“Deuce: 40-all.” My opponent’s voice echoed across the court as he bounced the tennis ball. Grinding the gray clay beneath my feet, I assumed my return position in the bottom right corner of the court. The familiar churning sensation in my stomach returned, and I could feel my hands begin to tremble in both fear and anticipation. As my opponent tossed the ball in the air, I took a deep breath and stepped forward. This was it. This point decides who will walk away with trophy in hand and who won’t.

THWOCK! Whipping his racket, my adversary served hard, barely skimming the net and forcing me to muster a desperate defense. Back and forth, we exchanged shot after shot. Neither one of us was able to gain an advantage, until suddenly, one of his shots glanced off the top of the net. Seizing the opportunity, I charged the ball. In my mind, I pictured the stroke I had practiced for hours upon hours beforehand. I can do this. Staring the ball down, I swung as hard as I could. Colliding with my racket, the ball rocketed towards the left-hand corner of the court. My eyes, glued to the spinning sphere, watched it revolution after revolution. It’s in, it’s in, it’s in, it’s—

“Out!” My opponent’s voice boomed across the court. I stood there on the cruel court, speechless and thoughtless. The gravity of the situation nearly pulled me to my knees: I had just lost my team one of the only county championship titles in our highschool history.  Quivering, my racket slipped from my hands, spurting up a cloud of clay. What have I done? Looking up, I saw my opponent run towards his team, cheering and pumping their fists in the air as they embraced. As their excitement grew, despair enveloped me, blinding my senses. All I could do was shuffle back to my bench, hanging my head in defeat.  

“Ryan, what in the world happened out there?!” My coach asked, approaching with a look of disappointment. Blood rushing to my face, I shrugged, staring at the ground mutely. I couldn’t look him, or anyone else on the team in the eye after such a humiliation. Opening his mouth, my coach began to speak, but deciding against it, turned away.

“We will discuss this when we get back.” Holding back a tirade of anger, my coach stormed back towards the bus, motioning for all the other players to prepare for departure. The bus ride back could only be described as hell. Silently, I sat in the back corner of the bus, still unable to comprehend the day’s events. Though I desperately tried to tune them out, I could still hear the other players’ whispers. “If only we had won that last match.” “We could’ve won the trophy; we could’ve made history!” “If it wasn’t for that last choke…” Squeezing my eyes shut, I slid on my hood and huddled there in darkness. When the bus screeched to a stop, I waited for everyone to exit the bus. As I stepped down from the doors, I heard the coach yell behind me: “Hey, no one leave yet! I got something to say.” Surveying the team, the coach’s eyes flickered from person to person, until finally resting on me. Holes burned in my head where his gaze rested, and he began to talk: “Great job today guys!” Startled, my heart pounded with hope. Maybe he won’t mention the loss after all.   

“Just kidding, you played like complete trash!” With these words, the last flicker of hope was doused. “Did you really think I would congratulate you after what happened out there?! I can’t believe this team. You had a chance at winning. But you BLEW IT! I’ve never seen tennis players so unmotivated. Especially you.” Turning, my coach glared at me, causing every fiber in my body to want to shy away. “What in my grandmother’s name was that last shot?! Were you even trying to win? ” “I tried!” I wanted to scream at him. “Why can’t you understand that I tried my hardest, and still lost? ” But I said nothing, fists curling in frustration as I took in verbal blow after blow.

“But anyway, there’s nothing we can do now.” Rubbing his temples, the coach shook his head. “Actually, no, there is something we can do. Ryan, you’re not going to have to run in practice for this next week.” Murmurs of confusion echoed through the team as I was taken aback.

“Instead, every day, for the next week, you’ll practice 50 balls of that last shot you missed!” Furrowing my brow, I waited for the other shoe to drop. “But here’s the catch: for every four balls you miss, everyone else on the team has to run a lap on the track in under two minutes.” A sea of groans and complaints arose from my teammates. I would be responsible for each painstakingly long lap my peers ran, and this burden would grow only heavier with every mistake I made. Trembling, I could already feel the anxiety boiling in my stomach. “I don’t want to hear any complaints! This is the penalty for today’s disgrace, and we need to work hard if we want to win!” My coach snapped, quickly quieting us. “Now go home and get some rest. You’re all going to need it.” Bitter and perturbed, I couldn’t believe the judgement he had passed. Even if I played at my best, there was a slim chance of making even most of the balls I was forced to hit. No matter which way I imagined it, the punishment ended in agony. There was no way getting around the sheer pain I would experience, so, burying my fear in apathy, I prepared myself for the torture.

It was fortunate that I had steeled myself before hand. Halfway through the first fifty balls I hit, the coach decided to change my punishment. “You’ve got it too easy; while the others run, you’re going to be doing planks on the hard court until they finish.” By the last practice, my elbows were a patchwork of scratches and bruises from the uneven floor. Everytime I lifted my arms, it felt as if I was carrying blocks of concrete, and my core burned as if I had been branded with a hot iron rod. Part of me blamed myself for this ordeal; the angry glares from teammates massaging their calves only confirmed this feeling. If only I had made that shot, then we could’ve won the tournament, and none of this would’ve happened.  However, the more prideful and emotional part of me resented my coach for implementing such a harsh punishment

“Looks like you guys had fun this past week!” Our coach teased. Then, in a more serious tone: “We’re playing another match on Monday. Take these next few days to rest; you’ll need them.” Nodding wearily, we grunted a response. At the time, I was too worn out for his words to register in my mind, and it took all I had to not collapse on the spot and fall asleep. This state of lethargy continued for the entirety of the weekend, and by Sunday night, the idea of a match had completely left my mind.  

The day of the match, I was caught off guard when my coach emailed a reminder for the match. Unprepared and still stiff from the week before, irritation began to build up in me. Questions such as: “Why do we have to play today” and “What’s the point of this” circled through my head, and I doubted whether the match was worthwhile or not. Petulant and dispirited, I no longer cared about how I would play. When it came time to start, my stomach was the calmest it had ever been. For a moment, I considered seriously playing, but the thought instantly left my mind when I recalled being humiliated at the hands of my coach. Shaking my head, I prepared to start.

The match started off how I expected: losing point after point. I made an effort to attempt to keep the point going, but my lack of concentration and undriven disposition made it impossible for me to win significantly. However, in a perplexing and unexpected turn of events, I began to beat my opponent after a few games. Despite me not hitting fast or hard, he was unable to reach shots that should have been within range and kept missing the simple shots. “What the hell?!” he cursed once, after missing an easy overhead slam. “Holy mother of Jesus,” he swore another time, after whiffing a volley. Almost wanting to laugh, I continued to play as mindlessly as I had while continuing to win point after point. Though my opponent worked hard for each ball, sweating and panting hard enough for spectators to hear, the situation remained unchanged. Ultimately, despite his best efforts, I emerged victorious. Standing there awkwardly, I couldn’t believe I had won, and shaking his hand afterward, it seemed to him that the result was just as shocking. Unable to comprehend the victory, I headed back to my coach to report the stunning win. As I passed the player I had beat, I heard him talking to his coach: “Was it your ankle again?” “Yeah, I iced it last night like you said, but I guess all that practice made it flare up.” “Hey, it’s alright. You’re not going to be able to win all the time, especially with your injury. You should be proud of your effort and the fact that you worked hard in spite of your ankle.” Stunned, I felt a surge of understanding overwhelm me. What had happened to my opponent, an ankle break, was completely out of anyone’s control. It was simply chance that I had been able to win that match. I began to realize that in fact, effort does matter, even though it won’t guarantee triumph.   

“Hey Ryan!” My coach called, startling me out of eavesdropping. Waving over my teammates, he told them. “See, this is the perfect example of what I’ve been saying. He learned from his mistake and worked hard to win.” The coach patted me on the back as my peers chorused their congratulations. Despite the irony of the situation, I still followed along, happy for redemption. After the initial round of praise, my team began to board the bus to return to school. As I prepared to walk in after the last person, I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, followed by my coach’s voice: “You know I wasn’t fooled, right?” Whirling around, my mind became a mush of thoughts of how to respond. Unsure of what to say, I hesitated, then replied weakly: “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” Judging by the look on my coach’s face, he knew the truth. “I know you didn’t try,” my coach stated flatly. Swallowing nervously and lowering my head, I prepared for a takeback of all the compliments he had bestowed earlier. I couldn’t bear to think of the punishment he would devise for me.

“But I also know that you tried in the last match you lost.” My head shot upwards in surprise. “But-wha-I mean, why would you…” Flustered, I tried to articulate my confusion to no avail. “The truth is, I knew you worked hard for that championship match even though you lost. I wasn’t actually mad at you; I know there’s a lot of luck that goes into playing a match. But effort is the one thing that can be controlled. If the team realized this, then they would probably interpret it differently: instead of working harder, they would most likely work less, thinking it ultimately won’t matter.That’s why I punished you and the team so harshly— to motivate people to work as hard as they can so that in the end, they can have a higher chance of success.” After sitting on his words for the rest of the day, I finally comprehended my coach’s decision and mindset. I wanted to thank him for finally helping me understand that even though hard work by itself isn’t always enough to win, it’s the only thing that can be changed by the individual and so people should work their hardest to maximize their chances of success. However, part of me still wanted to berate him for taking such a painful and intricate method to teach us this.

To be honest, this experience faded from my memory as high school continued, and I never realized then just how much this idea of success affected me. Tennis season developed a new aura after that day, one of challenge but also of motivation. I began to put significantly more effort into tennis practice, and my school record finished spectacularly, with 7 wins out of 10 matches. I stopped becoming frustrated after losses, instead focusing on what I can improve and what I need to fix. Best of all, I no longer doubted my work ethic, finally emphasizing effort amongst my values. Reflecting on it, I do still lament losing that fateful match; after all, it was the cause of a lot of shame and suffering. However, even if I could, I wouldn’t change anything that happened. It’s made me someone who strives for personal excellence through hard work and perseverance. It’s made me the better person I am today. It’s made me, me.