1. The balls were too fluffy.
2. The balls were too heavy
   (light, yellow, white, old, new).
3. It was too hot.
4. It was too cold.
5. I have a cold.
6. I have a headache.
7. It’s too windy.
8. It’s too humid.
9. I can’t play indoors.
10. I can’t play outdoors.
11. I have a blister.
12. i have tennis elbow.
13. The sun was in my eyes.
14. I can’t play when the sun’s not
    shinning.
15. I can’t play at night (under lights).
16. I can’t play early in the morning.
17. I was thirsty.
18. I can’t play on an empty stomach.
19. I’d just eaten.
20. My racquet’s dead.
21. My racquet has a broken string.
22. Slipping grip.
23. I have old shoes.
24. I have new shoes.
25. I can’t play on clay.
26. I can’t play on hard surface.
27. He’s a pusher.
28. He cheats.
29. He accused me of cheating.
30. My partner double faults.
31. My partner talks too much.
32. Partner thinks I’m cute.
33. Teammates are too intense.
34. Teammates are too loose.
35. Too many drunks on the team.
36. Not enough drunks on the team.
37. My opponent is an airhead.
38. I can beat that guy any day
    (but today).
39. I didn’t think we’d play today.
40. I’m tired from yesterday.
41. This tournament is run like
    a circus.
42. I was worried about my
    girlfriend.
43. I can’t play when someone’s
    watching.
44. I can’t play when no one is
    watching.
45. I was watching instead of
    playing.
46. Sweat got in my eyes.
47. I can’t believe he called that
    ball out.
48. The linesman blew it.
49. Tennis is a groggy game.
50. I think the court’s too short.
51. Snuff nerves!

Born male, in 1940 in North Carolina with the “love of sports” gene, son of a a Baptist minister who graduated from “old Wake Forest” ,  I was a Demon Deacon.

“WE” beat  Everett Case and the dominant Wolfpack twice by one point (71-70 and 51-50),  with my Dad and I listening to Ray Reeves on the Atwater Kent radio.  No TV yet.  Dickie Hemric, Lowell “Lefty”Davis, Coach Murray Greason, with Bones as assistant.

Bad news, good news from Raleigh’s News and Disturber:  1. BAD–The N&O has forgotten that WFU is part of the “big four”.  Coverage, current and historical, neglects Winston Salem as part of the state.   2.  GOOD:  Larry Silverberg, a professor of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering was published today (March 3, 2018) with an article entitled MATH REVEALS THE PERFECT FREE THROW.

Malcolm Gladwell concluded Michael Jordan missed baseball “clunkering” and thus couldn’t hit at the major league level.*  Having watched the “ball bounce”  a lot of times, I was pleased with Professor Silverberg’s conclusions.  Some I wrote about on this blog in 2011.  Check blog 13 on GOLF PUTTING AND FREE SHOW SHOOTING.https://littlegreenbookoftennis.com/?s=free+throws

What a week in Atlantic Coast Conference.  Duke vs Carolina tonight  after FSU over Duke, Miami over Carolina, and Georgia Tech over State in three of the most exciting games of the year.  The “new ACC guys” upped the ante this week.

Want to know who is gonna win the final four.?   The ones who make the free throws at the end.   Clunk.

My  eleven year old grandson plays his season finale today for the BOULDER BUFFALOES.  His dad is a sub coach.  The regular coach has three young kids.  One, almost always wears his spiderman suit.  Sometimes to bed,  Coach says.  In a community center with six courts he runs the “side game”.   These are games of little brothers and sisters with their own rules and games.  This kid RUNS the side game.   Our last trip to Boulder included the eleven year old brother’s b-ball game.   Lennox is our other grandson.  He’d just turned two, but was sick.  When our family, en mass, walked in the gym, Spiderman asked abruptly,  “Where’s Lennox?”  My Son commented,  “Lennox can hang.  Spiderman likes him as backup.”   Made me proud.

*CLUNKERING”:  Gladwell say Michael missed those years baseball people put in watching the nuances of the game, or clunkering. (Spin on the ball, pitcher’s mannerisms and “tells”, etc.).         “Shop time, baby!”—Coach Mickey Brown.

 

 

 

While stopping for fuel, a fellow coach made a trip to the Men’s room. Door is locked. Urgency caused a test of the Women’s facility. Aha! No one around, door unlocked,”…I’ll be in and out unnoticed!”
Relieved, next is a peep out the door. Coast is clear!
Then a startled woman appears. With a quick exit, the veteran coach lifts one finger and explains: “Transsexual”

After a round of high handicap golf our group,fed and content to tell the same old stories, was advised by one of our regulars to “…listen to this one!”
A new comer to our group will not be named. Only he was one of four brothers, who were the sons of a physician. The storyteller, the oldest and now middle-aged.
“Two of my brothers wound up at Appalachian State University. One, an 18 year old freshman. Barely enrolled he joined his brother and another freshman who was from the mountains nearby. They knew little about this mild looking youngster and his girl friend who showed them a secluded mountain top scene. Little attention was paid to the fact that there was only one entrance and exit on the summit.
Typical college fun as the sunset began to show off. Suddenly and raucously, a pickup truck appeared with three rednecks straight out of “Deliverance”, as it roared up the mountain, blocking the sole exit.
Things progressively worsened as the newcomers taunted, threatened, cursed and terrorized the young group. No one did anything to cause trouble but trouble didn’t care. As the sky darkened so did the mood.
The booze ran short…so now some fun. The girl repeatedly threatened, one of the boys was actually stabbed in the thigh with a pocket knife.
The first words out of the student brother’s new found male friend went something like this. “Come on fellows this is getting bad. I have a I/2 gallon of Jack Daniels hidden in my truck. Why don’t I just give it to you guys and you back off my friends?” GO GET IT MAN, FAST.
But the brothers wondered for a moment if this would only make things worse. With real concern for the girl.
Until their new found friend came back from his truck, not with whiskey, but with a .30/.30 deer rifle aimed squarely at the hillbilly leader. The game changed. “GET YOUR ASSES OUT OF HERE”spoke the mild teenager.
His friends, with great relief, thinking the horror about over. Not so.
Amazingly the driver alone got in the customized pickup. It had the top sawed off and was actually a “convertible” truck. Or, in his mind, now a weapon that he now floor-boarded straight at the rifleman.
Bad mistake.
Our hero, without flinching, waited and then jumped back to avoid the “missile”, like a matador. Next the mountain yelled as the .30/.30 blew the back of the driver’s head off.
Next, it sought the other two, who now fled toward the woods and the night. One made it. The other, not so, catching a round in mid-back.
As this guy  hobbled himself into the dark, our horrified bewildered brothers wondered “what now?” No question, as new group leader loaded the bunch into the truck and drove straight to the Boone,NC police station.
Late at night now, the shooter/driver/hero now confessed. After describing the roughnecks to the single sheriff on duty, he stated, “…these kids did nothing wrong. I shot them both.”
The huge officer stared straight into the young man’s eyes, saying nothing, expressing no emotion for a long time. Suddenly and with great force, he grabbed the confessor around the waist and picked him roughly off the ground.
“You got those sorry bastards. You got ’em !!! We’ve been chasing those SOB’S for months. And you got em.”
Two twists: 1. It might seem peculiar that with both shot in the back or back of the head, that subject never came up.
Also, interestingly, both of the other two were captured and sent to central prison for long terms. The one with the back wound was partially paralyzed, had to “wear a bag”. He required a lot of special medical attention for his wound, yet the Doctor who provided care for him never told him he was the father of the two student/brothers.

Sports can break your heart and/or your neck. About the time schools consolidated, a football tackling technique called “spearing” became popular. And it was lethal. During this “evolving” time several kids were killed or paralyzed. Spearing was often the villain. Any young football coach should read O. Charles Olsen’s small book called “The Prevention of Football Injuries.” Olsen’s theory is centered on E = 1⁄2 mv2 or Energy = one half mass times velocity squared. Or, the players are faster, stronger, and the hitting is harder.
When schools integrated the smaller kids were eliminated from football. Bigger kids, many African American, weight training programs, and steroids in some instances, produced some dangerous hits.
Much has been written about the “Black athlete.” There is no question in my mind about the talent level of these athletes.
Coming from the South and being a minister’s son there was little question, early on about God. Certainly, in my mind, he was male, white, and looked a whole lot like Santa Claus. Surely too, he was lovable, kind, and simply good “supreme being.”
After watching sports in America the last forty years my guess about God’s nature is more Machiavellian. After watching America make a religion out of sports, while at the same time mistreating the black population so badly, I picture God’s role differently. My guess we’ve put so much emphasis on sport he’s peeved. Think not? Watch where parents are at 11:00 am on Sunday’s if their child is in a soccer match. Hmm? Did God say “I’ll give these fanatics a dilemma!” He then put this glorious athletic talent in many of the Black population, and now he’s “up there” giggling at what America is doing with sports.
Please don’t get me wrong. The Black athletes have paid their dues in practice, injury, and sweat just like anyone. Probably more so.
Integration caused a lot of headaches in the alignment of conferences, etc. Who plays and who you play, is important, and alignment turned things upside down.
I do believe Proposition 48 (the academic guidelines for collegiate eligibility) yielded a lot of good. I wonder about the S.A.T. and fairness, but it is a “hard” number.
My guess is the best barometer for academic success is the athletes’ class rank. With exceptions, most of those who could achieve class rank had enough ability to succeed.
Some can’t spell S.A.T. Some people are aberrant bastards who have no business in higher education. It always irked me to know that the beauty, education, and joy of collegiate sports was often wasted on an “athlete” who had no intention of benefiting from the true value of Sports in Education.

***I wrote the above in 2007 (“Play is where Life is”).

My teams played in 28 national small college tennis tournaments. Most were in the NAIA (The National Association of Intercollegiate Athletics). The first I attended was in 1970. The Coaches Orientation Meeting began very early and I was a little late, thus seated in the last seat of a long row of tables and coaches.
As the tournament guidelines were presented and discussed, another latecomer settled in, right across the table from me. Nice old, rotund fellow. Smoking a cigar. I wondered who this guy coached? Not only that it wasn’t long that I noticed him drifting toward sleep, although the cigar stayed in his mouth. As the meeting grew longer so did the cigar ash, the sound of a low snore emerged from across the table. And then, as if impeccably timed, the jolly man farted,jarring the substantial ash downward to his shirt and tie. Eyes opening caught me staring at him. Then a wink, as being introduced as Mr.Al Duer, Executive Director of the NAIA. He walked to the podium and gave the same speech about the true value of, and outstanding thing about tennis, that he had given every year before–I was told. And the same as every year we qualified and he was CEO.
Mr. Duer lauded tennis for its ability to self officiate its own matches. Honesty no other sport attempted.
Certainly there were officials later on, but at that time we depended on each player to call lines on his side. To hire officials wasn’t affordable. And there were some stellar examples of honesty witnessed down through years. I seem to remember these more vividly as time passes.
None impressed me more than the behavior of Roland Thornqvist. In order to revisit this, go to BLOG 22 (Thornqvist and Sportsmanship). A call against yourself that could cost you the National Championship?
Memory is vague about a pro doubles tournament championship match that was similar. Essentially the question on a crucial point was did the ball touch the shirt of one of the players before sailing out? Those guys never said. I don’t remember their names. I remember Roland. Among other reason, he is the head coach of the Florida Gators Women’s tennis team. Success has followed him. Several National Titles under his belt. Maybe this years highly ranked team too. I witnessed a few. I have overheard this statement several times: “Thornqvist is the best college tennis coach in America.’

Being a North Carolinian and basketball fan, I felt a great pride and respect for Duke’s championship. And, no doubt the circumstances were quite different in the championship game, I couldn’t help thinking about Roland. And Mr. Duer’s speech.

Thus this hypothetical: As the referees replay the tape, over and over, Justice Winslow confides to Coach K,”…Coach, I barely touched the ball. But I did touch it.”

Not much on TV.  Stumbled on TWO JAKES with Jack Nicholson. Made me wonder about college athletics in America: Is it just UNC-CHAPEL HILL?
Or, “…I’m just the leper with the most fingers.” (Jake Gettis) ???

Colonel Ray Springfield, a friend and golfing buddy, told me a personal tale. He and his Wife had their fourth child. She said “enough”. Ray agreed to a vasectomy. A career Marine, he not only knew where this surgery was done, but played golf with one of the surgeons. The day was rainy and Ray was about the eighth potential patient to sit down in the waiting room. About three or four more joined the “first come, first served” (no pun intended) before the nurse appeared at the operation room door and asked “…Okay, who’s first”? Stone silence. No one moved. Ray volunteered.

Upon entry Ray saw his friend was the surgeon on call.  Ray said there were a lot of scared faces out in the waiting room.  Couldn’t resist!  And his Doctor friend was eager to go along.  Ray gave it a minute,  then screamed at the top of his lungs.  Then he cried, begged “STOP, STOP, STOP!!!”  Then THUD! Like someone hitting the floor.

He and the Doctor friend sneaked a peek into waiting room.

Ray said two things were obvious:   “…first, the rain had stopped and sun shone through the windows, and there wasn’t anyone in  the waiting room.”

The Doctor concluded,  “…what the hell, Ray, we can go play golf!”

“FANTOSH”: “When the crap hits the fan.” Recently there has been a lot of discussion about UNC-CHAPEL HILL athletics. I’m not sure everyone is totally up on the issues. Coach Roy William’s situation was brought up in our local golf group’s pre-round gathering. One local geezer concluded: “If he ain’t got em where they can shoot free throws better this year, by God we’ll fire his ass.’
How big a deal are sports in America? As a youngster I remember a local farmer that sports were “…that stuff that comes on TV after the weather.”
It is going to be interesting how sports in American society change in this “rubicon” moment.

PS. Kevin Bumgarner (Madison’s Dad) was amazed the New York reporter found his secluded home in Caldwell county (NC): Mr.Bumgarner asked him,”…have you ever seen so much of nothing”? That reminded me of Wilbur (of Wilbur’s BBQ in Goldsboro,NC): “Our house was so far out in the country it was the last one between the end of the world and the road.”

The 42nd George Whitfield Sports Hall of Fame  and baseball clinic were held in Goldsboro, N.C.  this weekend.  George is a BASEBALL ANGEL and beloved in eastern North Carolina and beyond.  Asked who was the “selection committee”,  George replied,  “…I am.”   He made 22 selections this year.  One rather unique pick was Wilbur’s Barbeque in Goldsboro.   Wilbur and I share a rare willingness in eastern  N.C, as we both admit being anti-repulblican.  George read a letter from Wilbur Friday night that said he had only voted for one republican in his life.  That was when he was on a jury that tried a republican and Wilbur said he voted FOR  convicting him.  This reminded me of a tale from the HOI TIDERS (high tiders), or the people from way down east in N.C.   The story goes that during the post depression days  some locals kidnapped a rare republican’s mule, shaved  his side and painted REPUBLICAN on his  flank.  They then marched the poor mule in the local parade.   Story goes that the mule died a week later.  Asked the cause of death, the vet suspected “…pure shame.”

P.S.  Wilbur said he  “… was from so far out in the woods that the end of the world was between his house and the road”.