Keep climbing

 

Second half of the season has been rewarding to say the least. Missed the first outdoor tournament at Côte-De-Liesse Tennis Club in June, but was ready for the Valois tournament.

 

Bad thing about these two tourneys was the lack of players; both events gathered only four players on each draw. Phil Chalabi had won at CDL very convincingly and was a real threat when I saw that I had landed on his side of the draw. Phil and I had been playing a few practice matches over the previous weeks and we always had long battles. We split sets on a couple of occasions, but was usually Phil that came with the upper hand. To give you an idea of the intensity of our games, on one occasion on  a service game, it took me 23 minutes to get that game, saved 17 break points. 1.5 hours for just a set. Just pure and simple street fight.

 

 

The day of our match at the beautiful Valois Tennis Club was extremely hot and humid. Just by standing under the shadow of the main galleria, you could feel drops of perspiration running thru your forehead.

We started our match blowing shot after shot to each other. I was the one charging to the net, Phil was the one retrieving and counterpunching. No quarrel. Each rally was an exchange of 10-15 shots at least. Each one was safe on his serve. Dictating the points until someone would be able to draw blood. I was the first. Got a break at 4-all to get ahead, 5-4 and my serve. I was close… really close. At 40-30 I served to his forehand, he almost lost foot there, jerked him around the court and charged the net. First volley with my forehand to his backhand. Phil chose for a lob to my left side, but it felt short and I was in for a backhand volley winner. Couldn’t believe the ball went out by an inch or two. I stumbled and Phil smelled it and went for it. Back on his break. We kept running and chasing every ball until we got to the tie-break. Liked my chances there. Had been serving well all morning. But Phil had a plan on his own and made a fantastic return game that left me empty handed. I was still hooked on my missed chance earlier… Second set only needed an early break when I was still groggy from the blow. Could not get it back; and after 2.5 hours final score was 7-6, 6-3 for Chalabi. Even though Phil lost the final, his success on outdoor clay projected him up there in the top 3 for a couple of weeks. Myself, I got a nice 5^th place!

 

A few weeks later registered for the Côte-St-Luc tournament, this is the provincial designated; meaning, it counts for more points at the provincial level and also helps at the national level. This time the draw was bigger, yet the best guys in the draw were Felipe Heck and Alexandre Blaettler. I got seeded for the first time in my life. Started in the quarters were I was draw to face Simon Elkeslassy. A regular top ten player with an unorthodox style. Like in Forest Hill ’77, Côte-St-Luc 2013 had it shooting attempt. A sick individual had menaced a couple of employees from Hydro Québec, when trying to do some repairs at his place. Police intervened and things escalated. To make a long story short, SWAT teams, police, firemen, ambulances, were all summoned in as this individual had an overview of the club premises from his balcony. We had to move our matches to other facilities and I agreed with my opponent to play at CDL. Same clay surface, but indoor. The match wasn’t pretty, Simon is hard to play, he slices the ball without much weight, and all of the sudden he hits a 100 mile an hour forehand. It’s hard to find the rhythm with him. But I wanted to win; the prize would not only be the semifinals but also a chance to face Alex Blaettler. I put my working hat and won 4 and 4.

The semis were played on a grey, cold afternoon, with intermittent rain. Far from ideal, but I thought that play on my favor as Alex would not be able to overpower me. Boy I was wrong. Despite doing much better than in our first encounter, again I left the court empty handed. For some reason I felt uncomfortable with my strokes. Something wasn’t clicking. I got some brilliant passages, but there is still a lot to do before I can seriously present any danger to a guy like him. A well-deserved # 1 in our category.

On the other side of the draw in a 100% Brazilian duel, Felipe saw off Phil in straight sets. Phil, still showing his great form put a great run on the second set. So we were to play again, this time for the honors of the third place.

But before that match, I got another tennis event to attend. I got to attend the Wilander on Wheels clinic at the gorgeous Montcalm Tennis Club in Quebec City. The agenda was lunch with Mats Wilander himself and his partner Cameron Lickle, having the chance to ask him a bunch of questions and 90 minutes in the afternoon for hitting followed by dinner. The atmosphere was so nice, everybody so friendly and we all enjoy an unforgettable day. Mats and Cameron were superb and I was really impressed to see that both were so down-to-earth people. Just loved it. If you ever have the chance to attend one of these clinics (no matter what your level is) do it, you won’t regret it. Guaranteed.

 

After such incredible day, I drove back to Montreal and the following day I was ready for another tireless battle against my friend Phil. Only that this time there was no battle… or yes, but only on my side. My balls were flying all over the place, without direction, nor control. Just couldn’t understand it. I kept feeling uncomfortable same as the previous days, and could not find the answer. At 1-6, 0-5 Phil told me he could not believe all the balls I was giving away. At the changeover I sat in disgust with myself when staring at my racket, I realized that the string tension was not the right one, nor its diameter… For some reason someone strung my stick with the wrong material… Changed rackets with one of my backups and felt the difference right away. Got my serve back, but it was already too late in the game to turn tables against someone of Phil’s ability. Never forget to check on the equipment you use. I got a little careless on that front and I paid for it. Lesson learned.

 

Yet semis in the tournament catapulted me into 3^rd place in the rankings while Phil, ironically slide to 4^th due to the fact that he lost points gained the prior year when he won in Laval.

 

Had to skip the Nationals in Vancouver as I had a personal trip I could not postpone at the time, missing the chance of getting a National ranking due to the current rules.

 

Next stop was Laval outdoor at Carrefour Multisport. Red clay they said. Well… sort of. Draw was really strong. Got seeded # 2 behind Felipe Heck. First weekend playing quarters we got again rain and cold weather. The courts were simply awful. It was so dumped that while waiting for serve, you could literally feel you were sinking. It was like playing on quicksand. Disgusting. My opponent was a lefty with handsome tennis. Nice serve and good groundstrokes. But under those conditions, there was no way he could have a chance. I played a high level of tennis and was in control as soon as I warmed up throughout the first set. Never faced a breakpoint and got a 6-2, 6-1 victory.

The following week conditions changed to the opposite. Dry, hot, windy… surface was hard and fast! My opponent was no other than Martin Lemay. Winner of Eastern Canadian in +45. A true gritty player. He does not give you an inch without fighting like his life depends on it. I never made foot in the match, lost blanked the first set in a few minutes and got better in the second, but yet not enough to make him sweat. He ended up winning the title without dropping a set in the entirely tournament.

 

Last stop was in Brossard at the Sani Sport club. Indoor, synthetic surface. Extremely fast. I liked my chances, the last few weeks I had been serving really well. Played Phil in practice and beat him both times.

At the same time I was also regularly competing in the doubles league at Parc Jarry for Tennis Montreal with my buddy Oussama Azizi. We finished second in our group during the first half of the season despite a shaky start, so we were getting ready for a strong finish aiming for the finals.

 

I guess a combination of factors, too much tennis, year-end fatigue, some stress, got a couple of muscles tight in my back, kept pushing hard and end up with a back and shoulder injury during my match at Sani Sport. I had quit the doubles tournament at Parc Jarry due to some pain, but what happened at Brossard made things just worse. I was sailing to the final when my right arm went completely numb. Got to forfeit the match (second time in my life) and went home very sad.

 

 

The tournament was won by Olivier Borlée without dropping a set… in fact I think he just dropped three games in the semis. Well-deserved win, and the 3^rd place in the rankings.

 

Myself I got 4^th in singles which is outstanding. My goal for 2014 will be to keep the top 5 and see if I can break into the best 3 guys. Competition will be fantastic.

 

I’m still convalescent from my injury, but slowly coming back to shape. I started hitting the ball again and seem that we’ll be able to be back for the new season.

 

 

See you in the hunt.

 

 

Yours,

 

Iron Gaucho

 

Long time ago… in a galaxy far far away.

 

2013 has been an outstanding season. Tennis wise, I’ve achieved more than I could ask for. Got my best and more regular results in competition; made my dream of hitting some balls with the Young Bull of the Pampas in Jan; and of course, also taking the clinic with the great Wilander back this past August. What a year to remember.

But also came to my mind that in 2013 I have some anniversaries to remember. Those special dates that represent milestones in your life.

 

Going back 20 years ago, in April/May 1993 I played my first final in a singles tournament. It was the Marlboro Open played in the city of Merlo (Buenos Aires). Being quite honest, that was an awful year; my dad had passed away in the first days of the New Year and with all the turmoil that such event represents in anybody’s life, tennis was the last thing in my mind. I had stop playing the previous spring when we got the news on my father’s health, and by the time this tournament showed up in the horizon I had not touched a racquet in almost six months.

Maybe because of that, or maybe because I wasn’t expecting anything from myself, I played some consistent tennis and worked my way deep in the draw. It was a strange tournament; for once, I remember the clay surface very dry and the clay itself was like an orange powder… almost weightless. That made a lot of my opponents very uncomfortable, while on my end I was just sliding, dropping, and volleying like there was no tomorrow. The final was supposed to be held on a given Sunday, but after a short Indian summer the whole week, we had some heavy rain on that day and the final was postponed for the following weekend. I surely had bad luck, got myself into bed with a dreadful angina and had to take some antibiotics to fight it back. I was okay to go for Saturday, but those drugs didn’t do any good to my stamina. During the first set I felt so short of breath that I could not play more than 3 or 4 balls in a row. My opponent was an okay player, no major weapon, but solid. He didn’t do much throughout the match, was more of a question of how I was performing to be honest. Got down 3-6 and 2-4 when I was able to pull it together and make a 7-5 comeback… to no avail… fatigue, stress, and disappointment made way to a final 2-6 that handled the win after an array of silly errors. That final, my first one in singles, had a long-lasting impression on me. It took me a number of years to finally shake it off and get into the winners circle. Still I consider it as a major step in the right direction when you look at the big picture. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say.

 

Going further back in time… 25 years ago, November 1988. It was the time of my first significant victory against a worthy opponent. Hugo Marcelo Bressan was a good friend of mine, and nice chap; but above all, he was a fantastic tennis player. Hugo had an unbelievable forehand drive with such power that any ball floating too casual on his side of the net was literally reduced to atoms in a matter of seconds. Let me level with you what are we talking about here. This guy was the fittest of them all, after a professional player, Hugo was the closest thing. Maybe not in technique (not because of a lack of it) but because he was in such superb form that he could outlast anybody I knew at the time. I mentioned his forehand. No top-spin, just pure flat raw power with the only sound of the ball breaking the sound barrier. No kidding, got once one in my stomach (my mistake, Hugo would rather lose the point before hitting someone on purpose) it took several weeks for the bruise to wane. On the backhand side he had a terrific one hand slice that he used over and over again to attack the net. It was low bounce and sticky, a real nightmare on hard courts. I took note of it as I used it as a mold for my own. It was so good that became a problem for Hugo to develop any other type of backhand, he tried a one wrist flat with no luck, and also a two wrist Chris Evert-like one but it was never as consistent as his slice. He hadn’t a great volley; but he was damn quick and his athleticism allowed him to jump, stretch, and bend to cover for his lack of ability. His overhead was consistent, powerful, and delivered confidence. He was a player capable of jumping and mid-way while in the air, change directions. One shot he was remarkable with was a kind of corkscrew he pulled on his forehand when a lob passed him and he didn’t have time to respond in fashion with an overhead. Instead of going with the in-between-the-legs (so popular in Argentina) he would win more points as he used to disguise the final direction with his body until he would unravel his hips and strike the ball. Stamina wise, he was from the Animal Kingdom: A bull and a camel… yeah weird stuff. Powerful as a bull, yet he had the stamina to run mile after mile. We had this deal: When we got to 6 games-all we would alternate playing a tie-break once, and the next time would be a conventional set with the regular 2 games gap. When the latter happened, he was the winner. How many sets he won 10-8, or 11-9… I lost count.

His only really weak point was his serve. He had a very short motion on his first serve, an alarming low toss and twisted in the air to slice the ball, the coordination was so complex that his rate of success was usually no more than 30 – 35%. He had to trust his second serve that was shockingly… the serve of an 85 years old (weak) lady. Sometimes that was still tricky because the rest of his game was so good that the opponents would missed the return as they were expecting something more… elaborated.

I met Hugo in primary school back in ‘85, and a year later we started playing. He was much better than me at the time. He won the first match quite easily; I was no contender for him. Then, in the second of our games, I had a breakthrough. I miraculously won a second set tie-break. I didn’t have a better serve or return at the time, but I found a way to disguise a short lob over his left shoulder that gave me the edge to grab a mini-break in that set. He came back strong in the third and crushed me, he had no mercy. In ’87 we played again twice with an easy win for him, and then a more even game he took 6-4, 6-4. I was happy I was getting closer, but that lonesome set from 1986 remained my only achievement against Hugo until November of ’88. My personal record until then was mediocre to say at least. I got wins to guys my level or below, but never someone of Hugo’s caliber. He was many steps above me on the tennis ladder so to speak. Hugo himself, had wins against Miguel Chana; another buddy of ours that was also a brilliant tennis player. Miguel got me 27-0 in single matches (some of them… triple bagels) by the end of ’87. And Hugo was neck-to-neck with the guy; so for me, doing well against Hugo was kind of redemption from the hell I had to go against Miguel.

The night before our match, as usual I would dinner light, go early to bed, and prepare the game plan. Hugo was a net crusher as he was so confident in his speed and his Steffi-Graf-like forehand, so I had to mix it up with passing shots, lobs and, sometimes, straight-to-the-body returns. The match started as usual with both of us studying the opponent, trying to accelerate the ball in the middle of a long rally, or suddenly dropping de ball and go to cover the angle. But for some reason, after the 4-all, Hugo had a disastrous service game. He double-faulted twice in a row, which made him took a lot of speed off his first serve, hence allowing me to put the ball away somehow easily. I could not believe I had taken the lead. That service game lasted probably 10 minutes, but it felt like an hour, I finally won hitting a fantastic backhand passing-shot down the line. 6-4. I was in Heaven, and Hugo… well he looked disoriented for a sec or two, spit on the court, and got ready to resume battle, it didn’t look like it bothered him that much. But Hugo was that kind of player, ice on the exterior and a volcano inside. He was again diligent with his serve and won in fashion, so did I with a new confident attitude. We kept the score even until 2-all when I broke him again and made an easy run for my first win. I left no doubt I dominated him in that second set. It seemed to me that Hugo’s mind was no longer in the game. He was gracious as always and congratulated me on my first win. It meant a big change in my mind and spirit; and fueled my ambition of becoming a much better player.

We kept playing many great matches, and as I was getting closer to his level, I was able to challenge him for victory. We would play on different venues each time, our matches were real marathons, 7-5, 8-6, 11-9 in the third set if tie-break was ruled out (usually those played to his advantage) or 7-6 if I was the one to choose… this time to my benefit. But matches were also a mental torture, we were friends and the result didn’t matter that much between us for the respect we had to each other. But with our friends, at school, that was something else. Everybody was asking the result of the match and making funny comments on the loser. Not that anybody else, besides Miguel, was a player. And Miguel would not make a funny comment on the outcome of a match. It was simply not his style. So kids are kids, and all that, but when you are in your teens, those comments can hurt. So the stakes were high and the pressure was rising on every encounter.

By mid-1989 the head-to-head was trailing 7-6 for Hugo. This time I got the turn to choose the venue of our next match. It would be at the Asociacion Alemana de Cultura Fisica de Quilmes (Club Aleman for most people – The “German Club”), were I was member. So we head out for another match. The bad thing about playing at that club was that there were only 3 courts, and over the weekend the demand was pretty high. You were allowed only 30 minutes slots for a singles match, and then would have to run to the booth to book another half an hour. So a 2.5 hours match like ours could take as long as 6 hours if you take into account the interruptions and waiting time. I was very tense that day; that, I remember quite clearly. It was MY club, I was the one behind in the H-2-H, and didn’t want to go back to school the following Monday and listen to all that crap on what a loser I was, etc… We started as usual, each one doing his thing. But that day Hugo was particularly loose and he was hitting winners from everywhere. Thank God I was serving well, which allowed me to keep him in sight from a score standpoint, but that was not enough. Hugo won 6-4 the first set. We kept swapping courts that morning to keep playing continuously as much as possible. Due to the rain forecast, not many people went to the club to risk for just a few minutes of tennis if it was supposed to rain. The day became grey as dark clouds scattered in the sky. My very soul sank when he got an early break in the second set. I was stressed out to the max. I was doomed, the result seemed inevitable. At 2-4 and my serve, the sky opened and a light rain made us stop. We went for the Club House and booked a court for an hour later. We had time to grab a bite and I remember mentioning Hugo on how tense I was. I didn’t care anymore about the match. What bothered me the most was that the last 3 or 4 matches (some of them victories) were no longer fun to play. Looking into the future, if that would be the case I wanted no more matches with my good friend. From that conversation it was clear that Hugo was going thru a similar feeling, and then was when I got the idea. “No matter what is the outcome of today’s match, this is the last official game we will ever play” The head-to-head would be framed at this time and from then on, we would not share our scores with anyone else”. I felt a warm feeling in my chest, finishing 8-6 down with Hugo wasn’t bad after all… but only if I could win this last one to level the score… And incredibly, that was exactly what happened. I leveled to 4-all and went on to win the second set 6-4 and the third by 6-2. Final official H-2-H: 7-7. Perfect.

 

We kept playing for the rest of our time in high school, until Hugo shifted to Paddle-Tennis and left the courts for good. We had memorable “un-official” battles, I have a fond memory of his last win using the venerable Prince Pro 110, broke his strings and I handled him my sisters’ frame. He went on to win 7-5, 7-5 playing some aggressive tennis. He changed for a Dunlop Max 200G (Graf and McEnroe weapon of choice back then) which made him more dangerous. Also remember one of my best matches I ever played at CAQ. It was a superb game played with a red sun background on a late September afternoon in 1990.  

 

 

 

 

But going back to that last official match… To this day I feel that Hugo lost on purpose. He fought hard that second set, but he didn’t put much of an effort on the third. I’m sure was not for lack of respect, on the contrary, because above all Hugo was a Gentleman… almost with a flair of another time. Never again I had such a gallant rivalry, nor feared an opponent like him.

 

Yours,

 

Iron Gaucho