My past life on the tennis court

My past life on the tennis court | Daily Tribune

Every weekend, my father would play tennis with his friends at the tennis court in our town plaza in Boac, Marinduque. In those days, tennis was a very different game. The court surface was cement, hard and unforgiving. A wrong move, a stumble, or a fall could easily mean scraped knees, bruises, or worse.

The rackets were also much smaller than the ones we see today. They certainly did not have the technology, oversized heads, lightweight frames and sophisticated strings of modern rackets. But to us, they were more than enough.

My classmate and friend, Philip Ocampo, and I became fascinated with the game mainly because our fathers played the game. Whenever we had the chance, we would play even in the middle of the day, sometimes still wearing our school uniforms. Looking back, I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have looked, running around a cement tennis court, perspiring under the Marinduque sun.

But we loved it.

We had no formal training. There were no private coaches teaching us the proper footwork, strokes, serves or strategy. We simply learned by watching, imitating and playing with our fathers. Sometimes, our fathers gave us tips, but we discovered the game through trial and error.

Our enthusiasm eventually led us to represent our province in the Southern Tagalog Regional Athletic Association, or STRAA, in Cavite. We went there with youthful confidence, probably believing that our love of the game and the hours we spent playing would be enough.

They weren’t. We were eliminated outright. There was no dramatic comeback, no memorable victory and certainly no championship trophy.

Our brief competitive tennis career was over almost as soon as it began. Immediately, we proceeded to Manila to watch a movie. We were more excited to watch a movie in Manila than to win matches in the regional meet.

And that was the end of my tennis journey.

I never pursued tennis in college. Life took me in other directions, and the racket was left in the house in the province. There was no second chapter, no serious training and no attempt to see how far I could go.

Yet, all these years later, I realize that perhaps tennis gave me something more valuable than victories.

It gave me memories of my father. It gave me a childhood friendship with Philip. It gave me the simple joy of playing a sport without worrying about rankings, sponsorships or international recognition.

And perhaps that is why watching Alex Eala today feels strangely personal.

The tennis courts of my youth were worlds away from the international arenas where Alex now competes. She has world-class coaches, modern equipment, professional facilities and the discipline required to compete against the best in the world.

But the essence of the game remains the same: the ball, the racket, the court and the courage to hit the next shot.

I may have been eliminated in my only regional competition, but I never really lost my love for the game.

And now, as I watch Alex Eala take Philippine tennis to places I could only have imagined as a boy, I sometimes wonder, what if Philip and I had received formal training back then?

Perhaps we would have lost anyway. But what a wonderful dream it is to imagine otherwise.