Game, Set, Cash!

by Brad Hutchins

  24

  CASH OUT

  It’s all over – the best two years of my life and the greatest job I’ve ever had. Since quitting and moving home, the volume on my life has been turned down about eighty-six decibels. Mundane normality rings in my ears like an incessant mosquito. As I attempt to shake off a five-year travel hangover, my mind drifts over the quixotic memories, and the whole experience already feels like a distant dream. What I’ve learnt during this journey is worth more than any university course could ever teach me. I will confidently step off a plane almost anywhere in the world knowing I can handle myself, find my way and have a good time regardless. A lot less fazes me these days after dealing with all the security issues and learning how to react and respond to different situations overseas.

  The world has become a lot smaller to me. It’s much more accessible. I have friends around the globe who speak different languages and embody completely different outlooks and cultures. I’ve met traders, volunteers, drug addicts, successful businessmen, homeless people, diplomats, alcoholics and many more along the way. I judge none of them because, without these wily characters, our world would not be the diverse and extraordinary place it is.

  Now, when I meet somebody from a foreign country, I can generally find some common ground with them. I can use a few token words in their tongue, understand some of their customs, fondly recall my favourite food, drink or beer from their country, and discuss the beauty of their landscapes or landmarks … and, if all else fails, I probably know of a good tennis tournament in their neck of the woods.

  I’ve developed an appreciation and admiration for European class and style. I hope that some of it has rubbed off on me. I can say hello, goodbye, yes, no, please, and thank you in about ten different languages, hold a basic conversation in Spanish (enough to make sure I’m not going to jail, at least!), and I feel at ease in many different corners of the globe these days. I don’t just have a second home (London), I have a third (San Diego), a fourth (Banff, Alberta), a fifth (Lagos, Portugal), and many, many more that I hold close to my heart and hope to visit again.

  I know where to go at which times of the year to chase hobbies, wildlife or natural phenomena. I know how to behave in different countries, what their customs are and how to act acceptably. I have a better understanding of the disputes, attitudes and rifts in countries or religions because I’ve witnessed them first-hand. I’ve seen the impact that political leaders, pop-culture icons, fashion trends, musicians, architects and other artists have on our global landscape. Nowadays, I see photos in travel magazines and pulses of nostalgia will surge through me. Whenever I catch a plane, I always flip through the airline’s in-flight magazine and take a trip down memory lane. Every second page is almost guaranteed to remind me of a funny story or a treasured memory.

  During my travels, I’ve seen almost every artist or band I could ever want to see at some of the best venues, festivals and locations on earth. I’ve managed to collect enough souvenirs along the way and now have art hanging on the walls of my house from Havana, Shanghai, Waikiki, Luxor and Los Angeles. I also have mementoes from Mexico, Guatemala, Germany, the Czech Republic and Croatia, to name a few. My life has been shaped by experiences in different lands and I like being surrounded by these daily reminders of great times and amazing places.

  I’ve watched a shitload of tennis during a golden era in the sport. I’ve been privileged to trade Federer, Nadal, Djokovic, Murray, Roddick, Hewitt, del Potro, Haas, both Willams sisters, Clijsters, Azarenka, Ivanovic, Sharapova and many more. I’ve seen enough tennis to love and hate it. I’ve seen enough of the players to both love and hate them too (love always prevails).

  How many different beds have I slept in during my life? How many strange and foreign pillows have I laid my head upon? The sleeper trains, hostels, couches, floors, beaches and bungalows are an endless collection of fond memories. But now I’m able to rest my noggin on a soft, fluffy, familiar bag of feathers that I can call my own.

  Although I’ve fallen in love with this lifestyle over the past two years, I’ve missed having my own place. It’s satisfying to have a wardrobe I can hang my clothes in, a steady base to settle into, and a week passing by without having to hop on a plane or worry about being dragged from a stand by security personnel. It’s addictive, the trader’s existence, and I’ll no doubt miss it.

  I’ve lived without much responsibility or accountability over the past few years, but I’ve matured and grown in a way that many people never have the chance to. I’m content with and proud of my life thus far. Most importantly, I appreciate it all and love the fact that, no matter how far I wander on this earth, I’ll always be able to come back to one of its most beautiful and peaceful places: Australia. The road may be amazing but home will always be home.

  I still keep up to date with the tennis scores, and watch big matches when the time zones align. I can’t help myself. It was such an intrinsic part of my life, it’s proving hard to walk away from. One thing’s for certain: I’ll never be able to watch tennis like a normal spectator again.

  Are there still traders out there, sitting in the stands, secretly calling points and making a living on the tour? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not telling, but I sure hope so. More pertinently, will you be able to go out there and join their ranks as a newcomer? Sorry to burst your hopes – I’m afraid those chances are incredibly slim. But feel free to prove me wrong!

  I doubt very much that I’ll be attending any tennis tournaments in the near future. After all, I do have a framed letter from Wimbledon, banning me for life, on my wall. But I know I’ll be back to enjoy the live action as a spectator one day (once my name and mugshots have long been forgotten). And to all those uptight umpires and officials, well, don’t you fret; my trading days are behind me. I’ll be sure to leave my phone at home.

  People always say, ‘You’re so lucky that you went travelling and did all those things.’ Well, for me, that’s a matter of perspective. Luck definitely played a part in some of it. There were moments when things just clicked and opportunities fell into my lap. I made certain to seize them all with both hands. My view, however, is that none of those opportunities would have arisen had I never got up off the couch, booked myself a flight and put myself out there in the world. I think all traders would agree that while Lady Luck’s help is always welcome in life, you can never expect any return if you don’t make an investment and commit to something in the first place.

  The mates I’ve made on this tour are the part I’ll miss the most. I’ve made lifelong friends that share a special bond. We travelled, traded and partied together all over the world, celebrating our experiences and making the most out of our extraordinary opportunity while it lasted. Sadly, it was far too short for a fellow trader and a great friend of mine. He loved the road more than anyone, and it was all taken away from him far too soon. A true character and comic, he was alongside us for most of our shenanigans on tour. He was always up for a beer and a laugh, and was one of the most loved traders to ever pick up a phone. I’ve chosen to leave his tales out as a matter of respect – the irony is he was the greatest storyteller I’ve ever met. The only way I can reconcile his early passing from cancer is by knowing that he got to enjoy a privileged life and lived to the fullest while he could.

  It was an incredible stage in all of our lives, and these times have no doubt forged memories that will be looked back upon in fondness for a lifetime to come. The majority of my trader friends live abroad, so I’ve no idea when I’ll see them next. I’m so used to being in a perpetual state of transit and being able to catch up with people everywhere, this rooted stability will come as a shock to me. But waking up every morning and wandering down the beach with my surfboard under my arm comes second to nothing. I’ve been to over fifty countries, but I still love Australia over them all. I’ve been lucky enough to see more of the world than most people see in their lives, and I’m twenty-seven. What
the hell do I do with myself now?

  I’ve just recently learnt that one of Felix’s friends has cycled from Bangkok to England to raise funds for charity. He’s now running across Canada to continue his mission. Meanwhile, some of Fitzy’s mates are riding motorbikes from Alaska down to Argentina to raise money in honour of friends and family who have been affected by cancer. Now that’s a real trip.

  I feel like it’s time for me to start giving back. I’m not going to tell you to live every day as if it’s your last or repeat some tired parable of inspiration. If you want to do something, do it. Life is short but it’s also beautiful, and so is our world. So long live travel, tennis, good times and the good life. Go get among it.

  EPILOGUE

  I’m standing in the knee-deep water of Rainbow Bay, with the satisfying texture of gritty golden sand between my toes, watching Kelly Slater destroy waves in the final of the Quiksilver Pro. I live on Australia’s Gold Coast with a bunch of mates, work from Monday to Friday, and even make my own bed and breakfast of a morning. It’s a regular life, and that’s fine by me because I get to surf every day in my favourite place on earth. Good waves, good weather and no flights on the weekend. I’m stoked.

  I’m also glad to be out of the tennis stands.

  In November 2013, Sandy was wrestled off court and dragged by the throat into an unmonitored room where two security guards beat the shit out of him. They punched him in the face repeatedly. One of the pricks even lined up his sovereign ring so it connected with Sandy’s lip each time. They kicked him in the shins with steel cap boots and smacked him in the back of the head as he went down. Of course nobody saw anything and the incident will always be denied by those involved. When the head of security told Sandy nothing had happened, he spat a wad of blood at the man’s feet and asked him, ‘What the fuck do you call that then?’

  As if that wasn’t enough, on 14 January 2014, Dan Dobson was arrested at the Australian Open for court-siding. He was charged with ‘engaging in conduct that would corrupt a betting outcome’. His employer (Sporting Data) released a clarifying statement, assuring the public that ‘Sporting Data has never been and never will be involved in any type of match-fixing’. They insist that the new law ‘is being applied entirely inappropriately’. Dan was not gambling himself, only relaying scores via his phone. The gambling and court-siding community were stunned, intrigued and apprehensive about this seemingly unwarranted arrest. A conviction would set an international precedent and greatly influence the future of court-siding.

  However, on 6 March 2014, the prosecution dropped their charges due to a lack of evidence and no reasonable chance of conviction. It was a relieving and satisfying moment for Dan and for court-siders worldwide.

  I always said to those angry officials, ‘if it becomes illegal, I’ll quit’. It sounds like you need a full-time lawyer to keep informed and out of trouble on tour these days. With new laws being enacted across so many different countries, who knows where court-siding will sit in a few years? Maybe I got out at the right time. I’m content to be chilling back home after five years abroad. I had a damn good run.

  But back on the beach, as I watch Kelly hack spray off the lip of a reeling right-hander before pulling into a perfect blue barrel, I think about the amazing stops the pro surfing tour consists of. Places I’ve never even been to, like Tahiti, Fiji, South Africa and Brazil. And while I’m trying really hard to settle down at home, I can’t stop myself from wondering … could there be a way to trade this heat?