Looking for the Seams

CHAPTER 1

stanford

Trip! Focus, kid!

I’m trying, Dad, Trip said with an edgy tone he had never used with his father.

Well, if you don’t get your mental game in gear, you’ll have lost this match before it begins, Joseph said as they walked out of the Stanford University locker room toward the tennis courts. Keep focused on your serve, son. Frank has done a remarkable job with it this season, so capitalize on that like we talked about. That’s all you need to do.

Trip couldn’t shake his anxiety. I just don’t think I can beat Heath. I’ve never beaten him, and I’m afraid I’m going to let the team down.

Joseph softened his voice. Trip, don’t worry about beating him. Heath’s never seen the new serve Frank has helped you with, and no player in college tennis has a serve like yours. Didn’t the radar gun top one hundred and thirty this morning? Heath can’t touch that. Just win your service games and be patient until Heath falters on his service game, then pour on the heat. Be patient for that opportunity. Can you do that?

Trip took a deep breath. He knew his father was right. I’ll do it, Dad, he said, trying to convince himself.

Walking onto center court at Stanford’s tennis arena for the NCAA championship match, Trip Furman glanced up into the stands to see if his new girlfriend had shown up as promised. Mishael, a music major at the university, had not only shown up, she had filled two rows in the bleachers with friends rooting for Trip, waving red flags with a large white T emblazoned on them, and wearing matching red T-shirts. Trip’s heart soared. He waved at her, then bowed to the fans. They immediately stood, cheering as loud as they could and catching the attention of the entire arena with their frenzied flag waving.

Trip watched as his father joined his tennis coach, Frank Hornbrook, in his box seat. Knowing this was his last appearance of the season, Trip went over and shook Frank’s hand, thanking him for a great season. With Frank’s coaching, Trip had led the Stanford team to the finals. Stanford was now tied with Florida State, led by Heath Whitman, and if Trip could win here, Stanford would be national champions. He went to his bench and waited for the pregame announcements and warm-ups.

Trip had come to Stanford for his masters after playing two seasons for the University of Florida, where he graduated early with a 4.0 average in civil engineering. This allowed him two seasons at Stanford under Coach Hornbrook. In this, his first season, Trip’s game was blossoming.

At Florida, he had faced Heath Whitman twice, losing miserably the first time, 0-6, 1-6, and again the next year in the conference finals, 3-6, 4-6. Heath was a junior now, and the top player in college tennis. Trip knew this was going to be the match of his life.

Trip won the coin toss and elected to serve. Heath looked at the sun’s position and chose a side, putting Trip looking into the sun for his first service game. Trip took his normal position for his first two serves, and Heath pounced on the returns, winning both points. Down love-30, Trip looked up at the sun and moved down the line to the far right—a normal service position for doubles play, but rarely for singles. This put the sun slightly out of his eyes, and he surprised Heath with a hard, wide serve for an ace. Moving to the other side, he moved along the baseline to reduce the sun’s glare, lowered his toss slightly so he didn’t look up as high, and put as much spin on the serve as he could. The slower pace and wicked bounce caused Heath to swing early and hit the return wide. The score was now 30-30. With renewed confidence, Trip again hit from the far side of the court, but placed it down the middle. Heath, expecting another wide serve, got to the ball late and hit it into the net. Trip won the next point to save his first service game.

Changing sides for the second game, Heath had similar trouble with the sun, but adjusted quickly and held his serve.

As the games progressed, Trip discovered the wisdom of his father’s advice and Frank’s coaching. For the new serve, Coach Hornbrook had changed Trip’s starting footwork, his toss, his backswing, and his movement to the net as he hit the ball. Frank taught him to bend his knees more, giving him a spring action, then stretch toward a high service toss, causing Trip to come high off the ground and gain additional leverage.

For three months Trip had been running daily drills to develop the serve. He timed his wrist snap perfectly to increase his power and topspin, creating a massive kick that caused the ball to bounce high. The so called kick serve forced the receiver to take the ball high and out of their maximum power zone. As the match against Heath progressed, Trip knew his hard work was now paying off. His anxiety abated, his serve improved, and Heath began having trouble returning it. Trip was racking up service winners as well as short points when he put away Heath’s weak return.

Now adjusted to the sun, both players held serve until the score in the first set was even at six games each. They played a tiebreaker, each trading serves until someone earned seven points. Each held his serve until Heath faltered, giving Trip a 6-5 advantage. Tournament play required that tiebreakers be won by two points, meaning that Trip needed one more point to win the game and the set. Trip noticed Heath take a half step toward the middle of the court, expecting Trip to go down the middle—his strongest and most consistent serve. Trip took a chance on an outside serve and hit the service line for an ace. He had finally won a set against the number one player in college tennis.

The second set went as the first, with Trip concentrating on his service game while waiting for a lapse in Heath’s game and a chance to break his serve. Heath played flawlessly though, and again they went into a tiebreaker. Trip decided to gamble with a short drop shot return on Heath’s first service. The ball grazed the top of the net with massive backspin causing it to bounce back toward the net and away from Heath, making for an almost impossible return. Early in the match, Heath would have probably gotten to the drop shot for an easy put-away, but now, after twenty-four games and into the second tiebreaker, his fatigue was showing and his reaction to the shot was slow. As with the first set, Trip won a service point from Heath and was up 6-5 and serving to win the match.

Trip saw Heath take a step to the outside, expecting the same serve as Trip had used to win the previous set. Trip went to his best serve down the middle and Heath had to leap for it, hitting it with little control. The ball sailed high, looking like it was going long, but the topspin generated by Heath’s last second flick of the wrist caused it to drop slightly and Trip watched as it hit the back edge of the baseline just out of his reach for a winner. But the line judge called Heath’s return out, and the crowd erupted, cheering Trip.

Instead of celebrating, Trip immediately looked at the chair umpire expecting an overrule, but none came. Heath ran to the umpire’s chair and went ballistic at the line judge’s call.

Trip ran to the chair umpire as well. Are you going to overrule that call? he asked.

I have to be absolutely positive to overrule, and it was too close for me to do that, the umpire replied.

Well, it was clearly in, so overrule it, Trip said.

Are you sure? The match is yours, Trip. Why are you questioning the call?

Because it was wrong! I want to win fair and square, not because a line judge makes a bad call, Trip argued as the crowd went silent, waiting for a verdict.

Okay, the chair umpire shrugged. The call is overruled, he announced. Point goes to Mr. Whitman. Score is 6-6. Mr. Furman to serve.

The crowd stood in silent disbelief, then Mishael started waving her flag. Her entourage followed and they started chanting Trip, Trip, Trip . . .

Heath grinned and pumped his arms in celebration as Trip went to the baseline for his next serve. He noticed the line judge whose call had been overruled staring at him, furious. Trip had trouble regaining his focus. Heath took full advantage and pounded the return for a winner, putting him ahead by a point and giving him the chance to serve for the tiebreaker win and the set, which he did. The men were now tied at one set each in the best-of-three set match.

Trip regained his composure and his serve strengthened in the third set as Heath’s stamina waned. On a return of serve, Trip hit a beautiful topspin backhand cross-court shot out of Heath’s reach. The ball bounced off the baseline for the winner. Immediately the line judge called out.

What? Trip yelled. Are you kidding me? Are you blind?

The line judge said nothing, but Trip detected a smirk. Trip ran to the chair umpire to question the call.

Sorry, Trip, the umpire said. That’s across the court and I didn’t have a good enough look to reverse the call.

You’re shitting me! Trip yelled out of frustration.

Careful, Mr. Furman, the umpire warned, dropping his informality to address the profanity. I’ll have to assess a penalty point if I hear any more from you.

Trip stood stoically, fuming, but said nothing else. He looked toward Heath who was snickering, glorying in his reprieve. As Trip walked back to the service line, he glared at the line judge with as much venom as he could muster. The line judge did his best to ignore the stare.

For the rest of the match, any close calls did not go in Trip’s favor, and his focus was broken with each questionable call. The crowd started booing the calls and making so much noise during Heath’s service games that the chair umpire stopped the match, threatening to clear the stadium if quiet wasn’t restored. After a final loud hissing, the crowd quietened and play resumed.

At 4-4, Heath finally broke Trip’s serve, and went on to serve for the match. Trip battled in the final game, fighting off two match points to stay even. But Heath’s service game proved to be too much for Trip who finally faltered.

Heath came to the net for the obligatory handshake, and Trip steeled his anger as they met. Holding Heath’s hand for a moment too long, he leaned toward Heath’s ear and whispered, I’m going to clean your clock next year, asshole.

Heath jerked back and just laughed—nervously.

CHAPTER 2

the locker room

Trip tried to contain his anger as the awards were presented, but he continually saw flashes of white as anger ripped through him. He felt betrayed and couldn’t let it go. He had tried to do the right thing and be honorable. Instead, he was cheated by a vengeful line judge. Heath’s mocking attitude at winning the championship just added fuel to the fire, and Trip could find no way to feign graciousness. The best he could do was go through the motions with his mouth closed, and get off the court as quickly as possible.

Finally, the ceremony ended and Trip grabbed his bag and headed for the locker room. His father, Joseph, was waiting for him.

Trip angrily threw his bag against the wall and started yelling. That asshole line judge cost me the match! He stole it from me. And Whitman’s just as big a cheat. He knew my ball was in! He should have said something!

Why? Joseph said quietly, not responding to Trip’s tantrum.

Because he should have. He saw it. He knew! Trip repeated.

So what? Joseph said.

What do you mean, ‘So what?’ Trip screamed. You saw it hit the line. You’re not going to try to tell me the asshole line judge was right, are you? Come on, Dad! Whose side are you on?"

Yours, Joseph calmly replied.

Well, it doesn’t sound like it! Trip said as he leaned against the tile wall and slid to the floor in a hunched position, putting his head in his hands and shaking in disbelief.

Trip, get up.

I don’t want to, Trip retorted.

Get up now, I said, Joseph commanded, his voice loud and not to be ignored.

Trip had never disobeyed his father. He hesitated, wanting to tell his father to go to hell and leave him alone. But he didn’t have the will to wantonly disobey. He slowly stood and glared down into his father’s eyes. Although Joseph was several inches shorter than his son, his demeanor made him tower emotionally over Trip who cowered into submission.

Joseph was quiet for a moment, letting Trip regain composure, then asked, Do you really think that just because you did the right thing, Heath should’ve?

But my shot was in! Trip said.

That’s irrelevant, Joseph said. Now answer my question.

I don’t know. I thought he would do the right thing. I thought he would overrule the call. It was a horrible call! Trip stammered.

Why? Because you did? Look son, just because you do what’s right, you assume the world is going to do what’s right. Don’t be such a fool, Trip. Grow up and face the situation.

I don’t get you, Dad. You’ve always taught me to do what’s right and now you’re telling me I was wrong?

No. I’m telling you to grow up. Joseph paused as Trip just stared at him. Let me say this first, before we get to the real issue. Joseph put his hands on Trip’s shoulders and looked at him sternly. I have never been more proud of you than when you went to the chair to correct the call. That was one of the best moments I’ve ever had on a tennis court. But for you to expect anyone else to behave like you is not only foolish, it’s dangerous, as you found out.

Dangerous? How’s that? I don’t get it, Trip said trying to figure out his father’s simultaneous praise and admonishment.

You think Heath was wrong not to question the call? Joseph asked.

Of course he was wrong.

And, you think that because the line judge was wrong, and Heath was wrong, and the chair umpire was wrong, you had the match stolen from you?

Don’t you?

Absolutely not! Joseph said. Who controls your head, Trip?

Me? Trip said, knowing it was the wrong answer to give his father. When Joseph asked a question to teach a lesson, the obvious answer never seemed to be the right answer.

It looked to me like Heath Whitman got control of your head today—with a little help from the line judge. But actually, you did all the work for him. And once he got control of your head, your match was lost. Heath not only didn’t question a bad call, he rubbed your face in it. And in doing so, he beat you.

So, are you saying I shouldn’t have questioned my call? Trip asked.

You’re way too smart to ask a stupid question like that, Trip. You questioning a call has nothing to do with the issue. The issue is your head, and who controls it. If you go into the pro ranks without total control, you’re going to have your head handed to you on a platter. They have so many ways of tearing up your psyche, your head will be swimming before you’ve played two games. Never, ever let someone else’s behavior dictate your attitude. You need to focus on Trip Furman, and who Trip Furman needs to be regardless of anyone else. Nobody is going to behave like you, and very few people even care. Heath didn’t give a damn about you being a saint out there. He just used it to his advantage. That’s all. That’s reality. And that fact should have nothing to do with the way you feel about yourself, or what you should expect from him. Get it?

Yes, sir, Trip lamented. I let my expectations get in the way of my game, and Heath used that and beat me. I shouldn’t have expected anything better from him. He’s just an opponent. I’m responsible for me and my behavior. I lost control of my focus.

Now you’re getting it, Trip. Joseph smiled.

I hate it when you’re right, Dad, Trip said. Don’t you ever get tired of being right all the time?

Joseph grinned, marveling at his son. I’ve been wrong far too many times to count, son. So, if I’m right occasionally, just let me enjoy it for a moment. I know that too will pass, and I’ll be wrong again soon enough.

I doubt it, Dad, Trip said. Do you mind if I go now? I’m supposed to meet my date.

No. You go ahead and have some fun. You’ve earned it, Joseph said.

Thanks. I’ll see you later?

Probably not. I’m heading back to Houston tonight. But I’ll see you soon.

Okay.

As Trip turned to leave, Joseph stopped him. Trip?

Yeah, Dad?

Your tennis game is a beautiful thing to watch. Just beautiful.

Thanks, Dad. I owe it all to you. See you soon.

Say hello to that beautiful girl who was cheering for you so wildly. You’ll have to introduce me to her sometime, Joseph said as he watched Trip pick up his bag and walk away.

Trip spoke over his shoulder. Her name is Mishael. She’s from Pakistan. A real, literal princess. And she plays the piano like you would never believe.

The locker room door opened as Trip was finishing his description of Mishael. His coach, Frank Hornbrook, came in smiling.

What’s up, Frank? Joseph said as Frank grabbed Trip for a quick chest bump.

"Sorry about the match, Trip. We all know you beat Heath, but he got the trophy. Too bad, but the good news is, the athletic director just fired the line