If Castro can do it gracefully, so can I! Today marks my official retirement from tennis and, naturally, this means that the oldmanontour blog settles in its final resting place. I won’t say I’ll never play again, but there are no immediate plans to hit the courts (the last time it took 10 years).
I could cite the obvious reasons - injury, subsequent frustration, the general expense and logistical complications of trying to play competitive old man’s tennis in the UK. I might also mention the shitty calls, the pathetic organisation or even the low key nature of it all. If I were the only drummer to leave Spinal Tap without dying – I would sum it up simply as ‘musical differences’.
But ultimately it’s a bit like splitting up with a girlfriend you’ve been knocking around with for a few years. You’ll miss the early magic, the companionship, the wonderful trips but after a while the arguments, nagging and the requirement to hold in your farts at the dinner table drag you down. Even thrashing the mattress isn’t what it used to be.
If you’ve followed the blog thanks very much for doing so. I’ve had a lot of fun with my full time experiment and would encourage everyone to give it a try – in whatever sport or activity grips your shit. Although, because of injury, I didn’t quite fully explore my potential I look back with no regrets and have a good idea where I stand in the scheme of things (not that high, but high enough to get a free tracksuit I suppose!). If any of you have any questions about the whole project or would like to email me you can contact me through my profile.
But wait…..you’ll notice my profile is now different. The tennis may be over, but you didn’t think I would return back to the hell that is work with my tail between my legs did you? The second depression has arrived just in time to force me to evade work for a little while longer. Now it’s time to get to work on a few running goals I have. You can follow my progress at www.cunningrunt.blogspot.com.
Hope to see you there.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Days 2 & 3
There was a recent Simpsons episode where Homer attended a rock school run by The Rolling Stones. On conclusion of the week he was told he would be participating in their concert, and so broadcast the fact. When the concert came round he found out he was only supposed to introduce the band and not play his instrument. I have an idea how he felt (alright I don’t - he’s only a cartoon character) as I didn’t get to play again in the event again until the (partially dead) doubles rubber on the final day. Saving me for the doubles is like having Stephen Hawking run the final leg of the 4 * 100m at the Olympics!
Don’t get me wrong, my play on the first day hardly deserved anything else, but we are not concerned with the subject of justice here, more of personal viewpoint.
I’ve never been a good spectator. I very rarely pay to see professionals perform unless they are on horseback carrying my cash or the sporting event is a thinly veiled alibi for an all day drinking session – preferably both. In fact, the first time I called an adult a wanker was as a substituted 13 year old on the sideline during a Godspa Youth football match in 1986. Despite this the number one singles on the final day was a high quality affair with all the associated swings and roundabouts associated with good competitive sport.
Overall the event played out very much like the history of the British Isles. In the over 35s Scotland had their Bannockburn, in the mens 45s the Welsh their Bryn Glas. But overall, the greater depth of England swung the balance in the end, with the Irish inevitably trampled underfoot.
Every veteran event I play I’m enormously impressed by the older age groups. Not that they are better than the younger age groups but the level of play is amazing – particularly considering that some of them probably have to be airlifted out of bed in the morning. This is not meant as an insult, more of a reflection on how I have found at just 36 years of age that, although the muscles and lungs may be well trained, the tendons and joints are less inclined to co-operate.
Don’t get me wrong, my play on the first day hardly deserved anything else, but we are not concerned with the subject of justice here, more of personal viewpoint.
I’ve never been a good spectator. I very rarely pay to see professionals perform unless they are on horseback carrying my cash or the sporting event is a thinly veiled alibi for an all day drinking session – preferably both. In fact, the first time I called an adult a wanker was as a substituted 13 year old on the sideline during a Godspa Youth football match in 1986. Despite this the number one singles on the final day was a high quality affair with all the associated swings and roundabouts associated with good competitive sport.
Overall the event played out very much like the history of the British Isles. In the over 35s Scotland had their Bannockburn, in the mens 45s the Welsh their Bryn Glas. But overall, the greater depth of England swung the balance in the end, with the Irish inevitably trampled underfoot.
Every veteran event I play I’m enormously impressed by the older age groups. Not that they are better than the younger age groups but the level of play is amazing – particularly considering that some of them probably have to be airlifted out of bed in the morning. This is not meant as an insult, more of a reflection on how I have found at just 36 years of age that, although the muscles and lungs may be well trained, the tendons and joints are less inclined to co-operate.
Saturday, 2 May 2009
Day 1 vs Ireland
A friend asked me the other day whether you got many groupies at these events! Now, he could have been referring to debris amongst your nose hairs but I suspect he meant of the female, gagging kind. It's difficult to describe to non-tennis players how low-key these events tend to be. It's essential to go into these events with relatively low expectations, so perhaps it was naive of me to think that perhaps there may be umpires and we wouldn't have to rely on our own cataract-infested eyeballs to call the lines. There aren't of course and the only real evidence that there is a team event going on is a selection of hideous tracksuits (of which the consensus is that ours are the worst).
The venue itself is a relative rarity in British terms, a bespoke and permanent tennis facility with 7 indoor courts. Quite impressive too (again, working from the low expectations angle!). There are 3 age groups here for each of the countries and for each sex. Our mens 35 team alternates the use of the court with the ladies team, so 6 matches take place concurrently on the one court - 2 singles and 1 doubles for each tie.
Unfortunately the matches are a 10-pt tiebreak in lieu of a full 3rd set. What seemed initially, to be a ludicrous short cut is appearing to be astonishing presience as the day can really drag on. Particularly so, as chairs are banned from the viewing gallery - no doubt by order of the same people who demand 'may contain nuts' warnings on packets of nuts and who are already wearing their swine-flu respirators to go to Tescos. Not to sound like a crippled old fart but standing all day is knackering, so much so that the cod liver oil salesman has just traded in for a Bentley.
As for my own part in affairs, I played number one singles and was utterly abysmal. In new conditions your timing can take a while to arrive but it's unreasonable to expect to still be shanking your shots late in the second set. In the end I capitulated 4 & 3 and I'm ashamed to say that is actually flattering to me. A shocking effort, although fortunately my team mates had a better time of it and we beat Ireland 2-1 overall.
Next up is Wales, who lost to Scotland today.
The venue itself is a relative rarity in British terms, a bespoke and permanent tennis facility with 7 indoor courts. Quite impressive too (again, working from the low expectations angle!). There are 3 age groups here for each of the countries and for each sex. Our mens 35 team alternates the use of the court with the ladies team, so 6 matches take place concurrently on the one court - 2 singles and 1 doubles for each tie.
Unfortunately the matches are a 10-pt tiebreak in lieu of a full 3rd set. What seemed initially, to be a ludicrous short cut is appearing to be astonishing presience as the day can really drag on. Particularly so, as chairs are banned from the viewing gallery - no doubt by order of the same people who demand 'may contain nuts' warnings on packets of nuts and who are already wearing their swine-flu respirators to go to Tescos. Not to sound like a crippled old fart but standing all day is knackering, so much so that the cod liver oil salesman has just traded in for a Bentley.
As for my own part in affairs, I played number one singles and was utterly abysmal. In new conditions your timing can take a while to arrive but it's unreasonable to expect to still be shanking your shots late in the second set. In the end I capitulated 4 & 3 and I'm ashamed to say that is actually flattering to me. A shocking effort, although fortunately my team mates had a better time of it and we beat Ireland 2-1 overall.
Next up is Wales, who lost to Scotland today.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
"...And On The Seventh Day..."
It’s no wonder the old man upstairs took the sunday off – he must have been knackered after the week he’d just had. I doubt whether he was quite as sore as I was yesterday though.
The first port of call was Hyde Park in London for the Serpentine 'Last Friday of the Month 5k'. Although limited to 200 runners the standard in these races is usually very high. Thus it proved as I only managed 10th but far exceeded my expectations in running 16:44 (5:23 mile pace). I was delighted with that and even more pleased that the shocked old lady out with her daughter for a pleasant stroll managed to resist an imminent heart attack as 200 people charged past.
The account of this would not be complete without mentioning that it now costs over £26 to travel off-peak to London on the train. The insult was crowned by their unmitigated gall in charging me 30p for a shit at Kings Cross station. Being the helpful chap I am I suggest they put that money to work, distributing it as follows: 10p of it in the provision of toilet paper, 5p towards the cost of a lock on the door, 3p to a hanging hook on the door and 4p for putty to block the peep holes in the cubicle wall. The remainder can be used for research into a urine seat puddle prevention system. Maybe they could call it the piss-away.
An England team practice was scheduled for sunday afternoon, rather optimistically for 4 hours (but accurately as it turned out). Unfortunately the 3rd member of the team was unable to attend so the numbers were made up by some good youngsters – by which I mean players under the age of 30. I ended up playing 3 sets of singles and 2 sets of doubles. I was timing the ball pretty well most of the time considering and am now set for next weekend.
A quick tally up of training over the friday to sunday period shows 26 miles of running, ½ a mile of swimming and over 5 hours of tennis. Yesterday consisted of 1 hour of walking and 23 hours of larding about. This was appealing at first, but by the end of the day I was bouncing off the walls through lack of exercise.
The first port of call was Hyde Park in London for the Serpentine 'Last Friday of the Month 5k'. Although limited to 200 runners the standard in these races is usually very high. Thus it proved as I only managed 10th but far exceeded my expectations in running 16:44 (5:23 mile pace). I was delighted with that and even more pleased that the shocked old lady out with her daughter for a pleasant stroll managed to resist an imminent heart attack as 200 people charged past.
The account of this would not be complete without mentioning that it now costs over £26 to travel off-peak to London on the train. The insult was crowned by their unmitigated gall in charging me 30p for a shit at Kings Cross station. Being the helpful chap I am I suggest they put that money to work, distributing it as follows: 10p of it in the provision of toilet paper, 5p towards the cost of a lock on the door, 3p to a hanging hook on the door and 4p for putty to block the peep holes in the cubicle wall. The remainder can be used for research into a urine seat puddle prevention system. Maybe they could call it the piss-away.
An England team practice was scheduled for sunday afternoon, rather optimistically for 4 hours (but accurately as it turned out). Unfortunately the 3rd member of the team was unable to attend so the numbers were made up by some good youngsters – by which I mean players under the age of 30. I ended up playing 3 sets of singles and 2 sets of doubles. I was timing the ball pretty well most of the time considering and am now set for next weekend.
A quick tally up of training over the friday to sunday period shows 26 miles of running, ½ a mile of swimming and over 5 hours of tennis. Yesterday consisted of 1 hour of walking and 23 hours of larding about. This was appealing at first, but by the end of the day I was bouncing off the walls through lack of exercise.
Thursday, 23 April 2009
D-Day Minus 9
The first order of business this week was some intense one on one with the ball machine, as I've been netting forehands recently and hitting my backhands wide - not an encouraging combination if your aspiration is actually to win. I find the ball machine is the best method of ironing out any technical glitches in your strokes as you are not at the mercy of the errant feeds of others. Anyway, consider the strokes ironed and pressed.
I also hit some serves today - not the sort of serves which would have your fillings out if you were returning but they were respectable enough. No elbow pain either! Not a moment too soon as well as there is a team practice on sunday.
In my other life I have a 5k race tomorrow in Hyde Park in London. Given some good recent workouts and given the fact I now weight less than 11 stone (154 lbs) in the mornings I will hopefully be giving 17:30 a good kicking.
Having a spare moment or so between workouts I pottered down to the local auction house (you don't stride purposefully or even walk round one of these places, you potter). And bloody hell, did they have some shit for sale. It's amazing what people will buy in the heat of an auction - particularly when the bidding starts at £2. Perhaps the surprise doesn't really lie in peoples poor judgement under pressure but the fact that, until very recently, a pair of piss-coloured curtains and a dented coal scuttle shaped like a boot actually took pride of place in somebody's house.
It reminds me of my first auction experience as a 9 year old. As the bidding opened at 15p for a pottery cat I jumped up and shouted £1.23 at the top of my voice. At the time I felt proud of myself for gazumping all the slow adults - with the passage of time I came to realise it would have been mine for 20p and I could have spent the rest on sweets. I came away better than Nathan however, who bought his mother a collection of hand bags for 40p - the look of utter bewilderment on her face when he got home has stuck with me ever since.
I also hit some serves today - not the sort of serves which would have your fillings out if you were returning but they were respectable enough. No elbow pain either! Not a moment too soon as well as there is a team practice on sunday.
In my other life I have a 5k race tomorrow in Hyde Park in London. Given some good recent workouts and given the fact I now weight less than 11 stone (154 lbs) in the mornings I will hopefully be giving 17:30 a good kicking.
Having a spare moment or so between workouts I pottered down to the local auction house (you don't stride purposefully or even walk round one of these places, you potter). And bloody hell, did they have some shit for sale. It's amazing what people will buy in the heat of an auction - particularly when the bidding starts at £2. Perhaps the surprise doesn't really lie in peoples poor judgement under pressure but the fact that, until very recently, a pair of piss-coloured curtains and a dented coal scuttle shaped like a boot actually took pride of place in somebody's house.
It reminds me of my first auction experience as a 9 year old. As the bidding opened at 15p for a pottery cat I jumped up and shouted £1.23 at the top of my voice. At the time I felt proud of myself for gazumping all the slow adults - with the passage of time I came to realise it would have been mine for 20p and I could have spent the rest on sweets. I came away better than Nathan however, who bought his mother a collection of hand bags for 40p - the look of utter bewilderment on her face when he got home has stuck with me ever since.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
"We Have Tracksuit!"
So, what do you think? This is likely to be the material summit of my on tour experience, so I hope you like it. I'm absurdly pleased to get it - not so much for it's aesthetic brilliance (okay, definitely not for that), but moreso because I feel it's clothing earned the hard way. I haven't felt such a sense of achievement from a piece of clothing since completing the last stitch of my self-sewn hessian-sack underpants and wearing them covertly to the local police station.
Despite this it seems highly unlikely I'll be wearing it in public with the exception of the Four Nations Championships themselves. Perhaps in the 1970's I could have gone for a run wearing it humming the (pre-release) Rocky theme tune and I'd have the locals high fiving me, patting me on the arse and wishing me good luck as I ran up the steps. Things are different these days of course and wearing it in public would just invite flung kebab leftovers and shouts of "you fuckin' twat" from the local peasantry.
It also serves as a timely reminder that we are just 13 days away and my time will be best spent on the tennis court and not on the internet. My timing is slowly coming back but from now on every day is crucial.
Not wanting to gush too much at the sight of a tracksuit, I am glad of their issuance as I now have a physical momento of the whole experience. I can just imagine in 50 years time sitting in the retirement home sitting back and declaring "I may have just pissed myself again but I do believe that's an England tracksuit in my wardrobe."
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Warwick Aquathlon
I'd better not delay posting for much longer lest you think I am still floating face down in a piss-filled council pool somewhere in the West Midlands.
Having approached the Aquathlon in a fairly relaxed manner I found myself scrambling for some triathlon shorts, talcum powder and elastic laces on race morning. I failed to find the shorts but came up trumps with the others. The net effect being a relatively swift transition followed by a humiliating run round the public park in swimming trunks and a t-shirt.
The race consisted of a 400m swim, transition and a 2 mile run. As the swim took place in the pool competitors were assigned staggered start times so there were a maximum of two people per lane at any one time. Unfortunately the guy that followed me kept having to swim around me because I was so damn slow. Swimming isn't my thing as I'm a novice doing anything in water except preventing death. However my swim time was so slow as to be plain embarrassing. I now believe I show skill in the pool equivalent to someone playing tennis with a badminton racket.
I'm pleased to say that the run was an entirely different matter. As the blubbery sea lions waddled round the park the drowning greyhound picked them off with relative ease. I did manage to pick up the award for fastest run of the day and was greatly relieved there was no category for wankest swim. However, it being a game of two halves as they say, my overall position was pretty poor. Enjoyable stuff though. The results are here, with the transition time split between the swim and run:
http://www.covtri.co.uk/index.php?page=19&cat=MS
Tennis training is progressing well, balls are now going in with consistent regularity - like any good brothel. There are only about 3 weeks to go before the commencement of the Four Nations Championships and I'll be ready. The new Over 35 World rankings have been issued and I am at my highest rank of 35. Good job to as there is a precipitous drop coming if I don't defend points in the next 3 months.
Having approached the Aquathlon in a fairly relaxed manner I found myself scrambling for some triathlon shorts, talcum powder and elastic laces on race morning. I failed to find the shorts but came up trumps with the others. The net effect being a relatively swift transition followed by a humiliating run round the public park in swimming trunks and a t-shirt.
The race consisted of a 400m swim, transition and a 2 mile run. As the swim took place in the pool competitors were assigned staggered start times so there were a maximum of two people per lane at any one time. Unfortunately the guy that followed me kept having to swim around me because I was so damn slow. Swimming isn't my thing as I'm a novice doing anything in water except preventing death. However my swim time was so slow as to be plain embarrassing. I now believe I show skill in the pool equivalent to someone playing tennis with a badminton racket.
I'm pleased to say that the run was an entirely different matter. As the blubbery sea lions waddled round the park the drowning greyhound picked them off with relative ease. I did manage to pick up the award for fastest run of the day and was greatly relieved there was no category for wankest swim. However, it being a game of two halves as they say, my overall position was pretty poor. Enjoyable stuff though. The results are here, with the transition time split between the swim and run:
http://www.covtri.co.uk/index.php?page=19&cat=MS
Tennis training is progressing well, balls are now going in with consistent regularity - like any good brothel. There are only about 3 weeks to go before the commencement of the Four Nations Championships and I'll be ready. The new Over 35 World rankings have been issued and I am at my highest rank of 35. Good job to as there is a precipitous drop coming if I don't defend points in the next 3 months.
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