by I played in a handicap tournament at the tennis club last weekend (and nearly didn’t because I was still a bit, um, handicapped after the tumble I took in my interclub match). Tennis has never embraced handicapping in the same way that golf has. I think that’s because tennis between players of vastly different standards isn’t much of a game, and giving one player a head start doesn’t magically change that. In golf you’re playing your own game, which isn’t affected (except maybe psychologically) by whatever ridiculous shots Jordan Spieth pulls off if you happen to be playing alongside him. There’s no golfing equivalent of “getting his high kicking serve back” or “combating his heavy topspin”. However, it’s fun to try handicapping in tennis once in a while, and last weekend’s tournament had a certain novelty factor which I enjoyed.
We didn’t use normal tennis scoring; instead we simply played up to 31 points, swapping serves after every five. I played six matches in all:
Singles:
Round 1: started 10 points behind (‒5 to +5), won by 12
Round 2: started 5 points ahead (0 to ‒5), lost by 2.
Mixed doubles:
Round 1: started 5 points ahead (0 to ‒5), won by 8
Round 2: started 5 points ahead (0 to ‒5), won by 11
Semi-final: started 10 points ahead (0 to ‒10), lost by 5.
Men’s doubles:
Round 1: started even, lost by 13.
There are more “levels” in tennis than people think. A better player can easily overcome a ten-point handicap against a weaker player, even in a first-to-31 match. In my first-round singles match I needed to win 36 points out of 61, or 59% of the points. I comfortably managed that, winning 72%. Naturally I was disappointed to lose my second-round match by just two points. My opponent wiped out my head start on a few occasions, but each time I was able to win the next point, most notably at 24-all when I served an ace. He did get his nose in front for the first time at 28-27, but I won the next point and then hit an angled return winner to lead 29-28. At that stage I thought I would do it, but crucially he hit my backhand sideline in the middle of a long rally on the next point, and he always had the upper hand on the last two points.
The men’s singles draw was spiced up somewhat by the presence of a ten-year-old by the name of Angus. He’s at the club with his dad all the time; he can’t get enough of the game. He scored two wins over fully-grown men, one from scratch, the other giving away five points! I’d have played him in the semi-finals, giving him ten points, had I won my second match. One of Angus’s victims (the one who had the head start) was from the UK; he said he’d tell his mates back home that Angus was six foot four with biceps and pecs that you wouldn’t believe.
My mixed doubles partner, who was all of five foot two, was something of a surprise package. She was very consistent and had some unorthodox shots, as I do sometimes. In our second match we seemingly had a zillion match points up our sleeve and needed about half a zillion as our male opponent found some form right at the end. Some way through our semi-final we still had our ten-point buffer, but starting from 0 to ‒10, instead of 5 to ‒5 as my first singles opponent did against me, made it a longer match. I knew they had a long time to catch us up which they jolly well did. It was a good match all the same. Starting the men’s doubles at scratch was a bit of a joke; they were strong doubles players and we’d both have been amazed if we’d got within cooee.
Britain’s recent Davis Cup triumph was their first in almost 80 years. It was rightly celebrated, but it shouldn’t disguise the fact that Britain has a dearth of top tennis players: just two men and two women inside the world’s top 100. Having lived in France (where they currently have ten men and three women in the world’s top 100), it’s easy to see why. In France, it’s seen as a game for everyone; in the UK it’s seen as a game for toffs. Unless the image of tennis changes radically in Britain, Wimbledon and Davis Cup wins are likely to remain once-in-a-lifetime events.
