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From: The Racketeer 52, January 2004

Lethal Spin [16]

by Frank Raistrick

Tennis parents from hell
Last issue I was raving on about problem parents, and I continue with the saga of little four-year old Thomas's Dad. Children love running and relay games, and it's always advisable to loosen up at the start of a session, particularly if it's a cold day.

We would all begin by jogging gently round the perimeter of the courts, but Thomas with his short, sturdy legs found it hard work to keep up with the long-striding teenagers. His father would run alongside him, exhorting him to run faster, saying that he was part of the family. and his family were winners. Thomas was going to be a winner in life like his father was. Losers were to be despised, and the poor little lad flogged his tired legs round the courts getting further and further behind.

He would never have made a tennis player anyway, and I was relieved when they moved away from the district and I saw them no more.

I've saved my worst parent till last. She was a member of the tennis club, along with her fifteen-year-old son, who was a younger version of John McEnroe, rude and objectionable, although he was a very talented player. He could do no wrong in the eyes of his doting mother, whom I always thought was a bit bonkers. She used to book me for private lessons, which I found an ordeal as he was so objectionable and sulky, disagreeing with everything I told him.

She was obsessed with his service, which was pretty good anyway, and she insisted on him spending the whole hour just serving, which can get very boring. He was good enough to earn a place in the Men's third team, which he considered an insult, but nobody ever wanted to partner him again, due to his language, bad sportsmanship and racquet throwing.

He even went one better than Mr McEnroe, in that he was a blatant cheat, notorious in Junior circles. I had been co-opted on to the Tournament Committee and used to hover round the County courts looking for problem areas. Sadly, there were a number of well-known cheats, plus some kids who to be charitable we'll say were short-sighted, and I was often asked to call the lines for these matches. One such was against our club's boy and I was told that his opponent was equally biased in his own favour and there were some ludicrous line calls being made.

The very first shot after I took over was a good six inches in, but my boy called it out. I told him it was good, but he screamed that I must be blind. His opponent then called another good shot out, and I knew I was in for a torrid time, but I had no power to disqualify, worse luck.

Things got no better, and on match point to my boy, he hit a shot well over the baseline, which I called out. His mother, who had been simmering on the sidelines, came racing on to the court and pointed to a spot inside the baseline.

'That was well in!' she yelled. 'You are cheating my son because you don't like him - you are trying to rob him of a well-deserved win.'

He went on to lose and she stood glowering at me, swearing under her breath while her precious son gave me a two-fingered salute. I was glad to get away in one piece.

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