The first chapter in my big sporting weekend was the
intermediate event of the Chi-Slam Open table tennis tournament. Would I be
able to transform my recent good form on weekday nights into tournament
success?
The tournament began with a round robin stage of groups of
5, with the top two in the group progressing to the knockout phase. One player
from my group didn’t turn up, so two wins out of three would likely to be
enough to secure my place in the business end of the event. I knew my first
opponent and I expected to beat him easily, and I did, winning 3-0.
Next up was an eleven year old French boy. When I discovered
he was in my group, I secretly hoped that he would be a massive brat who would
throw a tantrum every time he lost two points in a row and try to cheat me on
the score. Rather boringly, he turned out to be a charming young lad who’s Dad
even remarked “sometimes he just likes to have fun so much he forgets to try
and win”. Brat or no brat, there was simply no way I was going to lose to an
eleven year old. I stormed the first game 11-3 and began to take my foot off
the pedal – no need to humiliate this pre-pubescent monsieur. He won the next
game to level the match and I began to sweat a little. Not much though, I would
just raise my game and see him off quickly. At 7-5 down in the third game I was
sweating buckets. The young chap had cut out the errors that littered the first
game and was playing some quality table tennis. Meanwhile, I was struggling to
find my rhythm. Was this to be the most embarrassing sporting moment of my
life? At 9-8 down I simply had to win the next point. Trembling with nerves, I
forced my diminutive opponent into an error and won the next two points on my
serve to take the game. From then on I relaxed and won the fourth game at a
canter. My final group stage opponent was a lot bigger but a lot easier to
beat. I was safely through to the knockout phase.
In the last 16 I easily defeated a player who simply
couldn’t handle backspin. Waiting for me in the quarter finals was my toughest
opponent yet, but I started to find my game and comfortably dismissed him in
straight sets. I thought little of the victory, but it had caused a bit of a
stir around the building. Apparently, this player I had just knocked off 3-0
was seeded to reach the final and I was supposed to just be a weed he would
trample down on the way. My tactical astuteness was key to causing this ‘upset’
– I instantly recognized that the extreme grip he possessed would struggle
against chops and quick attacks to the forehand.
I was now in the semis and was determined to make the
showdown. A battle ensued. I surrendered the first game 11-9 but bounced back
to take a tight second. The third game would be crucial and it was back and
forth until deuce at 10-10. I squandered two set points and eventually
succumbed 15-13. My title challenge was hanging by a thread. However, I was
still feeling confident as I had worked out some serves that he returned high,
allowing me to rip a forehand smash on the next ball. If only I could increase
the number of points I was taking off his serve then I could surely turn the
match around. It was frustrating. His serve didn’t even have much spin on it
and he wasn’t following it up that aggressively, but still I made errors on the
return. The fourth game was as tight as the previous three, but I narrowly
prevailed 11-8. One game to 11 would now determine whether I would play for the
championship or third place. With a racing heart, I grabbed a lead and held
onto it thanks to some heavy forehands. At 9-5 up on his serve, I knew I could
afford to take a chance and went for a backhand down the line winner off his
serve. It caught the corner of the table and I won the next point to book my
place in the final.
I had seen my opponent play in the earlier rounds of the
event and he looked pretty fearsome. I wasn’t afraid though, with my mental
toughness and crafty tactics I might be able to pull him out of his comfort zone. My opponent was the brother of the French boy I had labored past earlier.
Luckily, this Parisian was of an age where losing to him wouldn’t be
humiliating. I got slapped in the first game but regrouped to take the second
11-8 after a string of errors from my opponent. Unfortunately, the Frenchman
then decided enough was enough and powered forehand loop after forehand loop
past me to cruise through the next two games and leave me with the runner-up
trophy. A trophy! I was delighted! It may have only been the intermediate event
of a small table tennis tournament but here I sit with a trophy so I will be
celebrating tonight – and the trophy will be coming with me!
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| My runner up trophy. |
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