Trophy Son(66)

He never said a word in any of the matches of any prior years but that day he said, “Good luck, Anton.” It felt like God choosing sides in a sporting event.

I stepped past Charlie to the open air and very white clouds that bring only shade. A cool day would favor me and my older legs.

We had yet to warm up and the match wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes so the stadium was only about ten percent full. There was a legends box where former champions and tennis greats would sit for the match. A retiring former number one and an American brings them out. Agassi, Courier, Borg and Laver were there. Agassi usually didn’t come to this stuff but we’d stayed in touch since I played his charity event. He nodded to me. Agassi never had the prettiest game, not a game like mine at all, but he was the player whose retirement I identified with the most.

I saw John McEnroe standing in the booth with a headset lowered around his neck. I hoped I’d have the kind of day that would have him saying good and hyperbolic things about me. Patrick wouldn’t be there calling the match with him. He’d be down in a player’s box as Gerhardt’s coach.

I looked to my own player’s box where Ana was just taking a seat next to my parents, Panos and Kristie, and Gabe. I smiled at how gorgeous Ana was, certain I’d never get used to it.

Gerhardt and I hit warm-up balls and I felt good, relaxed. My joints felt lubricated and strong. I’d taken everything Bobby gave me, maybe for the last time, and I was sure Gerhardt had taken something similar. He was an inch taller, twenty-five pounds heavier and all muscle.

The match started on Gerhardt’s serve and he held for the first game. I then served well but Gerhardt returned great, jumping on even my best serves and he broke me easily. I broke his serve, then he broke me back.

I dropped all four of my service games in the first set, losing the set 6–2. I’d lost serve only twice in the tournament and now four times in the first set. Gerhardt had held his serve twice, then the only two games I took were off his serve.

The bizarre thing was that I was playing about my best. I was serving great but he was returning out of his mind.

Gerhardt held for the first game of the second set then we switched sides. I was rattled and needed the time in my chair. I was serving well, hitting my spots and still not winning. I needed to take more chances on my serve.

I stepped to the baseline to serve and decided to hit a flat hard serve up the middle. It was pure off my racket. I felt the gentle weight of the ball through my strings as I sent a meteor across the net that hit the T of the service box. A serve like that had never not been an ace for me but Gerhardt was already there, stepping into the court, shoulder turned, blocking a backhand return that came back so quickly that it skirted past my forehand side for a winner.

He’d guessed right. I couldn’t have hit a better serve but if he committed to the right guess and sat on it, then the faster my serve the less time I’d have to get ready for the return.

My next serve to the ad court I decided to go wide. I slammed it high in the service box and it kicked up and wide but Gerhardt was there and he leaned into a backhand return for a winner up the line.

He looked up at me like a boxer who’d taken my best punch and smiled back. My serve was my strength and I was serving my best and losing.

I hit two more serves that might have been aces on other days but Gerhardt took chances again, guessing right both times and he returned winners to take my service game at love.

I had to prepare to return Gerhardt’s next service game but I was dazed. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me on the court. Every time he guessed and he showed up early.

Then it occurred to me. Even that he was guessing on every one of his returns told me something. He wasn’t a low-ranked qualifier taking chances against a top guy. He was number one. He ought to be playing straight up, especially if up love–40 on my serve.

That the four guesses were correct told me something more. I had a tell.

His team must have looked at tape of my serve and found a tell. Patrick Damn McEnroe. It had happened with other top players. Becker had a tell. He’d do something with his tongue that would tip the opponent what he planned to do with his serve. Amazing that in what could be my last match, my tell was out and used against me.

John McEnroe would be in the booth saying I was playing well, just up against a guy out to prove he was number one, but I had new optimism at my revelation, more energy in my steps between and during points.

Gerhardt served well and held in a tough game to go up 3–0 in the second set.

We switched sides again and I came to the baseline to serve. I shuffled my feet, twitched my mouth and tongue, darted my eyes side to side, repointed my shoulders and jerked my head side to side. I looked like I had a neurological disorder. Gerhardt was fascinated.

I tossed quickly and straight ahead. I always tossed to the same spot no matter where I served so I knew my toss wasn’t the tell.

I was serving wide to his forehand and my ball was six inches out. I wasn’t certain but I didn’t think he had a jump on it. I decided to go for it on my second serve. What the hell, I’d lost my last service game at love so I might as well take a chance. I went through the same crazy routine then I tossed and plastered an ace down the middle.

Gerhardt’s feet didn’t move. At all.

The next serve Gerhardt guessed wrong and slipped trying to change direction. Another ace, an embarrassing one. Momentum shift. I was certain I wouldn’t drop another service game in the match. I took the second set 6–3.