Double Fault at Roland Garros

by Jim Plautz

Carlos spent four weeks at Saddlebrook rehabilitating his injury at the Etcheberry Sports Performance Center and dating Ambre. Although he was a quick healer, a pulled groin muscle is a difficult injury for an athlete to overcome because there is little that can be done. Daily massages and heat treatments accelerate the healing process somewhat, but time and rest are the only cures. After a week the pain was gone and Carlos was felt he was ready to start practicing although he still had trouble pushing off from his right leg.

  Carlos began hitting twice a day with Fritz and feeling pretty good. His leg was still weak from inactivity, but the groin injury was almost healed. Carlos used the time to work on his serve, which was good, but not great. Carlos never needed a big serve to win in the juniors, the rest of his game was that good. Heavy, topspin serves created enough short returns in the juniors that he never needed a flat serve. His groundstrokes were so powerful that any return that landed near the service line was dead meat. Carlos was on it like a vulture, taking the short ball on the rise and powering the weak return for a winner. The problem at the pro level was that Carlos would see few weak replies from his opponent.

  European and South American clay court players don’t work on developing a fast serve as juniors because the risk-reward isn’t there. A 120 MPH serve on a fast hard court will stay low and skid through the court, making the serve appear even faster. On clay, a 120 MPH serve sits up making it appear 10-15 MPH slower. Opponents can return from deep behind the baseline and still have time to cover serves out wide. Clay courts in the United States are mostly Har-Tru, a synthetic man-made crushed rubber that American’s call clay. It isn’t. Har-Tru is slower than fast courts but much quicker than the red clay used in South America and Europe. It rewards hard, fast serves and explains why Americans such as Andy Roddick and James Blake developed better serves than their European counterparts.

  Carlos serve wasn’t bad, but wasn’t the weapon he would need to get to the top level of pro tennis; particularly on hard courts. He typically had a first service percentage in the upper sixties but this was misleading. He normally spun his first serve in at about 105-110 MPH and would occasionally try a flat serve that would reach 120 MPH. At the pro level, 120 MPH is average and generates errors only when it hugs the lines.

  “Legs!” Fritz admonished. “Get your legs into it, push up through the serve; reach for it!”

  “Easy for you to say,” Carlos laughed. “You’re not the one with the pulled hamstring.” It was good-natured banter, but Fritz knew that this was Carlos’ way of showing frustration. Carlos knew he needed to improve and his lack of progress bothered him. Everything had come so easy for him. Thirty minutes later they took a break.

  Pete was working with two other boys on a one-against-two drill designed to improve groundstrokes and footwork. It was Pete’s turn to face the others. With two opponents it was as much a conditioning drill as it was a stroke drill, particularly when there was so much at stake. The player with the longest consecutive streak won a coke from the boy with the fewest. Pete was in third place and needed 15 to take 2nd place and 22 in a row to win. When he reached 10 his opponents started to hit harder and wider; by 18 they were drilling their shots into the corners. Pete reached 24 before missing and raised his arms in victory.

  Fritz and Carlos were watching with interest. “That kid moves pretty well and has some nice shots. He is the only one out here with any potential. Why don’t you see if he wants to play a set? It would do you good to test your hamstring a little. Just don’t overdo it.”

  “Why not?” Carlos thought. “I’ve beaten him at everything else.”

  “Hey, can I take on the winner?” Carlos asked as he walked over to Pete’s court. “Care to play?”

  Pete had mixed emotions. Carlos had kept pretty much to himself since he arrived and their paths had not crossed. While Pete was playing tennis, Carlos was rehabbing his leg or practicing with his coach. There had been no occasion to talk, which had suited Pete just fine. Ambre was still in the forefront of his thoughts. Seeing Carlos brought his emotions to the surface. On the other hand, it would be a great experience to match his game against one of the world’s best, even if he was coming off an injury.

  “Sure, why not. Just one set though, I need to collect on my winnings from these two guys. Go ahead and serve.”

  Fritz watched from the sidelines along with the two boys that Pete had practiced with. They soon realized that this was no friendly game between two boys, and soon the crowd had grown to more than twenty as play on the surrounding courts stopped. Fritz was pleased at how well Carlos was playing after his long layoff. He was rusty, but the injury didn’t seem to bother him. Maybe they could play the Australian Open next month?

  Pete also got what he wanted. Maybe Carlos was rusty, and maybe his leg was bothering him, but it didn’t diminish how it felt to break Carlos at five-all and hold serve for a 7-5 victory. The win felt good for many reasons.

  This was the first weekly staff meeting in over a month. Holiday travel mixed with vacations made it difficult to get everyone together, particularly since we opened our office in Paris. Ken’s new broker, Charles Cleveite, was doing an excellent job in developing new business throughout Western Europe.

  “Marco, start us off. How are we doing at Saddlebrook?”

  “We are two weeks ahead of schedule and pretty close to our cost estimates. The roof installation is complete and the audio contractor is installing the sound system. Wednesday we test the underground watering system for the clay courts. Friday we begin laying the hard courts.”

  “What are they,” Jerry asked, “clay or hard courts? Make up your mind.”

  “Two of each” Marco replied with a grin. “Actually, all four are rubber. The clay courts are a synthetic rubber called har-tru while the two hard courts are actually a 60% rubber composition.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of that,” I interjected. “How is the Sports & Field training center coming along?”

  “The inside is almost complete. The basketball court is done. All they really have left is the grading of the football field, plus a lot of landscaping and touch-up.”

  “How does it look inside?” Sally asked. “I hear it’s plush.”

  “It will be. The private locker room and sauna for the pros are just awesome, and the facilities for the peons aren’t bad either. The basketball court is full-size and the 2nd floor aerobics room is huge. Their grand opening is set for Labor Day and all of us are invited.”

  “Thanks Marco. Ken, what’s going on in Europe?”

  “We just started our first job, a $75M Renovation of a local sports stadium in Lyon. It’s a small job, but it’s a start. Cleveite also has four bids outstanding, including an $800M urban development project in Brussels and a $300M waste water treatment plant in Munich.”

  “What do we know about waste water treatment?” Tony asked.

  “Not a hell of a lot Tony, but we are joint-venturing with a civil engineering firm with a ton of experience. We offer project management and financing. It’s a good partnership and appeals to government municipalities that need something done, but don’t have the money in their budget. It was a referral from a job we financed a couple years in South Africa.”

  “If they are broke, how do we get paid?” Tony persevered.

  “Not having money in their budget does not mean a municipality is broke. The key is to provide them off balance sheet financing. They have the cash flow to pay our fees, but can’t get the project approved as a capital expenditure until the next budget process. They pay us out of discretionary funds. It’s a game that all governments play, even in the United States.”

  “And who provides the financing?”

  “Good question. That’s where Sven and his group come in, but even they won’t make an unsecured loan. We usually offer some type of credit enhancement. Sometimes we provide an insurance bond or Medium Term Notes (MTNs) that provide a lender with a guarantee that the loan will be repaid. It’s like an insura
nce policy for the lender.”

  “Thanks, Ken,” I interrupted trying to stifle any more questions.

  “Roger, how is the commercial mortgage business? Since Ken took most of your time allotment, you have five minutes.”

  Roger pretended to be hurt, but wasn’t. “Well, I only need a couple. Business has never been better. We are looking to add a couple more mortgage analysts, which brings the total to fourteen plus two assistants. That’s why we have a new manager. Tony, stand up and take a bow.”

  “Here-here,” we shouted as we took turns congratulating Tony. He was only 32 years old, but competent, and had a good way with his co-workers.

  “Drinks are on me tonight” Tony announced, drawing another round of cheers.

  “Sally, we saved the best for last. Tell these fine people the good news about our leasing business, and don’t omit the part about you threatening to quit and start your own company.”

  “That’s not exactly how this happened,” Sally began. “I had been considering a career change, but Jim made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I am buying the leasing business from Jim and setting up a new company under my own name. I’ve rented space on the fifth floor starting the first of next month, and will be taking the leasing staff with me.”

  Everyone was a little surprised. There were a few murmurs of congratulations, but nobody really knew what to say. This was a surprise to everyone except Ken.

  “Let me add something,” I said. “As most of you know, Sally has been running the leasing business by herself for the last couple years. It was time to recognize her contribution. Besides, now I can spend more time watching my kids play tennis,” I said only half joking.

  Tony came to the obvious conclusion. “I guess I won’t have to buy drinks tonight after all.”

  Sally acknowledged her fate, “Okay, guys, I guess I’m buying.”

  “Now, if there is nothing else, let’s break this party up and get to work. Ken, Marco, stick around for a few minutes.”

  Lisa was angry and embarrassed after that ill-fated Thanksgiving weekend, but kept it inside. She was angry with Pete for bringing that bitch to her home. She was angry with herself for losing her temper and taking the opportunity to drill Ambre with the overhead, but mostly, she was angry that she had let Ambre humiliate her on the tennis court. She had Ambre to thank for one thing, setting a high standard. Until then, Lisa had not realized how much she had to improve her tennis game.

  Lisa swore that one day she would get her revenge. She knew that it would take a lot of hard work to get her game to Ambre’s level, but Ambre had given her the motivation. Monday’s practice did not come soon enough.

  Lisa was taking daily lessons at the Bardmoor Tennis Academy in Clearwater, a 45-minute commute. With full time coaching and quality competition daily, her game took off. It didn’t hurt that she had grown two inches in the last year, and at 5’7” her serve became a powerful weapon. She won two small junior tournaments in the Tampa area and a designated tournament in Orlando, beating the State’s top ranked junior. Only 16, she was playing 18 and under and her State ranking improved to #3 in the 16s and #12 in the 18s. She was ready for the next step.

  Lisa and Pete received invitations for the Orange Bowl. Pete had accumulated enough points to earn a #12 seed from the International Tennis Federation. Lisa was unseeded in the 18s and drew the #3 seed in the first round. It turned out to be a tough draw, for the #3 seed. Lisa dominated from the start and won easily, 6-1, 6-3. Mary and I were shocked. “I’ve never seen anybody improve this much, so quickly,” Mary said to me. “It’s unbelievable how much she has improved in six months.”

  “Do you think you can still beat her?” I asked tongue in cheek.

  “There’s still one person in this family I can still beat,” Mary replied with a wink, “and it’s not Lisa.”

  A week later we were on our way back to Tampa with extra hardware in our Ford SUV. Pete and Lisa had become the first brother-sister pair to win the Orange Bowl in the same year. We were halfway home and had just exited the Florida Turnpike at Yeehaw Junction, when I popped the question Mary and I had discussed at length. “Do either of you care to spend a few weeks in Paris this summer?”

  It took a few seconds for it to register. The kids had been dozing in the back seat listening to music on their headsets.” You’re not serious, are you?” Lisa asked as she leaned over the front seat. “What about school?”

  “Well, in case you didn’t know, winning today earned you a spot in the main draw at this year’s French Open Juniors. I’ll be there anyway on business, so we might as well make it a family vacation.”

  “What about school?” Pete asked. “I still need nine credits to graduate.”

  “”We’ll work it out with your teachers,” Mary offered in support. “I’m sure they will understand what an opportunity this is.”

  “Maybe I can write a term paper about French boys?” Lisa joked.

  I glanced in the mirror and saw Pete was deep in thought as the impact of Lisa’s joke cast a pall over everyone. It was hard not to read about the success Ambre and Carlos were having in Australia. We drove the next 200 miles in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  Neither Lisa nor Pete had forgotten Ambre.

  Part Three

  The Pro Tour

  Chapter 21

  Agbu Graduates