Page 100 of Match Point

In tennis, a player had two chances to serve per point. The first serve was the big gun, hitting the ball as hard as possible to try and get an ace. If that serve didn’t land in-bounds, there was thesecond serve, which was far more conservative. There were no do-overs after a second serve, which meant most players hit the ball lighter with a lot more spin to make sure it went in.

I had one of the best first serves in the sport, averaging around 150 miles per hour. But my second serve wasn’t anything special. As I received a few tennis balls from the ball girl, an idea came to me. An idea that was risky, but worth it.

I hit my first serve; it sailed out of bounds, long. I prepared for my weaker second serve, bouncing the ball a few times before tossing it into the air. Across the net, Gabriel took a step forward, preparing to attack my weaker serve.

But instead, I crushed another first serve as hard as I could. It landed smack on the line, shooting past Gabriel before he could touch it.

Fifteen love,” the chair umpire announced.

I placed my next serve perfectly. Thirty love. Gabriel returned the serve after that, but it was a weak defensive shot, and it allowed me to charge the net and hit a winner on the next shot. Then, on the very next point, I hit another ace.

“Game, Carfrae,” the chair umpire called to a smattering of cheers. Across the net, Gabriel was walking over to his serve position slowly, while gazing across at me. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, wondering if I was still in this or not.

I’m still in this,I promised myself.

I was in the groove for the next few games, flawlessly aiming my serve and predicting all of Gabriel’s shots. Hitting my first serve every single time was a bold strategy, and it cost me a few double-faults (when you missed both of your serves.) But it was worth it, and I somehow won the set, 6 - 4.

The fourth set was evenly matched, with both of us holding our serves until late in the set. My tenacity seemed to be wearing on Gabriel, who had probably expected to finish the match an hour earlier. This culminated with Gabriel double-faulting two straight serves in a row to give me a late break, and the set.

The crowd was really roaring now, smelling the potential for the number one player in the world to be upset. Gabriel looked frazzled during the quick break, eating a banana and staring off at nothing.

The fifth—and final—set was a knock-down, drag-out battle. Every time I hit a winner, Gabriel came back and hit one of his own the next point. He broke my serve early, and then I broke his in the very next game. The fans cheered loudly after every point, hanging on the match as if it were the final round rather than semifinals.

Eventually we reached a tie in the set, 6 - 6. In past tournaments, we would have continued playing until someone won by 2 games, whether that was a final score of 8 - 6 or 20 - 18. But now there was a tiebreaker procedure. The first player to reach 10 points wins, with players alternating serves every other point. Since I had just served, Gabriel got to serve first, and then I would get two serves in a row, followed by two from Gabriel, until one of us reached 10 points.

Gabriel hit an ace to start it off, which prompted a roar from the crowd. I answered with an ace of my own, and then a serve-and-volley that allowed me to hit a winner at the net.

Back and forth we went like this, each of us winning our own serve. We were both in the zone, two masters of their sport battling on the court. The fans cheered louder with every point, and eventually it was difficult to tellwhothey were rooting for.

Eventually, we were tied 8 - 8. Gabriel served the next point. He had continued hammering my backhand side, but a little tingle of intuition told me that he was going to serve to my forehand side this time. I pretended like I was returning any normal serve, and just before his racket made contact with the ball, I darted to my right. Sure enough, that’s where the serve came. I twisted my torso back, and then crushed a vicious forehand winner down the line.

Except the ball clipped the net, sending it shooting off to the side and out of bounds.

It was now my serve, and I was down 8 - 9. If Gabriel won this point, he won the match. I accepted two tennis balls from the ball girl, tested their bounce, and shoved one in my pocket. All the distractions in the world faded away as I tossed the ball into the air and made my serve.

“Fault!” one of the line judges shouted. That meant my ball was out.

“Second serve,” the chair umpire announced.

I readied my next ball. I had been hitting only first serves for the last three sets, and it had worked out for me. But there was a lot on the line now. If I missed this serve, I lost the match. I had the overwhelming urge to hit a second serve, softer and with more spin, to make sure I got it in.

Fuck that,I thought.I got here with this strategy, and I’ll die by it.

I bounced the ball twice, tossed it into the air, and then served.

I was totally at peace with the world as the ball sailed into the net. I had fought the best player in the world to a fifth set tiebreaker. And I had done so while using the two-handed backhand that Miranda had taught me. The crowd went berserk as they realized the match was over, cheering for Gabriel as he tilted his head back and sighed to the sky. But a lot of those cheers were for me. I had gained something I had been desperately lacking these past few years.

Respect.

I steeled myself for Gabriel’s taunts as I approached the net. The Frenchman was grinning widely at me, adding some sting to the loss that I didn’t yet feel. He shook my hand, and then pulled me in close for a hug.

“That was well fought. It’s good to see you healthy. You’re going to dominate in Melbourne.” He pulled back and patted my chest, then turned and clapped for the crowd.

I continued staring at his back. Had that really just happened? Gabriel seemed so genuine with his compliments. And since nobody could hear what he said, he wasn’t just being nice for show.

As I gathered my equipment into my bag, I realized the crowd was cheering louder and louder. I looked up to see a standing ovation from the Flushing, New York crowd. Gabriel was over by his bench, making a motion with his hands to urge the crowd on. Soon a chant went up, ringing around the stadium in surround sound.

“Tris-tan! Tris-tan! Tris-tan!”

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