Match Point (ASOUE)

Chapter One

"You played appallingly," my coach said, never one to sugarcoat his words, "and you reacted even worse. Couldn't even look the girl in the eye. You know, you owe it to these kids to show good sportsmanship. It sets a precedent. And all you scowling like that does is make the newspapers go feral. You're lucky it's your brother in that newsroom, but the international papers aren't so kind."

"I know," I said, just like I knew the scowl on my face matched the one from yesterday that had been broadcast to thousands. The one I turned on that girl Spats, the rookie who made a complete fool out of me.

"You see, you say you know and yet you never change. Your emotions are too clear on your face." Coach Olaf sighs. It's possibly the thirteenth time in the last five minutes. "I'm not being funny when I say you're not getting any younger. You're meant to be in your prime right now and instead, you just played one of the worst matches of your career. You have to expect that new players are going to come out all the time, fresh faced and ready to go- that shouldn't shake you up like it did yesterday. They've got better stamina- there's nothing you can do about that. But you've got the time, the experience. You just have to hone your technique." He paused before adding, "And your face."

"No more emotions, got it," I replied in a deadpan tone. Honestly, I just wanted this little talk to be over. I knew I screwed up. I knew I let that girl walk all over me. But there was no nice way to be told that and I felt myself forced to bite my tongue before I retorted something I didn't actually believe, just to defend whatever reputation I had left. Anything I could've argued about wasn't worth it. Coach had seen my game for himself, had spent the entire evening analysing exactly where I had made crucial mistakes. To say he was wrong would be a lie.

The age thing hurt the most though. I was only twenty for Christ's sake but already it felt like there was a timer above my head, ticking away until I wasn't useful as a player anymore. And after my display yesterday, I couldn't help but feel as though my timer had been cut in half. If a fresh seventeen year old was already taking me down, how much longer did I really have on the court?

Olaf sighed for the fourteenth time. "I'm not saying no emotions. Just act happy, no matter the match's outcome. The less the papers can pick at the better. The match was a one off, okay? We'll just train harder ready for Australia and you'll be back on form."

I nodded along, forcing a small smile to my face. Yes, it was a one off. If I repeated it enough times I might begin to believe it.

A glance at my wristwatch told me my ticket out of this conversation had arrived. "Don't you need to get to Quigley?"

Olaf startled, looking at his own watch. "Of course, I need to chat to him before he goes on. You coming?"

I shook my head. "I'll come to his next match. I'm going to train. Work on my serve."

"And your forehand," Olaf added.

"Yes, and my forehand," I repeated, adding it to my mental list of shortcomings.

Coach turned and began to walk off. After a couple of steps he threw over his shoulder, "And no scowling!"

I took the opportunity to give him an incredulous look behind his back. Christ, if I couldn't frown during my practising, when the cameras weren't even on, then when could I? Still, I grabbed the bucket of tennis balls I had brought down to the court and set myself up on the baseline. Any tennis fan was either watching the Open on TV or attending the event itself, so even the surrounding courts were empty. It was the perfect opportunity to practise- to fail in peace, without judgement for once.

I picked the first ball out. Breathed. Bounced it four times.

When I hit the ball the sound cleaved the silence in half. And when it bounced into the service box, hitting the corner where the service and centre lines converged, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I did it ten more times.