A Few Words

The wooden racket was marked with multiple dings and scratches. The green stripe running up the handle had faded and the tape was worn with near daily use. The young boy could run for hours, and it was a good thing because the wall never lost. His local park had installed a giant wooden hitting wall along one fence and this made it possible to practice when no one else wanted to play. Little by little he hit the ball harder and more true and gradually his shots landed just above the line that marked where the net would have been.

This solo practice paid dividends because others were more willing to play when they knew that they would have a game instead of teaching a little kid how to hit the ball. Few people noticed the boy as they were focused on their own games. It didn't help that he was small, his hair unkempt, and his shoes looked as worn and used as the old wooden racket. But as he improved he found the racket's sweet spot and he could make the tennis ball jump from the strings as well as anyone else on the courts.

Soon he was invited to join in games of doubles and received friendly challenges against new opponents. He stayed in the games with a solid backhand and a devastating forehand. But he had never figured out the serve. He was lucky to get a first serve in and the gently swats to land in the second serve wouldn't have harmed a fly. He practiced but the harder he hit and the higher he tossed the ball the worse his serve became. But dropping softies over the net set him up for short and unsuccessful games.

Then one day an old man, probably in his 40s, asked if anyone had ever worked with him on his serve. Clearly the man already knew the answer and asked a question instead of stating the obvious and thus alienating the child. Shaking his head, he replied, "No." "Would you like two quick tips." Immediately his eyes widened with excitement and they glistened with eager anticipation. "Yes," he almost shouted, startling the helpful stranger.

"I know two tricks to fix your serve. When I practice, I take a tennis racket and I set it on the ground out in front me. My toss is right, when the ball lands in the middle of the racket head. Once I've figured that out, I stand exactly like you, except I don't bring my racket forward until I feel the racket head hit my back." With those few words the man returned to his game.

He only had to practice a few minutes and his serve transformed. He took the ball and tossed it slightly in front of him, and as he felt the racket touch his back, he whipped the head forward. He never saw the ball land, but he has used that same service for over 40 years.