Winning Isn't Anything

Today, I play the last tennis match of my high school career.

I step out onto the court and hear the gentle buzz of the crowd. There are three courts in Timberhill's main building, and all can be viewed from one platform, capacity of roughly 250 people. It is half-full now, mostly by players eliminated from contention earlier in the week, killing time until they can go home. As word of the upcoming matches spread, the doors open and a hodge-podge flood of parents, athletes, and friends fill the bleachers with curious spectators.

It is Friday at the Mid-Willamette Conference Boy's Tennis Districts. Ask any high-school tennis player what Fridays at districts mean, and the answer will always be the same. Championship Day.

Since I was a freshman, a part-time starter on Varsity that could only sit and watch districts unfold, I dreamed of playing on Championship Friday. And now as I walk onto that court, racket bag slung over my shoulder, the two Gatorades I had shoved into the front pocket sloshing morosely with every step, I felt proud of how far I had come. My dream had come true.

But something's wrong.

Like a single musical instrument out of tune, it's imperfection hidden within the grand sound of a vast and talented symphony, the glaring flaw of this moment fought to hide itself from my adolescent aspirations of a state berth and maybe, just maybe, a district title.

What was wrong with that moment? I had lost my first round match two days earlier. I would never play in a semi-final. I would never earn a berth in state. Just an hour and twenty eight minutes after taking to the courts Wednesday afternoon, my dream had sputtered bitterly, coughed, and died.

I was playing on Championship Friday, but for the consolation final. I was playing to be the best of those defeated in the first round.

The kid inside me, full of idealistic expectations, sulked in dissapointment. I did not, could not, do the same. I knew I had made choices that had lead to this point. Could I have practiced more and been good enough to advance past that first round match? Goodness yes. With every choice in your life comes a sacrifice. Tennis had been my passion. But it was not my only passion.

I breathe in deeply and smile. I shake my opponents hand. I meet my doubles partner's confident gaze and nod in his direction. One hand grasps the yellow-green ball, the other my loyal racket of four happy years.

Toss. A flurry of motion. And the match begins.

The outcome is uncertain. But already, I feel like a champion.

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Myself and Evan Wu lost to the #5 seed in the first round of districts, but bounced back to win 4 straight matches, including the consolation final, a 5-7, 7-5, 6-3 victory over a team from CHS.