Picture this. It’s July and I’ve finished my second year of university and am attempting and, crucially, failing to be employed and therefore have an unprecedented amount of spare time to kill. I decided for the first time in years to switch on to the BBC and have a glance at Wimbledon.
I had, of course, been exposed to Wimbledon when I was growing up. Both my parents had been interested in the tournament, I had taken tennis lessons as a child and fundamentally it is a British Institution. I have faint memories of watching Andy Murray win his 2 Wimbledon titles in 2013 and 2016 and I knew that my Mum had a preference for Nadal but a dislike of Djokovic. However, as I grew older and less interested in hanging out with my parents (sorry mum and dad) I gradually stopped paying attention all together. However, this summer tennis seemed to be an unlikely antidote to my struggles.
If I had to characterise this summer it would largely be by my mental health. My anxiety was surging and I was going through episodes of what I would now call depression for the first time in years. I was struggling to participate in my usual hobbies like reading or going for walks and when asked what things I enjoy doing the only response I had were tears. But I found myself continuing to put on Wimbledon. At first, I think I felt comforted by the familiar visuals of the immaculate green courts and the iconic theme tune brought back feelings of childhood where summer was easy; an eternal sunny break from colouring in and friendship drama. I was transported back to sitting on the edge of the sofa, eating slightly sour strawberries and cream whilst my parents were drinking a beer or a glass of wine. Now, sitting on my own, on a skanky sofa, in my very small uni living room about to take my first dose of sertraline, I couldn’t help but indulge in the intense, intoxicating nostalgia Wimbledon was providing. Â
What I had not expected was the obsession which began to consume me. I started watching the player’s press conferences, researching their previous wins and the narratives of their season so far. I was amazed to find out that the winner of the many of the previous men’s singles grand slams was a man named Jannik Sinner, someone I had never even heard of before. I must have assumed that Carlos Alcaraz had been winning them all for the past 2 years. However, after my intense, almost dissertation worthy level of research I had become an expert on the big players on both the men’s and women’s side. What naturally caught my attention was the blossoming rivalry between Alcaraz and Sinner. The top two players in the ATP and from what I was watching it was all too clear that they were playing a different sport to the rest of the tour, no one seems close. It is a tantalizing narrative: seemingly the only person with the solution to their game is each other, two sides of a coin, symbiotically connected. How could I not be invested in this story unfolding as we edged ever closer to seeing them in only their second Grand Slam final at Wimbledon?
As I reflect, one of the hardest aspects of this period of poor mental health has been my lack of desire to do anything. I had no interest in things that used to bring me joy and fill my days. I was experiencing all the cliches and it felt as if my body was physically decaying and my brain was atrophying. In hindsight it seems obvious that I was desperate for something entirely removed from my daily life to focus on. In this way, tennis was a perfect vessel for my dissociation. Simply the sound of the tennis ball being hit was hypnotic and would often send me to sleep and I would wake up at 3 am noticing that an old re-run was still playing.Â
For someone who has always used fiction to escape reality it was a strange sensation to be thinking about the next opportunity to watch a tennis match. I was struggling to connect this version of myself to the one I had always known. However, after a slightly embarrassing and self-conscious confession to a friend about this new development they seemed to give a clear and, in many ways, obvious explanation. I love the narrative! I love the stories and the mini battles and the head to heads between players. The intensity of two people alone on a court whilst essentially performing to thousands of people evokes a visceral sense of tension and simultaneously an intriguing level of intimacy. What must it feel like to come face to face with a rival multiple times fighting for the biggest trophies in your sport? To add to this you see them week in week out on the tour. Potentially the only person that can truly understand your situation is the one you are fighting against. The person who you probably watch the most, have studied every minute detail of their game with the knowledge they have done the same to yours. In this way, tennis and sport in general offers a complicated, nuanced and ultimately enticing prospect to follow elite sportspeople’s journeys with a sprinkling of interpersonal relationships.
It occurred to me that in a tennis match you are continuously losing, making mistakes even if you come out as the overall victor. How much mental strength must this take? What mindset must you have? And how can this be transferred into real life? It is strange what seems to find you in your lowest moments. I have to say, however unexpected and often nonsensical, I have much gratitude for what tennis gave me this summer.Â