The Next Tennis-Star

Some people say that you have to try everything once in your life. Since I believe I only have 1 life I'm forever in a hurry to get everything done. And as a result I have speeded through many sports, among other things. Bursting with self-confidence I buy the appropriate outfit, and all the necessary equipment, pay for 10 lessons ahead and off I go, dragging my husband once again with me.

The problem is that I only look very athletic. Looking the part is of course no guarantee that you'll be actually talented. But is has always fooled various instructors in the past for the first 5 minutes.So when I cooked up the idea that we were going to play tennis, we decidedly looked like Wimbledon stars. Expensive racket in the hand, wrists covered with sweatbands, our Persil-white outfits almost blinding in the spring-sunshine and the Ray-Bans on the nose, we were ready to amaze the world.

The instructor of course, had seen it all before. But he smiled politely and while he was on the other side of the net, I was supposed to get the ball over it in his direction. As I barely got it over the net the instructor decided that my husband was a better candidate. "So, you're a builder; you should have strength in your shoulders and wrists then" He said hopeful, as hubby threw the ball up and whacked it into the paddock adjacent to the tennis club.

At this stage I was delegated to ball-finder. Climbing over the fence and looking at the cows, I fervently hoped there were no bulls around. I was highly visible in my bright whites and who knows if a bull was color blind enough to go after me. Once I was over the fence the men decided that time was precious and resumed the lesson. Now balls were flying through the air into the paddock I was standing in. I could hear whoops of delight as hubby did a bit of male-bonding with the instructor, while I did a bit of bonding with the cows.

After the lesson we went to the clubhouse. Sliding on the barstool I decided that this was more like it. Looking the part, but not actually playing the part. The old guy sitting next to me looked me over and bought me a drink. He welcomed me to the club and hoped that I would enjoy playing tennis for a long time. Until my husband showed up, that is.

So, when a friend asked me to have a game with her one summer-evening I immediately said yes. After all, I had been there hadn't I? I quickly flicked through a booklet on the rules and thought back what I had seen on TV. It looked fairly easy; you just stood there, and as long the ball got over that net, you are alright.

I dressed appropriately in my still new outfit. Racket under my arm I met up with my friend. When she saw me she started laughing. "What? Why aren't you ready?" I said. "Why aren't you in your tennis gear"? She was wearing jeans an a sweatshirt. "Ehm, I'll show you the tennis court I had in mind ". she said.

Arriving at the local school I began to feel suspicious. Behind the school was a strip of concrete and a net. There were some other people playing, all dressed in jeans and t-shirts, none of them white.

They stopped playing the moment I arrived in my blinding white glory. They parted way for me as if an International Star had arrived. Then they all sat down on the concrete and in complete silence waited for my performance. I threw the ball up in the air, I tried to hit it with my racket. I missed. As I stood staring reflectively at my racket (as Super Stars do, they always blame the racket) I noticed that the price tag was still on. After the 6th attempt for me to hit the ball, the crowd went home, softly mumbling. So did I; by that time it was really dark and I stood out in all that white.

Ah well, perhaps I can use the outfit for the next sport: like Judo.