Recapturing the Locker Room Culture

Dear Reader,

Below is a letter I sent to my league teammates at the end of our tennis league season along with the photo you see.  We made it to the district championships that lasted 3 days and the photos correspond to the 6 of us that played each successive day, from top to bottom.  Be aware it is crass and contains cursing so if you want to abandon ship now, I shall think no less of you.  I have also written footnotes at the end of the letter to better illuminate who these people are and help with the “inside” jokes.

A tennis league is similar to any Bowling, hockey, or softball beer league.  You have a goup of dudes who played sports their whole lives and want to continue to have a competitive outlet and sense of camaraderie (outside of work) that can only be found amongst other athletes.  Guys tease each other mercilessly in these situations, but it comes from a place of goodwill and trust that is established over time.  Otherwise, it doesn’t work. This letter was written in that spirit.

For the record, we went 0-3 in Districts, winning only 2 out of 9 matches.

An Open Letter to My 8.5 Districts Teammates

“Gentlemen, it was an honor getting my ass kicked with you in 8.5 Combo Districts.  As you know, this was my maiden voyage down the districts road and I was forewarned that an ass kicking was likely, regardless of my optimism and enthusiasm.  I personally took two ass kickings, but strangely enough I managed to win a match with my 60 year old gay lover, CoCo.

You can never predict how things might pan out when the season starts. There are just too many unknowns. Nobody, however, could have predicted the season long love affair that developed between a 60 year old Billy Idol wannabe and a wholesome kid from Colorado.   Hell, I hated him the first time I first met him several years ago as a new member of the club.  After 15 minutes of not shutting up, he left my wife and I alone and went his way.  I turned to Nikki and said, “Who the fuck was that douche”?  Incredibly, despite the shaky start to our relationship, we flourished together and went undefeated in match play, leaving every single opponent with a bewildered look on their face, slowly shaking their head and asking, “What the fuck just happened”?  My favorite was the pirate “Z” from the Napa team telling Chris (in his heavy accent), “You are shit, your partner is the 4.5.  All this slicing and dicing bullshit…”  I don’t know if T-Bone and Coco will thrive in the future, but it was one hell of a run.

As for our midget Co-captain, I expected a little bit more from a guy who claims to have played Sampras and Todd Martin.  Perhaps the results were the same then as they were this weekend, I don’t know, he’s never mentioned the scores.   I’ll forever be grateful, though, for his unending reserve of wisdom in regards to tennis.   He’s always analyzing, always thinking, and I will take that with me moving forward.  One of my favorites from him is this:  “You remember that incredible Davis Cup match between Mcenroe and Wilander?  Boy, that was a great match”.  That will always be incredibly useful for me on the court moving forward.  Thank goodness he’ll be the Captain for the next 4.5 league.

In regards to our other Co-Captain, Pedro Seck-A-Leck, I will never forget the wisdom he imparted on us about how to beat a traffic ticket.  Nay, how to “lessen” the financial impact of a ticket.  In a nutshell, the key is to show up and argue just long enough until the exasperated judge says, “Will you shut up if I reduce the ticket amount”?  I think we can all relate to the judge. I’m glad I learned this on the ride down to districts Sunday morning so the trip wasn’t a complete waste of time.   The time spent talking about the tickets was longer than the amount of time we were on the court together.  It’s unofficial, but we think we may have set a districts record for shortest time playing.  I’m sure Pedro will research that and lay it all out for us in the upcoming weeks.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the fantastic matches I played with the Massage Therapist, Mike Wilson, and rabid ABBA fan Alan Johnson.  Mike and I managed to get to a third set tiebreaker before succumbing to the precision volleys of Yoshi.  Despite the loss, I can take solace in the fact that Mike offered Coco and I one free couples massage valid for one year.  As for Alan, my greatest regret for the season is that we didn’t make one tightly strung Frenchman cry during the Silverado match.  Not every wish comes true, I guess.  We were so close.

I never got to play with Fernando, but I can thank him for being the inspiration behind the never-ending ABBA loop that plays in my head every second he’s around.  Check out his song, “Fernando”, you’ll dig it.   Lance, thank you for being the multi-talented utility player for the team.  You can do it all.  I’ll never forget the day you played a home match and then immediately came over and cut my grass.  It’s pure creative genius that you would think to play in cargo shorts so you wouldn’t have to change uniforms for your landscaping business.  Although we never played together, I’ll always have fond memories of playing on the court next to yours and watching John Daly fire forehand rockets mercilessly at your head.  It still brings a smile to my face.

Although I’m sad to see Lewis leaving tennis, I’ll be intently tracking his new career as an ice dancer.    Against all odds, he managed to lose a match while playing with Drew.  Again, we’ll need our statistician, Pedro, to check this out, but we’re pretty sure this has never happened before.  I suppose, Like Andy Roddick, he knew there was no point in continuing to play against the best if he couldn’t win with the best.  Good luck and godspeed, Lewis.

James, I’ll be sad to see you leave as well.  Your loyalty to Rancho Solano tennis is legendary.  I know you had a lot of opportunities to play for other teams over the years, yet you remained steadfast in your commitment to Rancho.   I can’t thank you enough for drinking all of our free beer and never bringing anything in return.  I know your SoCal teammates will love that quality as well.

Finally, I would like to acknowledge our 21 year old illiterate, virgin, Team Captain, Drew.  Your leadership in guiding our team was absolutely instrumental to our success.   Your delegation skills will go down in Rancho history as the greatest ever.  It was truly inspirational watching you shirk your duties until the last minute each week until Pete jumped in and took control of the scheduling and lineups.  I’m sure the entire team will echo my sentiments as I raise my glass in a toast and loudly declare, “Drew, this won’s four yu!!”

In closing I think it should be known that this season has been the most fun I’ve had in league play ever.  I sincerely enjoyed the camaraderie and the tennis.  Enjoy the photos and I hope they bring a smile to your face from time to time.”

The Fellas:

Chris Cole (Coco) – Top photo  (First on left) -  I really didn’t like Chris the first time I met him.  He comes across as somewhat smarmy and overconfident.  It’s not until Nikki and I watched him perform as the lead singer of a working band that I came to understand his personality.  He’s a showman, and he’s good at what he does.  This skinny white dude cranks out jazz standards and old soul music with incredible ease.  He and I got paired up as a doubles team and had early success (we were undefeated when we played with each other).  Very quickly we became known as Coco and T-Bone, the lovebirds.  These things develop organically and you can’t fight them.  The more you fight the worse it becomes, so we went with it.  The "pirate" I reference is a foul natured guy with a pony tail.  Chris is unconventional in the way he plays and it pissed "Z" off.   He was insulting Chris by telling him I was the 4.5 player (This is a combo league that paired up one 4.0 player (me) and one 4.5 player).

Brad Mills (midget) – Bottom photo (First on left) – Brad is a sweetheart of a guy, and short (5’5”). He played junior tennis is Southern California and says he played against some future pros, notably Pete Sampras.  He is full of trivial facts (string tensions of players) and says blatantly obvious things, but we all love him. He sales and manages real estate.

Pete Sekelick (Pedro Sek-A-Lek) – Bottom Photo (Third from right) – Pete is a lawyer and loves to argue.  He’ll argue about anything and everything.   If you say the sky is blue, he’ll do the research and provide the documentation as to why it’s actually “light blue”.  In addition, he provides weekly scouting reports on upcoming opponents, breaking down their records and tendencies.  He's into minutiae. He butts heads with every single team captain in the league.  Go figure.

Mike Wilson (Massage Therapist) – Middle Photo (Third from left) – Mike is a chiropractor so naturally he gets teased as being a “massage therapist” in the same way a dentist gets ribbed about being a “Medical Doctor”.   He is one of the most positive guys you’ll ever meet.

Alan Johnson (Medium Al) – Middle Photo (Third From right) – I originally knew Alan as “Big Al”.  That’s what everybody called him when I was new to the league. He lost a bunch of weight and now he’s affectionately known as “Medium Al”.  In one match we played a doubles team with a French guy.  He was a big hitter, but also a head case.  At one point he missed a ton of consecutive serves and had to be consoled by his partner.  We're confident that if the match had gone longer he would have cried. Alan does some sort of work in the IT field.

Fernando Delmendo (‘Do) – Top Photo (Third from left)- Growing up in our house there was a lot of ABBA being played.  I must have heard “Fernando” a million times so that’s the first thing that pops into my whenever I hear the name.  I was playing with “Big Al” one match and I started singing that song because Fernando was on the court next to us.  We had a good laugh about it and I ended up making a copy of ABBA’s greatest hits for him.  I don’t think Fernando likes it, but as I said, you can’t fight these things.  Fernando is a lawyer for a big corporation.

Lance Wong – Top Photo (First on right) – For some reason Lance wears cargo shorts when he plays tennis.  That’s the kind of thing you would expect to see at the public courts, not at a fitness club.  To his credit, he has stuck with the shorts despite our protests.   I don’t think we have a nickname for him, we just like to make fun of his shorts.  He and Fernando played against a guy in districts who looked quite similar to the golfer, John Daly.  This guy was hitting absolute missiles from the forehand side.  Lance said his only goal for the match was to not move backwards from the net, lest he appear intimidated. He’s the CFO for a building materials company.

Lewis Broschard – Middle Photo (First on left) – Lewis has a great sense of humor and is extremely self deprecating.   Last year he went something like 0-8 in League play because he was paired with a super senior (65+) who didn’t move well.  He didn’t enjoy it.  This year, for districts, he got to play with the best player (Drew), by far, at the club.  He said if he couldn’t win a match with Drew he was selling his rackets and taking up ice dancing.  He promptly lost.  Lewis is a Fire Chief.

James Lee – Bottom Photo (First on right) – James is in the process of moving to Southern California for a new job and this will likely be the last season he plays at our club.  In a desperate attempt to move up to a 4.5 rating, he played with several other 4.0 teams that he thought had more potential.  He did eventually make it to 4.5, but we have to give him crap about it.  In all fairness the talent pool at any given rating ebbs and flows with time so sometimes you have to make a jump to another team.  It’s quite common.

Drew Collin – Bottom Photo (Second from right) – Drew was the team captain for this league in name only.  I’m pretty sure Pete and/or Brad did most of whatever a captain has to do for these leagues.  All the e-mails came from Drew, though, and they all contained gross misspellings and grammatical errors.  As far as we can tell, Drew hasn’t had much success hooking up with women so we like to give it to him a little bit.  He’s a good kid, though.

Drunk Hockey: Bad. Old Friends: Good.

"Dude, did you punch me in the ribs last night?", I asked, only half-jokingly.  I was still in a bit of a beer haze at 8:00 AM Central Time.  I rolled over to get up and found that my right leg hurt quite a bit as well.

"No, but I wish I had some video of you skating, it was sweet!" he said as he let out a laugh.  "Let's go, we're supposed to be over there soon".

Ah, the laugh.  That's the Reid.  Justin Reid. Todd if you piss him off.  Laser if he's skating.  He moved next door when he was 4 and I was 6.  We've been good friends ever since.   He's been in Minnesota for the past 16 years so we haven't seen each other a lot, but in recent years we've picked up the activity.  He came to California last year so it was my turn to go to Minnesota this year.  We deliberately chose January because it figured to be prime hockey time.  We both learned to skate a little over the years but never had the chance to play hockey together.

"Over there" was the pond rink we spent two hours flooding the night before, which caused my drunken state, which led to sore ribs and a mammoth contusion on my right leg.  His buddy Brad recommended we flood it to get rid of the snow and slush on top to make it "smooth" for the next morning (*1).  With that in mind Justin picked me up from the airport and we went straight to the rink. 

When we got to Brad's house we put our winter gear on and went about getting the hose hooked up and down to the rink.   I studied hydraulics in college so I know a little bit about this kind of thing.  Let's see 300 feet to the rink, 4 GPM hose, 3,000 SF of ice....

"Dude, that's gonna take a long fu%$in' time".  (I got a C in the class, that was the best I could muster). 

I was worried about losing skating time so I was a bit exasperated.

"There's a keg in the house, we should be good", he replied.

"Sweet!"  I used his word because it seemed so right. 

 Almost everything in life is "sweet" to the Reid, whereas I see most things as a pain in the ass.  Given any situation, his response will most likely be, "Sweet, let's do it."  I'll tell you 50 reasons why it's not possible.  He'll go solve the problem.  Completely different world views in that sense.

A view of the pond rink looking down from the house.

This is when I had an inkling  this flooding process would be long.  Good thing the keg is nearby!

Fire Captain Reid doing what comes naturally.  This is the corner where my skate fell through.

As it turns out, my calculations were correct and it did take a "really long Fuc%&in' time" to flood the ice (about 2.5 hours), but it was good for the soul.  We talked and laughed as if we were still 10 years old.  I completely forgot about skating. I was catching up with an old friend over a few beers and I didn't give a crap.   I must admit, though, I was a little concerned with the condition of the ice, seeing as how I have some expertise in this area (*2).   It didn't seem like what we were doing was right.

"You wanna go skate at the park rink downtown", he asked.

"Sweet, let's do it!", I said, knowing it would be ugly.  His optimism was already growing on me.

We went.  I fell down often.  My ribs hurt.  My leg hurt.  It was cold.  I went to bed.  I woke up sore. I remember texting Reid at about 2:00 AM, "When you wake up, please bring aspirin".

In the morning we rallied and headed down to the pond rink and nobody was there for our scheduled game.  I get the feeling these pond hockey arrangements are mere guidelines to suggest that there is the possibility a game may be played if people show up.  I'm pretty sure an affirmative reply isn't binding.

We put our skates on anyway and did the best impression of hockey players we could muster. Damned if I'm coming to Minnesota without skating on a pond!  As expected the surface was terrible.  The cracks didn't freeze over, it was bumpy, and my skate fell through up to my boot in one of the corners.  The laser was in good form, though.  He's known as a "straight line" skater with tons of heart and hustle.  Hands need some work.

We lasted about 5 minutes before we packed up and headed over to the park rink where the ice was perfectly manicured.  We managed to find a 3-on-3 game and were promptly schooled by the locals, including a 12 year old kid.  The laser was solid in goal, sans pads.  He managed to make a few glorious runs up the ice, despite the crease in his hockey boot.

"Dude, I can't turn left", he kept telling me.

"Let me see your skate", I said.  He handed it over and there were obvious creases near the ankle.

"You have zero ankle support, that's why you can't turn.  You need new skates".

"Sweet!", he said and vowed to get new skates and practice more than one time a year.

I was a little shocked at my inability to be effective in the game.  After all, I spent several hours breaking down the skating and stick handling of Peter Forsberg, but it didn't seem to translate to the ice.  I guess I'll break down Patrick Kane next time.  He's a more modern player.

"Laser" on the pond rink. 

A miracle photo because the puck immediately rolled and bounced away on the rough surface.

This is my absolute best impression of a hockey player.  This was at the park where the ice was incredible.

A small goal at the park rink.  There was a huge open surface and you can see the boards in the background where the hockey rink is.  The open surface is where I tried to commit suicide by skating.

After a couple days of skating we went indoors and played tennis.  This is the sport we spent hundreds of hours practicing together.   I did it for fun, playing only one tournament in my life (*3).  Justin played through high school.  He had moved away by then so I didn't get to see those matches, but as I understand it, "Todd" was known to appear during these high school matches due to frustration from losing.  "Todd" punched out Justin's car windshield one time after losing a match.  What a dick.

"What happened during those times?", I asked.

"I don't know, it just seemed like I should have been better than I was.  When it didn't happen, Todd came out."

"Todd" never made an appearance on the courts while we were playing.  It was pure fun and a lot of laughing and joking.  Justin's much calmer now and more mature.  Plus, he's a father of two and has to set an example.  He tells me, though, that his 14 year old has the ability to make "Todd" appear.  I guess that's natural.  That's what I hear anyway.

As we were saying our goodbyes at the airport I looked at him and told him that this trip was good for my soul.  Relationships are the only thing that matter.  I think we all come to this realization as we get older.

"Dude, we need to make sure we do this once a year", I said.  "How about you come to California again next year?"

"Sweet, let's do it!"

This is not "Todd".   This is Justin.

Jackson, his 14 year old son.

"Sweet, let's do it"

Lily, Justin's daughter.

(*1) This is my first experience with pond hockey, but I'm pretty sure there is no such thing as "smooth" ice on one of these rinks.   In addition to the uneven snow on top, long cracks in excess of 3/4" in width were clearly visible and the water we flooded it with remained unfrozen the next morning.  How the hell does water not freeze overnight in 20 degree weather?  Now I know why California friend Brian Peck, originally from that area' said, "Good luck with your blades" when I told him I was there.

(*2) When we first moved to California in 1998 I was in the prime of my hockey obsession.  I became a "skate guard" at the Vacaville rink because that meant I could play pick-up hockey for free.  As such, I got to drive the Zamboni at the end of the night so the ice would be ready in the morning.  The instruction I was given in regards to the operation of the Zamboni were quite informal, seeing as how they were given by a 15 year old.  I managed to steer clear of trouble for awhile but eventually got the auger stuck while on the ice and that was the end of my Zamboni driver days.

(*3) At some point I thought I was good enough to play a tournament so I signed up in a local USTA event.   My opponent walked onto the court with boat shoes.  The brown leather kind that were prominent in the 80's.  I'm not exaggerating one tiny bit.  He kicked my ass and that was the last tournament I ever played until I played USTA leagues at age 40.

Old Friends

Although it has been about twenty years since I last played a match, the racket immediately felt right in my hands when I picked it up today.  The swing motion is ingrained in my muscle memory the way any task is when learned at an early age.  I've heard it takes 10,000 hours to perfect a skill and I'm sure I played at least that much tennis from age 10-16.    In the ensuing years I've tried hockey and golf and I've enjoyed the process, but neither have ever felt natural.   My skating stride is choppy and I have virtually no stick handling skills, but I can get around the ice and mix it up a little bit.  My golf swing works and I can keep from embarrassing myself most of the time, but it's manufactured and mechanical.
The tennis swing, however, is pure joy for me because it's natural and organic and because it's inevitably interwoven in my memory with the close friendships I shared at an early age.  I bought two rackets with the hopes of rekindling the magic of those young days.

Early on in my tennis journey I was known as Jimmy Reid,  brother of Justin Reid, son of Jim and Janine Reid.   Justin moved in next door when I was six and his parents were members at the local country club.  Jimmy was Justin's step-brother but he lived in another state so I assumed his role and became Justin's brother at the club.  We quickly became close friends and tagged along while his parents played tennis.  Naturally we picked up the extra rackets and hit balls to kill time and became proficient without supervision or soul sucking coaching.  When I was good enough to have my own racket, my mom bought me a Wilson Pro-Staff graphite stick with the perimeter weighted system and 95CC head.  It was magical to me and I've had a Wilson racket from that day forward.  I've tried other manufacturers but nothing has ever felt the same to me as a Wilson Pro-Staff or its derivative.

After I bought the rackets today I called my good friend Jay to talk to him about it.  Jay and I spent a fair amount of time playing tennis after Justin had moved away.  We were in high school so soccer took up much of my time during the school year, but tennis was still something I enjoyed quite a bit, though not at competitive level.  We had a good laugh about the time he chucked his badminton racket across the gym, high up into the bleachers.  He recalls that I was taunting him mercilessly during our gym class match and that's the reason he launched it.  I don't remember taunting him, but I don't doubt it either.  I'm sure I was a knucklehead about it.  My head was swollen because that semester I was the first student to ever beat Mr. Amato in a match.

The racket skills acquired in tennis transferred well to the ping-pong table as well.  Justin had a table in his basement and when we weren't playing tennis, we were banging ping-pong balls around.  When Justin moved, the table was transferred to my basement and it resided there for several years before making its way to Jay's college house where it lived a glorious outdoor life of hosting beer pong before eventually succumbing to age.  Whenever we get together there is always a ping-pong match and there is always an underlying tension to the proceedings.  We try to act casual, but each one of us badly wants to be the house champion and have bragging rights until the next official match.  A few years back there was some controversy when we all took a cruise vacation and the ship hosted a ping-pong tournament.  Jay appeared to score the final point in our championship match, but the tournament referee (not me) ruled Jay had served out of turn and the score was restored to deuce.  My subsequent victory and first place medal is still under protest.  However, no rackets were thrown overboard.  I handled this one a little bit better.

Justin tells me his daughter is a helluva ping-pong player now.  She only recently discovered it, but apparently has the hand-eye coordination to be very good.  Parents, I can tell you this:  Teach your kids Ping-Pong at an early age, it is an extremely valuable social skill.  At any gathering, Jay, Justin, and I can beat 98% of all players, and it is a good thing to be "the guy" at the party.   In my 40 years I've been beaten one time at a social gathering.  I have compared data with Jay and Justin and they confer with this data as well.

Now that I've got the rackets I'm going to start playing again.  I've been looking for something to keep me in shape, but more importantly, I've been looking for a way to make some social connections since some of my greatest memories revolve around tennis and the people I was with.   I know the friendships will never compare to those early times, but if they are only half as good I will have made a great investment of my time and energy.  I just hope I don't tear my achilles while being run around the court mercilessly by a 70 year old who slices everything.