The Inspiration to
Serve and Volley
Kyle LaCroix
What first inspired you to become a tennis player? Not long ago, I asked that question to a group of young teaching professionals at a coaching conference where I was presenting.
Many mentioned famous players such as Pete Sampras or Andre Agassi, or Roger Federer. One named James Blake. Others named less famous players with names like "My Mother or "My Father."
As I pondered the responses my thoughts went back to my own first inspiration from a different era when matches were won and lost at the net.
I had played tennis a few times as a kid leading up to 1992, since every residential development in the suburbs of Tampa where I grew up had tennis courts. Then on a random summer day in late June, the family TV happened to be tuned to Wimbledon.
During a rain delay, the network showed highlights from a match two years earlier, the Gentleman’s Singles Final between Stefan Edberg and Boris Becker.
I was 10 years old at the time and I had never really sat down to watch a tennis match. Almost immediately I became fascinated by the grace and the power of game and of these two great champions.
The white clothing contrasting with the green grass turning brown. The sound of the ball striking on center court. The dead silence of the English spectators during play.
Most of all I was fascinated by the attacking styles of Edberg and Becker. It may sound strange but I found a symbolism that connected powerfully to my life.
Serve and volley was an adventure. It had daring, uncertainty, drama, triumph. All the things that seemed missing from my young life.
At the time I was working after school in my father’s restaurant. Long hours. As a kid, naturally I hated it. It was a tough business. The margins were thin. But as the son of the owner, my Dad needed my free labor.
So that became the metaphor. My family’s restaurant was the baseline and I wanted to attack the net. I decided that I would become a serve and volley tennis player.
Tennis was not my first sport. That was swimming. I gained enough recognition during my aquatic years to earn some trophies and mentions in the local newspaper.
For a kid my age I had abnormally large feet (size 16 today). On dry land, they could be awkward. In the water, they were marine propulsion weapons.
But the early morning practices, constant whistle blowing, and the taste of chlorine was not inspiring. Nor did I find inspiration in baseball (too boring), basketball (too much yelling from coaches) or football (too violent).
From that fateful day watching Wimbledon, I decided to put my heart into tennis. I played as much tennis as I could. I watched even more on TV. I read Tennis magazine religiously.
The joy of finding a sport I loved gave me a sense of emotional freedom from the restaurant. When I was playing tennis I was miles away from dish washing or chopping and dicing vegetables.
I was completely and utterly hooked, and I knew tennis would be a part of my life forever.
At first, I played daily matches with the hitting wall that got more and more competitive. Recreational players would stop between sets to watch this young kid serve and volley…against the hitting wall.
The images of Edberg’s volleys were etched in his mind. But I never had a formal tennis lesson before or during my junior career. Lessons would have cost money, which would have meant less money to enter tournaments.
Sadly, it was money and time that were not in abundance for the LaCroix family. We relied on work ethic, determination and sheer stubbornness.
I knew I had to do on my own. I tried to duplicate what I saw in Tennis magazine and on TV. But I did develop one other unique training method.
I would ride my bike through the gates of the East Lake Woodlands Country Club where we were not members. The club had a great tennis facility, a very successful junior program, and a handful of widely known coaches.
The pine trees were thick and towered over the outside of the court fences. I couldn’t get a clear look at the teaching pro or the student but I could hear them.
So I'd crouch down next to a teaching court and just listen. I'd listen to the sound of the ball being struck, the coach's inflection when he spoke, the student’s feedback, the laughs and the jokes.
But I was often disturbed by the shallow compliments, the clichés, and the generic tips. Sometimes I felt my understanding the game was higher learning the way I had on my own.
Eventually I got some wins that supported that conclusion. I beat several players on my high school team who had trained at that club—much to their dismay.
My game developed nicely and was gaining attention from some coaches and fellow juniors who asked what teaching pro I was working with. My answer usually surprised them. "No one."
My tennis grew through my endless repetition on the wall and an obsessive willingness to play anyone and everyone. More than once I stood up hard earned and very cute dates because I had to read the latest issue of Tennis magazine cover to cover when it came in the mail earlier in the day.
I was a literal tennis junkie, shaking without my tennis fix every few hours. Selling my family's furniture might have been the next step if I felt I could have gained more knowledge.
Boris Becker had won Wimbledon at the age of 17. If the "Lion from Leimen" could do it, so could I. I would be 17 in 1999, and I told anyone who would listen that the Wimbledon title would be mine that year.
I'd have a weekday afternoon match lined up with one of my teammates from high school. After that I’d play another match with a 5.0 male player.
Then I’d play an evening of doubles with 60 and 70 year old teammates and opponents, even one guy who was 84 and still loved to play. I never turned down an invitation to fill in for ladies doubles when the fourth didn’t show.
My ranking stayed within the Top 50 in Florida for every age group I played in since my first tournament when I was 12 to my last when I was 18. A very respectable achievement that could have been greater if I had the money and time to enter more events and therefore acquire more points.
The events I did enter I always competed well in, gaining a few trophies along the way and fueling my fire for learning more and traveling to bigger events.
In junior tournaments I could impose my will against many players. Against the elite Florida juniors I was sometimes target practice.
But I told myself that Stefan Edberg would be happy with my efforts. Like Edberg himself, I would clap for a great passing shot by my opponent.
But as I played serve and volley against more and more top juniors, especially the robotic baseline grinders from the academies, I gradually came to the conclusion I was probably never going to win Wimbledon at 17.
That point was driven home in a match I played as a warm up to famed Eddie Herr tournament in Southern Florida. For the first time ever, I was beaten 6-0, 6-0.
I couldn't believe it. Despite my Edberg like volleys with Becker like confidence, I got double bageled. My opponent was half my size but seemed twice as strong and infinitely more polished.
He was a blond kid from South America named David Nalbandian. Over time, as he went on to beat a few other players on the big tour, I began to feel better about that loss.
From that point I knew Wimbledon was likely to be a tough ask. But I knew that I was going to make this game a part of my life forever.
The game was so freeing, magical, extraordinary. And it all happened in a 36 feet by 78 feet area known as a tennis court.
I never did receive that Wimbledon trophy at 17, but my game was good enough to earn me a spot on my college team. The courts at the indoor facility in Michigan were lightning fast and perfectly suited to my game, a different world from the humid clay courts of Florida.
I loved playing in college. But all along I knew a greater calling -- teaching the game. Funny how the kid who insisted on learning without a tennis coach always wanted to become one.
I still think about Edberg and Becker and how a big moment in their careers was the impetus for the rest of my life. As a tennis teaching professional today at a private club, I often imagine a young junior hiding in the trees and hedges next to my courts. I try to make sure every word I say to my students means something, for fear that I'm cheating that driven child so hungry to learn.
