You bounce the ball 7 times. Sweat drips off your nose and hits the clay underneath you.
You know this is one of the most important points of the match, you’re down break point at 4-4 in the 5th set. You need this point. You need this game. You need to ‘return to deuce’. You can still hear the echoes of the crowd roaring. You can’t tell who’s side they’re on. Somewhat ambient and heavily textural Shaabi pads play in your mind. You need this.
You decide to serve down the tee. You need to work your forehand down the line, but open up the court first. You learnt from the best. That's the tactic. You hit a cross court forehand, in doing so you open up the line and drive the forehand into the corner. Winner. You’re back to deuce. Is it deuce number ‘Seven, Eight, Too Late’ you think. It doesn’t matter. It's now or never. but you can’t do the same thing again. It could be readable. You need to move with the weight of a feather like the glittering chimes on the track, the track that has the same name as your previous thought. Be the anchor, like the strings. You feel the weight of the moment, much like the percussive elements of the track, heavy and laden with symmetry. You’re in the now.
It's your advantage. You need to hold serve here. Forget that this is the biggest match of your life. You serve wide but hit your backhand long, ‘unforced error’. The mellow keys bring you hope. Ambient pads reminiscent of the bones of Mijwiz awaken you. Even though you’re back to deuce in what seems like forever, you’ve got the right mental state. You float on the idea of taking this match out. Foresight is useful, but not right now. Focus.
You’re talking to yourself, questioning your next move, your next shot. cross court or down the line? Self doubt creeps in, you tell yourself to ‘Sush’. You mean shush. It never works. The mental chatter is never ending. When you can, you try to play music in your mind, levantine synth lines play with heavy syncopated drums, you need these next two points.
Once again you bounce the ball seven times, serve down the tee and are lucky enough to serve an ace. In between the next point you remember that you play in the ‘open era’ of tennis. The era of tennis that began in 1968. You go back to the music in your mind, you float on a synth, it takes you up, gives you the confidence to take this next point. You hear beautiful synth lines cascading on top of each other, you aim to ride that wave, the wave of pre-shaabi electroacoustics. The keys take you higher. They give you the strength to take the next point.
It’s a changeover, you get to drink water and sit down, apply some tiger balm to your right wrist, just one more game to win it all.
Words by Tommy Boutros