Originally posted by don_budge
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Thoughts about Tennis and Golf Tradition...Tennis and golf are God's gift to mankind in terms of recreation. Both of these games tests the human being on every level of their humanness. Intellectually, physically, psychologically, emotionally...and even spiritually. The two are related if not distant cousins in the world of recreation. Spawn from the same creator it might seems on some level. Both games are games of shots and the metaphysics of the shot don't change over time. The fundamentals will always be the same. In today's modern times and times of professional sports much has been cast aside in the name of progress. Much as it happens in real life. These games metaphorically match the times with their mere existence. Adapting as to stay relevant. Like the human counterpart...it's the condition under which they are always played.
I like to look admiringly at the past at these games. At the competitors and the conditions under which these games were contested. Years ago...things were different as it was a different world in which we played. I remember playing tennis as a boy and a young man. Growing up with the great game of tennis at my side. No matter what the conditions...my trusty game was always there. But as in life...things change and so did tennis. Something was lost where most thought something was gained. It's the nature of life too...where the masses might see progress there are those that might hold out for something else. The less obvious. The spiritual.
Here is a video about one of golf's greatest competitors. Ben Hogan...the video is titles "Bantam Ben". Take a look at it. You don't have to be a golfer to appreciate the message. Much as you don't need to be a tennis player to appreciate a story about a character named Richard Gonzales. Ben Hogan is what you would call the ultimate "Game Guy". What is a "Game Guy"? Look it up in the dictionary and you will find the pictures of the likes of Hogan and Gonzales.
Last year I traveled to the United States of America twice. The country that I called home for the first fifty years of my life. I hadn't been home for twelve years and returning felt like a past life experience. I was reading "The Razor's Edge" on the plane home and finishing the final chapter in which the main character is describing the effect upon his life where he had spent some years isolated with Hindu swami's in India. Sitting next to me on the plane was an Indian man who just happened to be exactly the same number of years as I. He also happened to be a doctor/surgeon..and of course he was a Hindu too. He noticed the book that I was reading and we engaged in some conversation...he spoke to me of reincarnation and good and evil. How time works it's magic on the soul. I landed in America and I was caught in a delicious hallucination. A hallucination that included my own personal stuff and it was including the campaign for the Presidency between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. America's soul was being split in two...divided equally into two angry sides.
I saw family and friends that I hadn't seen for twelve years. I found myself swirling in a culture that seemed to be traveling at the speed of light compared to that of the Swedish culture that I have found myself adopted by. The freeways were churning and the businesses and restaurants were cha-chinging around the clock it seemed. Out of the madness I was fortunate to catch up with my life long friend...The Ugly American...and we managed a couple of rounds of golf together. He hadn't changed...he smoked and I got high watching.
Towards the end there was an unfinished piece of business to take care of. I wished to see my old tennis coach. A man who was like a second father to me and a person in my life that I surely needed and in some ways I am sorry that I didn't dedicate myself to his teaching more than I did. But this is life and this is how it transpires. We do what we do and then we look back and sometimes we wonder. My father and I drove to his home clear on the other side of town and once we had found the apartment or condominium I walked into another time warp. How many years had it been since I had seen this beacon of my youth? But here he was some 87 years old or so and inside he didn't seem to have changed at all. After touring his home we headed out to go to lunch but first there was a stop he wanted to make. The tennis court. We hit some balls in ninety something degree heat and he had some pearls to give me about the game...about teaching the game. The return of serve and the overhead he expounded on...he is still relevant.
We batted the ball back and forth a bit. I used all of my power of control to deliver the ball to him one bounce waist high. We hit a couple of serves. He actually aced me on the first ball...he hit a rather surprising slice to my backhand in the deuce court. Me being left handed. Just like old times. Old, old times. So many years ago. A lifetime. A past life.
So anyways...I run the risk of being or sounding sentimental or melancholy. Nostalgic. It's nearly against the law to be nostalgic nowadays. Perhaps it has always been this way and it is only now that I have transgressed to the other side of life. But the old tennis coach really hits me right in the heart. I remember those old days...I was a wild and bewildered youth and he was a stern yet patient...tough yet gentle mentor. I still hear his voice in my head. Some of the scenes from the past go whirring in the dizzying hallucination from then to now.
He gave me something when I left that day. Some words that he had come across that somehow struck him the way that things struck him. He was a rather upright fellow...he is a rather upright fellow. Time and conditions will not change him. Age will not change him. He may be hobbling from the knee replacements...the hip replacements. The shoulder replacement. But to me he is a Bionic Man...one for all of the ages. My coach. The only coach that I would have taken on tour if I had the chance. His knowledge and reverence for the great game of tennis second to none...in my eyes.
Here is what he gave me on that hot July afternoon in the year of 2016. In the midst of all of the nonsense. The American "election". An election where the votes don't count. The fix is in...always. Here are the words that he gave me. My coach is a devout Christian but I never once remember him interjecting his religious faith into any conversation until it was all said and done. Then he would casually mention his church...and his faith. So here they are...the words he gave me. "A Game Guy's Prayer".
A GAME GUY'S PRAYER...Author Unknown
Help me to be a sport in the little game of life. I don't ask for any place in the lineup; play me where You need me. I only ask for the stuff to give you a hundred per cent of what I've got. If all the hard drives come my way I thank You for the compliment. Help me to remember You won't let anything come that You and I together can't handle. And help me to take the bad breaks as part of the game. Help make me thankful for them.
And, God, help me always to play on the square, no matter what the other players do. Help me to come clean. Help me to see that often the best part of the game is helping other guys. Help me to be a "regular fellow" with the other players.
Finally, God, if fate seems to uppercut me with both hands and I'm laid up on the shelf in sickness or old age, help me to take that as a part of the game also. Help me not to whimper or squeal that the game was a dream-up or that I had a raw deal. When in the dusk I get the final bell, I ask for no lying complimentary stones. I'd only like to know that You feel I've been a good guy.
As read by Mel Allen on Edward R. Murrow's Person to Person program on CBS television.
In God We Trust...Amen.
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