The Great Indoors

Today I head back to the tennis courts. Most lovers of the sport await with wild anticipation the arrival of summer and the brief few months of outdoor play. I, on the other hand, welcome the indoor season with glee. Indoors. It's where tennis was meant to be played.

The U.S. Open in New York has been plagued for a couple of days by rain, with intermittent stops and starts that allow for a game or two to be played here and there before everyone is called inside. Hell for the participants, to be sure, but what about people like me? The ones who look forward to the four major tennis tournaments each year, four two-week periods during which I can sit for hours in a total stupor marveling at the sheer athleticism and the mental toughness of the stars. When I can bare witness to the occasional upset that literally makes me weep with empathic joy for the young unknown who just experienced what will probably be the most unforgettable moment of his or her life.

Inevitably (although it usually takes longer than it should) the commentators tire of hearing themselves talk about the weather, and the picture on the screen of rain beating down on the empty courts is replaced by video of some classic match -- usually one I've already seen. But that's okay; even a mediocre classic beats weather watching, and it's particularly fun to see how tennis outfits have evolved over the years. If only the Speedo would go the way of the mens' short shorts of the seventies.

Anyway, I've noticed that the classic matches, the ones people can watch over and over, tend to be played in perfect weather conditions -- no rain, no wind, no blinding sun. Hmm. Almost as if they're being played indoors. Where tennis should be played.

Today, when I head back to the courts, I will not care about the weather conditions. I will not have to worry about the wind or the sun or the uneven and unpredictable surface. No birds, no airplanes, no odd shadows or cloudbursts will add to my misery. It'll be just me, my racquet, the balls, and the person on the other side of the net.

When I spray balls way outside the lines, I will not be able to blame the elements. When my serve toss corkscrews up in an odd path somewhere out of reach, there will be no sudden gust of wind or ray of sun to pin it on. When my timing is completely off, I won't be pointing to some rut or pebble in the exasperating clay. Yep, I'm going to do all those things, make tons of stupid mistakes, and I'm going to have only myself to blame.

Shoot, that's no fun. I'll have to come up with something.