My partner Byron Smith (far left) and I (floppy hat) with our opponents after winning the Bronze Ball.
With a new book out comes a new website – williamfinger.com and the opportunity to write posts on tennis and related topics. In this first post, I have great news: I just won my first U.S. Tennis Association “ball,” with a third-place finish in the 2024 National ClayCourt Championships, 75-and-over doubles – a Bronze Ball. My partner, Byron Smith, wrote on his Facebook page, “After 40 years of playing national tennis tournaments, I finally broke through and won a Bronze Ball!” At least I only had to wait six years from when I returned to major competition at age 71. You can read about my first National Clay Court Championships (2018) in Chapter 7 of Courting: A Tennis Memoir.
The fates seemed aligned for Byron and me to win. In our first-round match, after a very poor first set, we won the second, forcing a “super” 10-point tiebreaker to decide the match (first to 10, win by two). Down 4-9, facing five match points, we somehow pulled it out, 12-10, and moved on.
After a routine match in the second round, we moved into the semi-finals. Again, we played a weak first set but bounced back, this time against the second seeded team. In another 10-point tiebreaker, we were not so lucky, putting us into the consolation match for third place and the Bronze Ball.
This time, we played a strong first set but made too many errors in the second set, sending us again into the 10-point tiebreaker to decide the match.
“Just keep the ball in play, no errors,” Byron said to me as we focused. The only problem: when I try too hard to avoid errors, I soften my hard-hit strokes and can tumble the ball into the net or push it long. At 3-3 in the deciding tiebreaker, I did just that for three straight points, taking us to 3-6. We tried to stop the slide, but they hit some good shots – three more points against us. Now, we faced a seemingly insurmountable mountain to climb – down 3-9, six straight match points against us. Even worse than that first-round match.
Byron and I didn’t consult about strategy this time. Our eyes said enough. This is it – win every point or we lose that Bronze Ball. We held our rackets out toward each other and clicked the edges, that literal and mystical bond that tennis partners seek. We took deep breaths and got into position for the next point. Then came the magic. The sequence remains a bit of a blur, as magic can be, with sleight of hand and the mystery of drama.
But I do know this: On the deuce side of the court, I chased down a lob that dipped over my head. I barely reached it behind the baseline and hit an awkward backhand, weak but all I could muster. Drifting toward the back fence, I turned and watched the ball heading to the net. Then I heard just a whisper as the ball nudged against the top of the net and dribbled over without a sound. Point saved. Match saved.
On another point, I chased a challenging lob toward the back left corner, as it coasted outside the alley. I managed a strong backhand lob on the run, just before I braced my collision into the fence with my left hand. I pushed against the barrier and popped back toward the court only to see our opponent preparing to hit a drop shot toward the empty space I had just left, miles away it seemed. I took off, sprinting forward like an Olympian, let’s say, in the 75 and-over age division, the 10-yard dash. I extended my racket below the sinking ball and bent my knees almost to the ground. My sharp backhand sliced over the middle of the net and skidded through the space between our opponents – a clean winner. More magic, the illusive USTA Bronze Ball not yet spoken for.
Finally, we faced still another tough lob, with Bryon and me both at the net. It happened so quickly yet like slow motion – hard to explain how a simple tennis ball can enter this realm of magic. The little green sphere curved high overhead like a small satellite, floating away along with our coveted Bronze Ball. Some instinct pushed me into a last second leap – an actual desperation climb into thin air. At age 77, maybe I cleared four inches from the ground. At the apex, I almost threw my racket still higher and stabbed at the disappearing circle of fluff. The edge of my strings caught just enough to send the ball back, not an overhead smash but more like a counter lob, arching back. The ball’s path tilted upward just enough, over their heads and landing barely in the alley. Another winner. Match point saved. Bronze Ball protected.
After saving those six magical points, we are back to even at 9-9. “We’ve been here before,” we say almost in unison. Magic is yielding to determination now. We had to fend off one more match point and we missed an easy put away on our first match point. Back to deuce. Enough drama. Let’s go get our Bronze Ball. So we closed it out at 13-11. Now with the Bronze home and safely tucked away, why not bring home silver or gold?