I just got back from a weekend Rodeo tournament hosted at a club in Monza.
Not quite elegant and distant enough from home to feel like I was on a tennis pilgrimage.
Let’s call it a "fat country club", with fluorescent lights, a faded charm, and good people doing their best.
I came back with a win and a loss. And a lot to think about.
Not My Best Mental Game
Honestly, my head wasn’t in it, neither match.
The win came easy, too easy, like it wasn’t mine to earn but just waiting for me to show up.
The loss, on the other hand, was like watching a familiar movie in slow motion: I couldn’t find my rhythm, I couldn’t handle the spinned balls well enough to lead the rallies, and I wasn’t moving fast enough to compensate.
It felt like I was always one beat behind the music.
What stings most is the contrast with a match two weeks ago, against tougher players, where boldness had made all the difference.
I was fearless back then, even playful in my aggressiveness.
This time? Not hungry enough. Not bold enough. The fire was dimmed.
But I don’t want to just walk away with a shrug.
The Takeaways: Three Pillars
If I had to put my finger on the lesson, it’s this: I’ve identified three pillars I need to work on. Three keys that, when unlocked, can change everything:
- Fitness – Not just the absence of pain, but the presence of sharpness. Legs ready to sprint, lungs that don't burn, a back that bends and springs back like it used to. I want to feel light again.
- Spinned Balls – Those bouncing topspin forehands that climb into your shoulder or dip at your feet… I need to get cozy with them, not flinchy. Learn to handle them with ease, return them with authority.
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Boldness – The mental pillar. The decision to play with the point instead of trying to survive it. That edge, that feeling of I belong here, even when I'm losing.
Especially then.
The "Tennis Experience" – My Real Fuel
There’s something I want to say that I keep coming back to: I play for the experience.
I don’t chase trophies.
What I crave is the Tennis Experience, the beauty of a well-kept court under the trees, a clean baseline beneath my shoes, the smell of fresh balls, and matches played at human hours (not 7 AM in the cold or 10 PM under harsh lights).
The harmony of a good setting, a fair challenge, and the peace that comes when the ball is all that matters.
When that experience is off, when the environment feels rushed, harsh, or uninspired, I feel it in my game.
It’s like my soul resists. I start dragging my feet, both literally and mentally.
And yet, I’m beginning to understand that this sensitivity, while deeply human, can’t become an excuse.
If I truly want to grow, I need to learn to anchor my focus in the result, even when the atmosphere isn't ideal.
The beauty of the game won’t always be served to me on a silver platter. Sometimes, the court is dry, the light is bad, the vibe is flat—and still, I have to show up, stay locked in, and find a way to compete.
Because part of this journey is learning to create my own rhythm, even when the music outside is out of tune.
Closing Thought
This rodeo tournament was a checkpoint. Another dot on the Road 22 map.
I didn’t shine. But I showed up.
And I leave with clearer eyes: Fitness. Spinned balls. Boldness. That’s the work.
But also: I’ll never forget that what drives me isn’t just improvement. It’s the joy of tennis as an experience.
That feeling of being exactly where I’m meant to be, racket in hand, heart awake, chasing not just a dream, but a beautiful way of living.
See you on the court,
— Il Tennista
