A tennis parent’s tale from the Millfield Grade 4 U9 Compass Draw

🚗 Destination: Millfield Prep

Last Saturday, we packed the car with bananas, tennis bags, and enough snacks to feed a small army, and headed to Millfield Prep School—a venue known as much for its prestige as for its particularly bouncy indoor courts.

The occasion? Our son’s toughest tournament yet: a Grade 4 U9 event, complete with something we’d never encountered before — the compass draw

🧭 Wait… What is a Compass Draw?

Glad you asked. Unlike a typical knockout tournament where you’re out after one loss, a compass draw lets players keep competing—just in different directions.

• Everyone starts in the North draw.
• Lose once? You get rerouted to East.
• Lose again? You’re off to the South.
• Still fancy a hit? There’s a West playoff waiting.

Think of it as a scenic detour through all four emotional quadrants of junior tennis. It guarantees multiple matches and plenty of life lessons—some of them involving tears.

This particular draw had 12 players, with four seeded players receiving a first-round bye. (I won’t pretend to understand the U9 seeding algorithm, but I’ve met the top seed—great kid, very decent forehand.)

🎾 Match 1: The Dream Start

Opponent: Unseeded
Result: ✅ Win in 3 sets

He started strong, taking the first set with confidence, then let the second slip through his fingers. But in the deciding set, he dug deep and pulled through. Cue fist pumps, proud-parent grins, and an early caffeine victory lap for us.

🎾 Quarter-Final (North): Trouble at the Top

Opponent: #4 Seed
Result: ❌ Lost in 2 sets

I didn’t see the match (classic error: coffee queue), but my wife wasn’t impressed—not so much with the tennis, but with the attitude.

Our son unraveled after falling behind. His frustration took center stage, and let’s just say it wasn’t his most gracious performance.

Yes, the other boy was stronger—but once our son started sulking, it was game, set, and emotional implosion.

🎾 Third Match (South Bracket): The No. 2 Seed

Opponent: #2 Seed (who had just lost to a fellow Somerset teammate of ours)
Result: ❌ Lost in 2 sets

Let’s be honest—this kid was good. Great serve, powerful shots, and, to our son’s dismay, taller by what felt like a foot. It wasn’t close.

And unfortunately, the emotions boiled over again. Losing made him angry; being outplayed made him devastated.

Nothing consoled him—not logic, not hugs, not even biscuits

🎾 Final Match (South Consolation): Turning a Corner

Opponent: Tough but unseeded
Result: ❌ Lost in 2 sets

This time, something clicked. Yes, he lost again—but this time he took it on the chin.

He shook hands properly, didn’t cry, and even managed a tired but genuine smile as he came off court.

Small step? Absolutely. But it felt like a milestone.

🧠 Perspective from the Sidelines

He played four matches. Won one. Lost three. Faced both the #2 and #4 seeds. Learned more than any win could’ve taught him.

And here’s the thing:
He’s still only eight—born in December, meaning he can technically still play U8 events. The others in the draw were mostly older, bigger, and stronger. Many have more court hours under their belts—and possibly more protein shakes, too.

But we don’t measure progress by trophies. We measure it by how quickly he resets, how he handles adversity, and—most of all—whether he still wants to play again next week.

And he does.

🧰 What We’re Working On

What Happened	What We’re Trying
Emotional meltdowns mid-match	Teaching reset rituals (deep breath, towel, new mantra: “New point, new chance.”)
Scoreboard panic	Setting process goals instead of outcome goals (“Just get the return back,” not “Win the game.”)
Post-match tears	Reflective debriefs: 2 things he did well, 1 thing to improve, then it’s back to cartoons and cuddles.
Pressure from the sidelines	Keeping it light. No speeches. Just quiet support, and the odd nod of encouragement.

🏁 Final Thoughts

Our son is doing just fine.

He’s the smallest (usually for the U9), emotionally intense, and sometimes takes losses very personally.

But underneath the frustration is a determined little boy who genuinely loves the game. We remind him—after every match—that winning or losing, we’re proud. Not because he hit a forehand winner. But because he showed up, gave it his best, and kept going even when things got hard.

And when he finally learns to tame those on-court emotions? Watch out, compass. He’ll be pointing due North before you know it.

Next stop: West playoff or not—we’ll be back.

Armed with bananas, a better breathing technique, and maybe, just maybe, a travel-sized sports psychologist in the boot.