I actually got to catch up with Andy earlier this week for dinner. We get together about once every two weeks or so to discuss how life’s going. We mostly keep it to every day things like how the wife and kids are, how his podcast has been going, and who the GOAT of tennis is etc. On this day we happened to be dining at his favorite restaurant, Josephine House. We had been eating for about 45 minutes, and in that timeframe he had at least 5 cocktails. Andy usually has better self control than that. But this wasn’t the first time he had overdone it on a Tuesday night out on the town. At first he was even more talkative than usual. I know, I know, Andy Roddick talkative? Who would have thought?! But the more he drank the quieter and distant he became. As the night wore on he appeared to become even more closed off, like he wasn’t really present. As I’ve know Andy for many years I was able to pick up on his rather peculiar body language. I tried to address his downtrodden mood multiple times, and he repeatedly rebuffed my concerns. The more I pressed the more agitated he seemed to become. But seeing as I had now seemingly hit a nerve I persisted. At first I suspected it was his food as he had barely touched it.
“It’s not the food. My steak has been cooked to perfection just the way I like it. Well done just like me in my many Wimbledon Fs failures!” He said with a laugh. “In fact I’m going to leave a 5 star Yelp review, and get this, a 20% tip! I bet it’ll make our servers night!” He momentarily lit up, but just as quickly the light in his eyes dimmed. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that 20% had become the industry norm in the last couple of years.
“Well if it’s not the steak, then what is it? Is it work, the kids, Brooklyn? What’s eating at you champ? Because you’re certainty not eating your steak?” I said with an awkward chuckle.
“No, no it’s none of that. Everything’s great. My podcast is the 8th most watched and subscribed podcast in the world. Before you know it I’ll even surpass the Joe Rogan Experience as the best podcast in the world! The kids are happy and healthy. They’re honestly the light of my world, and I couldn’t be more happy and proud to be their father. As far as Brooklyn goes, you know she was on the cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition back in the day, right? Let’s just say she’s still got it.” He said with a wry smile and a wink.
“Ok, well if it’s not work or family related what’s got you so down? You really don’t seem like yourself tonight. Usually you’re the one carrying this conversation. Like Federer carried your sorry generation of players for so long!” I said as I gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder.
“Ouch! Hey cut it out!” He cried. “That’s my shoulder that feels like Hamburger Helper that forced me into retirement!”
“Sorry, my bad. I forgot that was your bad shoulder. It’s just been so long since we last played. What’s it been, since 2019 at least? It was definitely pre-pandemic. Man that feels like a lifetime ago. We should get together again real soon and hit some balls for old times sake. Maybe even go a little crazy and play a practice set or two!”
“Yeah about that, that’s kind of what’s been bothering me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked while giving my long time friend a puzzled look.
“It’s just that lately I’ve been thinking. It’s really been gnawing at me actually. I’ve tried to push it deep down in the back of my mind, but I can’t deny it any longer.” Tears started to swell up in his eyes. I was growing ever more concerned for my friend. What was he going to say?
“What?! What is it?! What’s the mattered?!” I yelled almost hysterically.
With tears now cascading down his face he began to muttered in a choked up voice. “I-it’s j-just th-tha-that y-you’re b-be-bet-better th-than m-me a-at t-te-ten-tennis!”
“What?!”
“You’re better than me at tennis, alright!” He growled like only Andy could.
I was confused, bewildered even. Andy was a grand slam champion. The last true great American player even. I was no slouch sure, and my H2H record against him was a respectful 49-50 back in our junior years. But I had decided to pursue a higher education, whereas Andy continued his pursuit to become a professional tennis player. Needless to say I think we both made the right decision. Still though, my closest friend’s confession was the last thing I thought he’d say.
“What do you mean I’m better than you at tennis?!”
“It’s just that, you’re better than me. You name it, FH, BH, slice, ROS, volleying. I still have nightmares about that absolute sitter of a BH volley I that I bottled at 6-5 in the 2nd set in the 09 Wimby F. Don’t even get me started on your movement. They don’t call you
@The Blond Blur for nothing! Hell, even your serve is better than mine!”
“Andy, come man, you know that’s not true. You’re just saying that to downplay your achievements because you’re so humble. Plus you’re so used to building up today’s sorry excuse for a field that you’ve gotten into this habit of really selling yourself short.”
“No, I mean it, you’re better than me and I’ve known it for a long time.” In fact part of me is almost glad that you didn’t go pro like me because you would have surpassed me had you continued to play. And who knows, I maybe don’t even become a one time slam champion with you around. I even think you could have taken a Wimby or two from my long time rival Roger Federer. Of course I use the word “rival” factiously.” He said while pantomiming air quotes.
I was stunned, I never would have expected Andy to regurgitate his career’s worth of baggage over our bi-monthly dinner. Curiosity started to get the better of me. I had come too far now. I really wanted to know what Andy thought of today’s field and how I would have performed had I chosen to pursue a life of tennis beyond the juniors.
“Andy, if you’re being for real with me right now man how do you think I would have stacked up against today’s players? You know, assuming I had reached my peak. Factoring in things like injuries of course. What do you think my schlem total would have been?” Andy always liked it when I intentionally mispronounced the word slam.
Andy then downed his 6th cocktail that night. With a loud gulp he cleared his throat. “You ever hear of Project 26?”
“Project 26? No, never what is it? What does it mean?”
Andy then took out his phone and appeared to be typing in a username and password. He spun his phone around and slid it over to me. He had just logged into a site I had never heard of before called “Talk Tennis Warehouse”. I was not prepared for what I saw next. At the top of the page was a circular avatar of the Quaker Oats mascot. I clicked on it and the username FedFosterWallace popped.
“Is this you? Are you supposed to be FedFosterWallace?”
“Well, the Toady cabal calls me Oats, but yeah that’s me.”
“I don’t understand, what does all this mean? What are you trying to tell me?”
Andy stood up, picked up his keys, laid down a crisp 100 dollar bill, and headed for the door.
“Come on.” He said “I’ll tell you all about it over Discord when I sober up.”
- To Be Continued
