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From: The Racketeer 48, January 2003

Lethal Spin [12]

by Frank Raistrick

The joy of coaching
Back in the 1970s there was a thriving community of juniors. The Prudential Grass Roots Coaching scheme had just started and I thought it was about time we were on the map, so having obtained the permission of the Committee, we began Friday evening sessions. Despite our lack of coaching experience it was a huge success with hordes of beginners, and Lisa and I decided there was an urgent need to learn how to coach correctly. We both passed the Part One, and gained some idea of what was needed. It was also highly enjoyable and I can thoroughly recommend keen players to take it even if I did say in the written paper - I don't know if they still have that - that the baseline was forty-five feet long.

I grew to love coaching nearly as much as playing matches, and enjoyed the planning of lessons, incorporating the strokes with fun drills. I became very busy and was booked for courses at Carlton-le-Willows School, Carlton Forum Leisure Centre, Gedling, Loughborough, Mansfield, the Boys' High School, Frank Seely School - I was working more hours than when I worked! One bizarre episode was at Arnold Leisure Centre, where I took some French children who were on holiday here. We were going through the paces when two men came up and said that we had to move. I pointed out that we had paid and that I didn't want to move, so they led me silently to the far court and showed me a narrow gap in the surface. They said that it had appeared that morning and they didn't know how deep it went, but that it was expected to widen and the courts were being closed down. I moved.

One of the joys was seeing the embryonic steps of Amanda Gregory, and later Helen Reesby and Daniel MacShane, all county players, both girls becoming English internationals and that is a great thrill when you remember them as tinies. Six-year old Daniel joined a course that I took at Rushcliffe, keen as mustard but unable to lay the racket on a ball, and now ten years later he plays for the county. And of course there were many who simply enjoyed playing the game, which is the main thing. Mind you, it wasn't all fun. I recall receiving a phone call from Rushcliffe Sports Centre asking if I would take a course for adults on Thursday evenings.

They'd had a lot of requests, mainly from married ladies who wanted to be able to play with their growing children. It sounded a good idea and I was very enthusiastic, but there turned out to be two massive snags, They were lovely ladies, but they had no co-ordination or ball sense. I learned to hide my inner wince when any female told me she had played at school, but this lot were terrible. The main problem though was the climate. Some weather sprite with a sadistic, twisted sense of humour took it out on us. 'Infamy! Infamy!' as the late, much lamented Mr Williams would have said. A North Sea trawler wasn't in it - whatever the day had been like, come six o'clock and the icy rain lashed West Bridgford spasmodically. Call me an MCP if you will, but ladies seem more susceptible to cold, and they stood huddled up in gloves, scarves and Mr Michelin padded jackets shivering. I tried to put a macho face on it and get them running round, but they didn't want to, and I hated it. There were no indoor facilities and to try to teach a static stroke like the service which none of them could do, was sheer purgatory.

To complicate matters there was one youngish man who was an excellent player and would have been welcomed at any club. He lived in Mapperley, and I gave him Alec French's telephone number, but he seemed to prefer the ladies' company and whacked balls at them uninhibitedly. I had no idea what to do with him - he was a better player than me, and it was a great relief when the eight week course finished. It brought an improvement in the weather too.

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