There’s a certain kind of match that doesn’t just end when the last ball is struck.
It lingers. It echoes. It becomes something more than just a result on a drawsheet.
Yesterday, I had one of those matches.
It was against an under-18 player, tall, fast, technically clean.
But more than anything, what struck me was what was happening off the court. His father was there, sitting quietly but intensely, coaching him point by point.
At first, I thought it might distract me, maybe frustrate me. But it didn’t. It touched me.
Probably neither of them noticed the picture they were painting. But from where I stood, it was beautiful.
A father and son.
Both tennis lovers.
One playing, the other guiding.
Each time I hit a winner, I heard a soft "Bravo" from their side.
No bitterness. No resentment. Just acknowledgment. Respect.
And when the match ended; when I won, honestly by a mix of luck and hunger; the father came over.
He shook my hand, looked me in the eye, and offered a sincere congratulations.
That almost never happens in these tournaments. It was, without a doubt, a 100% gentleman’s match.
I didn’t get the chance to tell him what I truly felt. That’s on me. But I want to say it here: Sir, you are a hero.
You're not just coaching your son in tennis. You’re showing him the beauty of competition, the art of effort, and; maybe most importantly; the power of shared struggle between a parent and a child. Standing ovation, truly.
And I’ll tell you something else. I want to be like you.
A Dream and a Doubt
My daughter? She doesn’t seem to have that competitive spirit.
Not yet, at least.
But I’m starting to wonder if maybe it’s not about the competition.
Maybe it’s about something more subtle.
Maybe it’s about creating moments where the sound of fuzzy yellow balls flying across the net becomes a soundtrack to a father-daughter bond.
That’s my dream now.
Not medals. Not trophies.
Just a weekly session.
Just us.
Hitting, laughing, maybe sweating a little.
Maybe talking. Maybe not.
But being together.
Fingers crossed.
The Lesson of the Week
Out of three matches, only one truly mattered. Not because I won. But because I left the court inspired.
By a young man still learning.
By a father still giving.
And by the whisper of a dream I now carry for my own daughter.
May we all learn to love the game like that.
May we all learn to lose like gentlemen.
And may we never stop chasing the deeper reason why we play at all.
See you on the court.
Il Tennista
