) sometimes even elicits a brief apology from the whacker. But that’s not to say we never go for sporadic winners aimed at distant corners of the court. The best choice, when one of us relishes some competitive activity, is to hit the ball right at the other guy and let the point play out in terms of shotmaking. 

            We work on our shots, deriving almost as much pleasure from striking a good one as we did back when the effort clinched a game, and dismissing the ones that turn out badly with a little snort  and no regrets. In fact – in contrast to how we’d feel if playing for keeps – we both agree we’d prefer striking a superb shot that our opponent manages to return successfully, than hitting a weak ball that our opponent totally flubs.  

            Truth be told, we also adopt certain liberties that grizzled veterans might disapprove of. For instance, if neither our first nor second serves land in the box, we generally take a third one. And when one of us (usually me) feels a little winded and thirsty, we break off our efforts and relax into a spirited bench conversation for five minutes or so before returning to the court. 

            A consistent keynote of our approach is rooting for the other guy to do well – the precise attitude we’d undoubtedly eschew if keeping score. And we don’t go at this quietly – those expressions of approval for our opponent’s shotmaking that appeared at the top of this essay accurately depict the kind of running commentary on the other guy’s game that accompanies our matches. We genuinely appreciate what the guy on the other side of the net is doing.  

            “Nice angle on that shot, Dick.” 

            “Jim, your serve is very lively today.” 

            We never criticize the other’s play. In terms of giving specific advice to bolster the opponent’s game – something we’d be a little leery of doing if keeping score – Octo-tennis makes us more open to offering an occasional helpful suggestion. The advice, though, is worded very carefully: “I’ve noticed that you’re not tossing the ball up on your serve today quite as high as you generally do. Perhaps that accounts for the increased number hitting the net. . .” 

            I won’t kid you – the experience isn’t always totally pleasurable (although never as a result of anything caused by our companion). There are still days when I just can’t seem to hit anything decent – but these are rare, and I can usually find something to be happy about. 

            So that’s our pitch. Don’t let the activity you always enjoyed so much no longer be a part of your life. There’s really no downside (as, for instance, there was when I gave up skiing in my 80’s – the sport had become just too dangerous for my aging bones). Take it from me – there are no moguls on the tennis court. So why not give Octo-tennis a try.