Disclaimer
This article contains junior tennis, extreme temperatures, competitive parents pretending not to watch, repeated visits to a coded toilet and an England football match in which defending became entirely optional. Any resemblance to a calm and restorative family weekend is purely coincidental.
The medical advice remains unchanged: maintain adequate hydration, apply sun cream regularly and never attempt to interpret the emotional state of an eight-year-old immediately after a deciding tie-break. Even experienced Upper GI practitioners have limits.
This weekend was never going to be restful.
There was tennis to play, cricket to play and the final two matches of the FIFA World Cup to watch. The Richardt household had therefore accidentally constructed a sporting endurance event involving rackets, bats, footballs, motorway travel and the careful management of snacks.
Part one began early on Saturday morning.
We needed to be in Frome for a 10am start, where a Grade 5 under-10 tennis tournament awaited. The draw contained 15 players, which is almost the ideal number for a 16-player competition, except for the minor administrative inconvenience of one player not existing.
The format was a compass draw, meaning that everyone would continue playing after losing rather than being eliminated and allowed to return home to a cool room. It is an excellent system for junior development and a slightly less excellent system for parents who have forgotten to bring sufficient coffee.
Each match consisted of one Fast4 set. At 3–3, a seven-point tie-break would decide the winner. It is a format designed to keep matches short, although nobody appears to have explained this to the parents’ cardiovascular systems.
The United Kingdom had spent the week beneath another extreme heatwave. Britain usually treats temperatures above 25°C as a national emergency involving melted railway tracks, empty supermarket shelves and urgent newspaper articles explaining how to open a window. This weekend was no different.
The 10am start might therefore have helped the players. At that stage, the courts were merely very hot rather than actively attempting to cook them.
The draw had appeared on Friday morning. This was, apparently, later than permitted under the relevant LTA competition rules. However, who am I to complain?
I am merely a parent who had refreshed the tournament page approximately 74 times and begun constructing imaginary draws in his head. This does not constitute emotional investment. It is simply administrative curiosity.
Our son had been drawn against the tournament’s third seed.
At this age, seeding can be somewhat arbitrary. Junior rankings are affected by how many competitions children have entered, which competitions they have entered and whether their parents possess the organisational ability to locate tournaments before the closing date.
Nevertheless, third seed still sounds significant.
Our son’s Somerset friends Zachary and Charlie had also entered. Charlie was seeded second and Zachary fourth. All three Somerset boys were playing up an age group, meaning they were among the youngest competitors in the draw.
Our son, having been born practically at the end of December, was almost certainly the youngest.
This was immediately apparent when the players gathered. Several of the older under-10s appeared to have recently completed a growth spurt and were approaching the physical dimensions of professional basketball players. The three Somerset boys stood among them looking like they had accidentally wandered across from the mini-tennis courts.
Height, of course, is not everything in tennis.
It does, however, help when serving over a net.
The First Appearance of the Toilet-Break Strategy
Our son’s opening opponent was Archie Biddell, a 2016-born player from Avon.
My wife and I adopted our usual tournament strategy. We spoke to other parents and attempted not to stand directly beside our son’s court.
This is partly because we want him to solve problems independently and partly because watching every point at close range is not particularly good for our blood pressure.
The match began, and we deliberately kept our distance.
After a while, our son suddenly appeared beside us.
“Can I have the toilet code?”
Naturally, I accompanied him. The toilets were protected by a keypad, presumably because junior tennis tournaments are known to attract highly organised gangs seeking unauthorised access to changing facilities.
As we walked, he explained that the score was 2–2.
Nature, it seemed, had chosen a tactically important moment.
A few minutes later, he sprinted back onto court. Approximately ten minutes after that, he returned.
“I won 4–2.”
Excellent.
A perfectly straightforward victory, interrupted only by a mid-match comfort break and a brief security operation involving a numerical access code.
Charlie and Zachary had also won their opening matches, meaning all three Somerset boys progressed into the next round.
Familiar Opponent, Familiar Score, Familiar Toilet
Our son’s next opponent was Clement Briot, a 2016-born Somerset county under-10 player.
They had played each other in Frome the previous year during an under-nine competition. On that occasion, Clement had won a close match.
This was therefore an interesting measure of progress. Clement was older, physically bigger and already playing at county level in the age group our son was attempting to enter ahead of schedule.
The match began.
My wife and I once again spoke to other parents while maintaining a carefully calculated distance from the court. We were close enough to intervene in the event of an injury but far enough away to claim we had not seen any questionable line calls.
Then our son came sprinting across.
“I need the toilet code.”
Again?
I accompanied him.
“What’s the score?”
“Two-all.”
This was becoming suspicious.
Either tournament nerves were affecting his bladder, or our son had discovered a previously unknown tactical method in which he reached 2–2, visited the toilet and returned as Novak Djokovic.
He disappeared inside, emerged a few minutes later and ran back to the court.
We resumed our conversation.
Eventually, he returned looking slightly miserable.
This usually means one of two things: he has lost, or he has won but is dissatisfied with how he won.
“I won 4–2.”
Of course he did.
The Toilet-Break Gambit had claimed another victim.
At this point, I briefly considered whether I should inform his coach. Perhaps this was the missing element from his game. Forget improving the serve. We simply needed to install a coded toilet beside every court.
Charlie and Zachary also came through their matches.
The semi-final line-up therefore contained the three youngest Somerset boys and the number-one seed from Wiltshire.
Not bad for three children who, standing beside some of the other competitors, looked as though they should still have been waiting for an adult to help them reach the drinking fountain.
The battle of Taunton
Zachary played the Wiltshire number-one seed in the first semi-final and lost 1–4.
On the adjoining court, our son faced Charlie in the Battle of Taunton.
Playing against a friend is never easy. They know each other’s games, train in similar environments and will presumably have to speak to one another again afterwards.
The match reached 2–2.
At which point, inevitably, our son sprinted towards us.
“Toilet code!”
Naturally.
By now, I was beginning to wonder whether this was less a biological requirement and more an elaborate performance routine. Rafael Nadal arranges his bottles. Novak Djokovic bounces the ball. Our son reaches 2–2 and visits a secure lavatory.
The match continued after his return, but this time the magic was less effective.
The score reached 3–3, triggering the seven-point tie-break.
It was close. Very close.
Our son eventually lost 5–7.
He was devastated.
Not mildly disappointed. Not quietly reflective. Devastated.
The crying rapidly became wailing, and the emotional reaction was difficult to listen to. He had come within two points of reaching the final, against a friend and fellow Somerset player, after already defeating the third seed and a county under-10 player.
None of that mattered to him at that moment.
He had lost.
The previous weekend, he had managed defeat much more calmly. This time, however, both parents were courtside, and the old ritual returned.
Children sometimes reserve their largest emotional reactions for the people with whom they feel safest. This is psychologically understandable and practically exhausting.
My own view of how the situation should be managed was, as usual, considered the wrong view.
I therefore allowed my wife to deal with it.
This was probably sensible. My instinctive response would have involved phrases such as “You played really well,” “It was only two points,” and “You still have another match,” all of which are entirely logical and therefore completely useless when someone is eight years old and experiencing the collapse of civilisation.
It took approximately 30 minutes for him to regain control of his emotions.
Unfortunately, junior tennis tournaments do not pause while players process disappointment. The third-place match still had to be played.
His opponent was Zachary.
Our son lost 2–4.
Zachary was not necessarily the better tennis player on the day. What he did better was manage the moment. He recovered from his semi-final defeat, returned to court and played the next match.
Our son was physically present, but part of him was still replaying the tie-break against Charlie.
That is one of the difficult truths about competitive sport. The result of one match can leak into the next unless the player learns how to close the mental door behind it.
Fourth Place—and a Great Deal More Than That
Our son therefore finished fourth.
This was a tremendous result.
He had entered an under-10 Grade 5 event while still an under-nine player. He was probably the youngest competitor in the draw, defeated the third seed, beat a Somerset county under-10 player and came within two tie-break points of reaching the final.
It was considerably better than I had expected.
Yes, it was “only” a Grade 5 tournament.
However, every player has to start somewhere. Sinner, Alcaraz and Zverev were not born walking onto Centre Court carrying ATP ranking points. At some stage, they too played junior tournaments while their parents stood nearby discussing hydration, line calls and whether another toilet break was genuinely necessary.
There was plenty of good tennis on display from our son.
His groundstrokes are becoming stronger, his movement is improving and he increasingly understands how to construct points rather than simply returning the ball and hoping something favourable happens.
The serve remains the obvious weakness.
Once that becomes more reliable, he could become a ferocious little player. At the moment, too many points begin with uncertainty rather than pressure. A better serve would allow him to start rallies on his terms instead of immediately negotiating his way out of difficulty.
However, the technical side is only part of the equation.
If his emotions continue to control him during the later stages of tournaments, it will not matter how good his forehand becomes. Competitive tennis repeatedly places players in uncomfortable situations. They lose points they should win, face questionable calls, miss easy shots and occasionally watch a net cord gently carry the ball away with all their hopes attached.
The ability to reset is not an optional extra. It is part of the sport.
That does not mean an eight-year-old should never cry. Disappointment is evidence that he cares, and learning emotional control does not mean becoming emotionless.
The challenge is to experience the disappointment without allowing it to dictate the next match.
That will take time.
Fortunately, so will fixing the serve.
Stourhead and the Recovery Ice Cream
On the journey home, we stopped at Stourhead.
An ice cream was required, partly because of the heat and partly because ice cream remains one of the most effective interventions for post-tournament emotional rehabilitation.
Stourhead was also running its “Summer of Games” activities, allowing us to continue the sporting theme in a setting where nobody was seeded and no ranking points were available.
This was probably just as well.
Our son gradually returned to his normal self. The tournament disappointment faded, the ice cream performed its clinical duties, and the Richardt household moved towards the next stage of the weekend marathon.
England Decide That 4–0 Is Too Comfortable
That evening, we watched England play France in the World Cup third-place match.
England led 4–0 at half-time.
This seemed reasonably secure.
We therefore went to bed.
After all, what could possibly happen?
We woke the following morning and discovered that England had won 6–4.
Apparently, after we went upstairs, both teams decided that football had become insufficiently entertaining and switched to tennis scoring.
A 4–0 lead had become 4–3 before England eventually remembered that the purpose of a third-place play-off was to finish third rather than produce an international defensive case study.
Ten goals.
Six-four.
It was less a football result and more something you would expect to hear announced across the courts in Frome.
England had secured third place at the World Cup, although their second-half defending suggested they had briefly considered giving France a consolation medal as well.
We had watched the sensible half.
The remainder of the match apparently resembled the Richardt sporting calendar: crowded, chaotic, emotionally unpredictable and considerably more exhausting than necessary.
And that was only Saturday.
Sunday still contained cricket and the World Cup final.
Because apparently one sporting marathon per weekend is no longer enough.
Leave a Reply