SHEEP STATIONS?

So, a few weeks into my new tennis season now, and I’m thoroughly enjoying myself.

I don’t know what it is exactly; whether it’s being back out on the court again at a competitive level after such a long break, or if it’s the fact that I’m actually physically making it through the match, or if it’s the lovely ladies I’m meeting each week. Whatever; I’m having fun.

However, this week, things took quite an interesting turn, and reminded me that some clubs out there are really, really competitive, irrespective of the level they play at.  You’re heard the expression: We’re playing for sheep stations?

I’ll remind you that it’s mid-week ladies in a country district; not friggin’ Wimbledon.  Just in case you were a little confused.

So, this week, we’re playing away from home, and we rock up to this particular club, and it’s a damp, overcast, cold day.

We had a couple of emergencies in our team this week (a couple of our regular gals had some things pop up), so I meet Fiona, one of our emergencies, in the car park, and we wander into the clubrooms to find our opposing team.

After standing there for a few minutes whilst people rushed around everywhere and ignored us, I grab one of the ladies, ask them who the fuck our team is.  Luckily for me, I grab one of the ladies we’re playing against.  She points me to a table, and scurries away.  Nice.  Welcome to the fucken club.

This seems to set the tone for the rest of the morning. 

We’re supposed to start at 10am, and at ten past, our team is standing in the clubrooms, waiting for our hosts to get their shit together.  They’re just standing around flapping their gums, as other teams from other sections are getting their matches under way.

‘WTF?’ I say quietly to Trish, who is our captain for the day.

She just shakes her head.  ‘Excuse me ladies; what’s happening?  Can we go out and have a hit up?’ she asks very politely.

‘We just have to mop the courts first.’ One of them quips, and they reluctantly make their way out onto the courts to mop up. 

‘I get the feeling they don’t really want to play today.’ Trish says quietly.

‘You’re right on the money there, champ.’ I reply with a sigh.  Gonna be one of those days.

Twenty minutes later, out match is finally under way, and all I can think is that we’re already half an hour behind; I’m going to be late for my CWA meeting this afternoon.  Fabulous.

Needless to say, I played like a fucken window licker.  Iris would have done better than me, I’m sure (she was a gun in her day).  My team mates were awesome, telling me I’m doing well, and admittedly, there were some flashes of brilliance from days gone by.  However, overall, not one of my best performances.

So Fiona and I are playing, and doing quite well, I must say, when we had a little… incident.

You see, Fiona miss-hit a ball, and it went flying.  It was heading for the back fence on the full, however the lady at the other end couldn’t get outta the way in time, and blocked it with her racquet.  The ball just bounced off her racquet and a few feet in front of her; our point.

I turned to Fiona; ‘I think we were a bit lucky there, mate,’ I smiled as I walked back to receive the next serve.

‘Yeah!’ she laughed.  ‘That was flyin’!’

As I turned around, the oppositions number two player (who I was playing against all day), said ‘So, what happens with that?’

‘I’m sorry?’ I asked, a little confused.

‘What happens with that?  The ball was clearly going out, but she couldn’t get out of the way… what happens there?’

I look at Fiona, who gave me a ‘what the fuck?’ look, and I said ‘Well, she hit it on the full… it’s our point…’  What the fuck was she trying to say?  Was I heading down the wrong path?  Was I not understanding?  WTF?

‘I know she hit it on the full,’ she snapped a little impatiently, which succeeded in greatly pissing me off.  ‘but the ball was clearly going out.  She just couldn’t get out of the way in time.’

Bad fucken luck, I thought.  ‘She made contact with the ball before it bounced love.  I’m sorry… it’s… it’s our point…’ I shrugged.  Fiona’s still looking at me with a WTF expression on her face.  She couldn’t believe it either.

Fucken great.  This is about to get interesting, I thought as their number three lady (the one that hit the ball on the full) wandered up to the net to join the conversation.  ‘I hit the ball on the full, love.  It’s their point.’ She explained, pointing in our general direction.  ‘It’s just one of those things.’ She shrugged.

‘Yes, but you were clearly trying to get out of the way…’ number two insisted.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Number three said, a little more firmly.  ‘Their point,’ and with that, she turned to walk back to the baseline and take her next serve.

Number two absolutely cracked the shits, stomped over to her position on the next, and proceeded to slam any net-court shot she could at me for the rest of the fucken morning.  

Yep; she handled that well.  Didn’t help the situation when I kept getting her net-court slams back, either. Ha.

On the change of ends, I said to Fiona: ‘Seems like things suddenly got just a little serious to you?’

‘Fuck yeah.’

Final set of the day, number two still has the shits on, and it’s starting to spit rain.  Fucken great.  I ain’t playin’ in the rain, so we’ll see how long this shit lasts.

I return a ball to their number four lady, who has a reputation for… let’s say… not quite calling the ball true, if you know what I mean, and she calls it out.

Here we fucken go.  I’ve copped a few odd calls from her already this set, and I’ve just let them go, but this one was clearly in.  The ball landed about six inches inside the corner of the court.  Fucken ‘out’ my arse, I thought.  I’ve had enough of your ill-tempered, ungracious behaviour; fucken game on.

My gorgeous partner Sherry didn’t hear number four’s call, and turned to me; ‘That’s my Lee!’ she smiled, and bounced off to take the next serve.  Sherry is just gorgeous.  Young, fit, healthy and gives everything a red hot go.  I love her.  However, she was about to see the bad side of me over this line call.

I wandered up to the net to take my position, and waited to see what they called the score as.  Then I would argue the line call.

Now, I’m not one for arguing line calls.  If the ball’s at your end, and you call it out; so fucken be it.  If it’s up my end, and I’m not sure, I’ll fucken discuss it, call it in, ‘play two’ or move the fuck on.  Whatever.  I believe the universe will sort it out if it’s a miss-call.  I have faith.

However, the universe was telling me to dig the fucken boots in on this one.

Number two, who still had the shits on from the last set, walked up to her partner and said: ‘The ball was in.’

‘No it wasn’t!’ snapped number four.  ‘It was out.’

‘It was well in.  You called it wrong.’ She insisted, and now it was number four’s turn to crack the shits.

‘Fine!’ she snapped, and stomped off to take her next serve.  Number two just shrugged, and made her way to the net.

Fuck me!  A little serious here ladies?  I looked over my shoulder at Sherry; I don’t think she realised what was happening, and I didn’t mention it to her.  She was happy.

So, didn’t need to tackle that one after all, and my reputation of awesomeness is still intact in young Sherry’s eyes! LOL! 

As the game continued, I just wondered if number four made a genuine mistake.  Sometimes people do.  The ball can move so quickly, and if you’re at the wrong angle, you literally don’t see it bounce.  Even if it’s right in front of you, you can actually miss seeing the ball make contact with the ground.  Sounds fucked up, but it’s true.

So, I’m going to assume that she made an honest mistake, and her partner sorted that out.  *rolls eyes*

Thank you universe.

Sadly, I had to fly as soon as we finished the match, because I was seriously late for my meeting.  I love having lunch with the ladies, because you get to know them a little better, and often they’re a lot different to the people you face on court.

Those white tennis lines can bring out a very different side in people sometimes.  Anyone that’s played any sport would understand that.

This match was a clear reminder that it’s not always fun and games.

I’m looking forward to playing this team in the second round, where hopefully by then, I will have gathered whatever fucking skills I have, and sorted them into some semblance of a game, cos the shit I’m rollin’ with at the moment is woeful.

Not that my team mates seem to care, cos at least I’m trying. 

I love my team.  They’re awesome. 

Peace out.