Page 13 of Game Point (Game, Set, and Match #2)

Oliver

Anderson vs Roy

Davis Cup, AO Arena, Manchester GB vs Canada

I slumped into the bench, emptying the remainder of my water bottle onto my sun-burnt neck. It wasn’t just the heat that made it feel like I was in hell, it was this match. I’d barely scraped a win in the first set, taking it all the way to a tie break. Then Roy came back and took the second set.

Now in the third, he was on fucking fire, and I was staring down the barrel of having to find my own comeback in this set or face the reality that I could be the reason my team, my country drops out of the Davis Cup in the group stages.

I stared out at the court, trying to rally, to convince myself I could do this. I could take this back, gain control over the situation.

When the break finished, I was still far from certain. But I got to my feet, anyway, found my racket and stopped thinking about it. I pushed all that doubt, all the anxiety aside, and I played fucking tennis.

My serve. I threw the ball in the air and pushed my racket forward.

The shot hit the net. The umpire declared a fault and I did it all over again.

Second serve. I went through the motions, the very motions ingrained in my body through years of training beginning from when I was four years old.

I served again. This time the ball landed in the box.

And then Roy, the asshole, turned to his side, and drop-shotted his return. A DROP SHOT.

The score was 0–15 and I was going to have a breakdown. It was not just that I sucked, but Roy was on fire. He had been outpacing me at every turn since the very first serve.

The rest of the game went as badly as I predicted.

0–30

0–40

15–40

And the game was his, the next serve was his.

He’d barely let me get a point, and if I didn’t fight back soon, the entire match would be his. I found my serving position, catching two balls as they were tossed to me. Taking my time, I peered at the clock under my sweaty brow. I wasn’t done here yet. Right?

I’d never been one to suffer under the pressure.

After burning out a few years into my career, I found the best method for me was to take a more relaxed approach.

I played the tournaments I felt good for, took a break when I needed to.

It wasn’t only about injury, but mental health too.

My performances were stronger then, and stepping out for a couple of months didn’t have a very long-lasting effect on my ranking, especially if I did well in the slams.

But in the last year, I’d been playing solidly. I’d stayed with my parents in the off-season and toured relentlessly ever since. Maybe that was the missing spark? But I almost dreaded being away from the court. This was my life, and as hard as it was, I wanted to be here. Then prove it.

I served, the ball landing inside the box. Roy swung his racket back and pelted the shot over the net. I returned, and we rallied across the court. Every movement felt desperate, like I was clawing at this for a single victory. But I needed to win this point. Needed to turn the tide.

Finally, the opportunity appeared, and I didn’t hesitate. Stepping close to the net, I delivered a drop shot into open court and secured the game. I was determined to take this win and keep it going.

15–0

Roy served, and we both chased the ball around the court, Roy trying every trick in the book to trip me up. He was calculating and quick on his feet, but now that my head was back in the match, so was I. I won the point.

30–0

I was terrified to take a single misstep and lose another point to him.

30–15

I had to stay fast, stay agile, keep my feet on this court and this grip on my racket and win. I had to win.

30–30

My heart was hammering in my chest.

30–40

The game was his. Next, the set. And the match.