Disclaimer

No children were emotionally harmed beyond the usual tournament-related character building. Opinions expressed are mine. The LTA does not endorse tears, McFlurries as coping mechanisms, or parents whispering “just swing through the ball for the love of god” into sports hall air.

After the “glorious” success at the last U9 Grade 3 in Taunton (glorious in the Greek Tragedy sense), we decided it was time to return to the circuit of mini-tennis warfare. The plan is one tournament this week, one next week, and one just before Christmas, rounding off the sporting year like a fine wine tasting flight — except the wine is lukewarm squash and the tasting notes involve the words “grit”, “unforced errors”, and “why are you staring at the other court again?”

Newport or Bath

Now normally, Bath wins. It’s a beautiful, historic city of Roman baths, Georgian crescents, Jane Austen, expensive shortbread gift tins, and that very smug glow of UNESCO World Heritage validation. The University’s sports village is famous for producing Olympians and elite athletes.

Newport… is easier to park in and it is actually easier to get to.

But Bath looked the stronger tournament player-wise, and naturally, our son likes to enter tournaments where he is approximately ranked 67th out of 16 players. So Bath it was.

The Case of the Missing Racket

Because no great sporting epic begins without mild chaos, our son turned up to Thursday training without a racket. Gone. Vanished. Sasquatch-style disappearance.

My wife didn’t know when it went missing. He didn’t know when it went missing. I suspected it had transcended into a higher plane of existence.

Luckily — and I do mean luckily — my wife had already ordered his new racket early as a birthday present. It arrived that evening, and we introduced the concept of financial consequence.

Our son counted the money in his secret under-bed safe (£48, mostly coins of suspicious origin). The negotiations were tense, but they settled on a £24.50 contribution, which he proudly paid in mostly 20p pieces to ensure maximum parental inconvenience.

A true student of life.

Road to Bath

Sunday morning: up at 7. Wife on weekend duty. No junior parkrun because tactical logistics (and because I like not suffering).

Route options to Bath:

• Quickest but ugliest: M5/M4
• Slowest but vaguely picturesque: past Cheddar and through goat-flavoured countryside

Naturally, we chose scenic suffering and stopped for the traditional pre-competition McDonald’s, which I pretended was nutrition and not emotional coping.

The Venue

The University’s Sports Village is genuinely impressive — a sports cathedral of steel, glass and sweat.

• Eight indoor courts
• Elevated viewing deck for premium parent lurking
• A gym full of people who already peaked at age fifteen
• Badminton courts full of people who take badminton very, very seriously

We arrived early, warmed up, and listened to the rules briefing which is broadly:

“We’re all here to have fun. Don’t call people cheaters. Parents please do not coach.”
(We all agree. Then no one sticks to it.)

Match 1 – vs Stefan “Sportsmanship Optional” Boffin

Our son calls a ball out. Probably in. Hard to be sure.
Opponent calls our son a cheater. Out loud. At U9 level.

I walked over to the parent and politely stated that:

• That language is not acceptable.
• He needs to speak to his son.
• Otherwise the referee becomes involved.

Dad handled it reasonably. Our son somehow did not register any of this and carried on happily unaware of the social breakdown around him.

Match score: 1-7, 7-4, 4-7.
Competitive. Tough. No drama. Good start.

Match 2 – vs Finn “Psychology Talk” Kearns

Overheard his dad explaining emotional regulation strategies pre-match as he “lost his head” in the previous match.

Our son… did not regulate anything.
Lost 4-7, 2-7.
Displayed the emotional stability of a disturbed ferret afterwards.
Tears. Anger. The full Greek tragedy.

We recalibrated, snack applied, pep talk issued.

Match 3 – vs Adam “Return Cannons” Robertson

He came 2nd last month in Taunton and returned today with improved artillery.

First set: 4-7.
Our son then found something inside himself — grit, spite, divine tennis revelation — and won the second set 7-5.
Third set was tight: 5-7.

Good match. Narrow margins. Encouraging. And — plot twist — this result later knocked one of the group favourites out on sets/games calculations.

Our son: defeated.
Our son also: agent of chaos.

Additional Matches

First playoff match: bad.
No topspin. No footwork. No conviction.
Lost 2-7, 4-7.
I may have been… blunt.

Tears again. I threatened to leave. Character development intensifies.

Then something changed.

Perhaps:

• My motivational speech finally hit.
• His hydration level balanced.
• He briefly remembered he knows how to play tennis.
• Or the faint smell of McFlurry sugar kicked back in.

Match vs Rowan Cornes

Lost first set 2-7.
Then won the next two: 7-5, 7-5.
Grit. Commitment. Focus.
An actual good tennis performance.

Then final match vs Sebastian Shaw

Won 7-3, 7-2.

Controlled.

Composed. Not distracted by dust motes or other courts as they were the last ones playing.

Conclusion

He can compete at this level.
But the margins are everything:

• Proper swing follow-through
• Ready position
• Emotional stability somewhere north of “puppy in a thunderstorm”
• Looking at the ball instead of the match on Court 4

Time, training, and tournaments will do their work.

What’s next?

Our son is currently entered at the Ivybridge tournament in 2 weeks. Maybe Frome in between?

Because apparently, we love character-building.