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It might not always seem so, but deep down I am a sensitive soul. Seven years ago, after 40+ years of playing competitive squash, I hung up my racket. Squash is a fantastic game. Great for fitness, it is a wonderful social game, and in New Zealand it’s played by people of all ages, race and class.
However, I hadn’t been enjoying it for a while, and the turning point came when I was unnecessarily hit by the ball, leaving a bruise on my thigh the size of a watermelon that took a month to heal.
That bruising was a metaphor. I was also bruised from poor court behaviour, abuse when I was marking, team mates who no longer travelled as a team and left before the meal and (occasionally) men who would go all out rather than lose to a woman. And I didn’t really like the way I was reacting either.
I now do line dancing and yoga for my exercise, and still enjoy exercising my competitive gene at mah jong, or other board games with friends or family who don’t take it too seriously.
This weekend my sister was out of town, so I was excited to take my teenage nephew to his first squash Superchamps, a competition where teams of five play off to represent the local area at the Nationals. It was at my old club, nice to be back there and see a few old faces, but I noticed I also felt a bit edgy.
My nephew was playing fifth, so if it was 2/2, his match would be the decider. Our team were all teenagers. The opposition all “mature” or shall we say older men, in comparison.
The first match kicked off.. I was loving it. Squash is such a great game, balancing fitness, skill, tactics and composure. The match was a good standard, played in good spirits. I was almost wishing I was playing again. We were 2/0 up but after a dicey ref call at a crucial moment (they always seem to happen on pressure points), ended up losing it 3/2. My heart went out to the little fella who stayed calm throughout but was devastated at the loss.
We won the second match 3/0 and the third 3/1.
The fourth match was touch and go. The officiating was indecisive and the gallery started sharing their views. Our young guy, who is about to have a knee operation started hobbling in the third. The opposition team, one of whom had too much to drink, were becoming loud and boisterous, even cheering mistakes. It was difficult to watch. After being 2/0 up and losing the next two, obviously in physical and emotional pain our young guy lost his composure and cracked his racket against the floor. My nephew, who is extremely laid back, told me he was starting to feel nervous about his game. I was beginning to feel the same way and doubted whether I could watch my lovely gentle nephew having to experience such a cauldron. After some coaching from his Dad our young man regrouped and won a very close 5th, amidst a barrage of noise from the opposition. His opponent refused to shake his hand when the match ended.
The pressure was off. My nephew lost his first two games, clearly still carrying some nerves, but won in a close five setter. I was on edge though because they were in each others’ space and not calling their lets, so it felt like it was only a matter of time before someone got hit. Thankfully the referee intervened. I think my nephew ended up enjoying the pressure, but the edginess had subsided with match four going our way.
And it got me thinking.
How a sports arena is like a group circle, or a ceremonial space. How the marker and referee are the holders of that space, and key to its quality and safety. How there are boundaries and behaviours that should be defined and not be crossed. How being present (both the marker and referee watching closely) is important to quality decision making. How the officiants can be scapegoated (by players and supporters) when things don’t go their way. And the importance of good completion; shaking hands, saying “well played” and leaving it all on the court. Maybe these skills should be given more emphasis in the referee training.
As in life, sport teaches you that life is not always fair, that the best player does not always win. What does “best” even mean? And when does it become about just being the best we can be, regardless of the arena we are in, and when should we speak up and point out that the arena could be better?
The boys seemed ok afterwards. They shrugged it off, jumped on a court together and played some more. Maybe these experiences harden them up, teach them resilience. Or maybe it fosters anxiety in more sensitive souls?
I however, was a wreck, reeling from what I had just experienced and feeling very comfortable about my decision to walk away from the game. I would rather see the beautiful game of squash played in an emotionally and physically safe space rather than a modern day version of a Colosseum. Or maybe I’m just being soft.
“In the end, it’s extra effort that separates a winner from second place. But winning takes a lot more that, too. It starts with complete command of the fundamentals. Then it takes desire, determination, discipline, and self-sacrifice. And finally, it takes a great deal of love, fairness and respect for your fellow man. Put all these together, and even if you don’t win, how can you lose?” ~ Jesse Owens |
