One spring morning, I woke up to texts from my upstairs neighbor begging me to play tennis. I had been out on the town the night before and was hungover, but in that manic, dehydrated way. I acquiesced to his request, and on our way to the courts, we stopped to get coffees at our neighborhood café. I had suspected there was something of an unrequited frisson developing on his end, which was why he was pressing me to play tennis. He knew I was in a rough patch with someone I had been seeing, and I assume, saw this as an opening.
Tennis interrogates tension in a bodily way without physical contact, and for that reason it's the perfect battleground to wage romance, conflict, or romantic conflict. Courtside tantrums may be penalized, but that does not discourage them from happening. There is a reason that Noah Baumbach's 2005 divorce film, The Squid and the Whale, opens with a family playing doubles. The sport can often bring out the worst in people, and an onscreen game of tennis offers a sly narrative device. How does each character react to winning, losing, competition? The civilized order of the game adds significance to when someone smashes a racket or curses—It's considered unsportsmanlike and there are consequences. Without much effort, it can show a person's capacity for grace. Then, there is the sensual aspect of tennis where when played correctly, there is a rapport between the players, and it can be the physical embodiment of flirtatious banter. This banter can be thrilling, but happens few and far between.
The sport can often bring out the worst in people, and an onscreen game of tennis offers a sly narrative device.
In Witches of Eastwick, Michelle Pfeiffer and Cher play doubles opposite Jack Nicholson and Susan Sarandon. As the eponymous witches, their fight for Nicholson's attention leads to a tennis match where athletic skill devolves into using their powers against each other when the game gets too close. In the 2002 romantic comedy Two Weeks Notice, Sandra Bullock plays Hugh Grant's overworked executive assistant. When her replacement joins them at the country club, a spirited game of doubles pits the two women against each other and leaves Bullock on the floor after being hit with the ball. Competition isn't the only reason tennis appears onscreen, in 1952's Pat and Mike, Katherine Hepburn plays a skilled athlete who gets performance anxiety whenever her fiancé watches her play. She tells Spencer Tracy that the reason he jinxes her is, "I'm in love with him, I guess."
The public courts were busy, but my upstairs neighbor and I got one fairly quick. It was getting closer to noon and the sun left no shadows in the park. I was playing clumsy and loose, as my body could only allow given the circumstances. Facing towards the light, the ball came barreling high over the net, and I (feeling an unusual burst of physical exuberance) jumped to hit it. Despite the hangover, I'd woken up in such a chipper mood that day. Still basking in the glow of a fun night out, dancing and causing trouble, I'd even found a couple of limes I'd stolen from a bar in my handbag. I was naïve to the fact it would take all but one second for the day to turn for the worst.
Facing towards the light, the ball came barreling high over the net, and I (feeling an unusual burst of physical exuberance) jumped to hit it.
Instead of landing steadily on my left foot, my ankle faltered, and I heard the noise no one ever wants to hear in sports—a pop. I crumpled to the ground. As someone who does well in a crisis, I asked my neighbor to hand me my phone. I called the man I had been seeing and asked my neighbor to order an Uber to get me home. My ankle was swelling, and my body was going into shock. After a few minutes I asked again if he'd called a car. What he said I'll never forget—“I got the coffees."
I can only assume that his romantic designs were dissolving because I called the man I'd been dating. My neighbor was realizing that it was all in vain, so now, why would he pay for a car? To litigate this as a battle of the sexes forgoes the glaring fact that I had broken my ankle. As I perilously hopped off the court, I phoned a friend with a car to pick me up instead. I had never understood the phrase "dead weight," but in this case my neighbour was acting as such. The narrative of the day was unfurling at an alarming rate, with me, as the heroine being left out to dry. A simple game of tennis can show someone's true colors. When the doctor looked at my X-rays he gasped, "Even a lay person could see it's broken." I had to have surgery, followed by ten months of physiotherapy. I have two large pins keeping my fibula bone together. The lesson being, be careful who you play with.