Ken Rosewall, the old (now) Australian tennis player was a good and honest man. No shouting from Ken. No tantrums. Hit the ball, accept the call. More of a touch or technical player, rather than a power guy, but then most of his playing took place in the era of wooden racquets where power was still a thing, but not mostly the only thing.
Once he was half way through a match and puzzled because he was serving a lot of balls just a little long. Out. Kept playing, still puzzled, finished the game. I’m not sure if he won or lost, but when it was done he had the tournament referee measure the depth of the service box. It was an inch shorter than regulation.
As a metaphor you could take this in a number of ways: Ken should have complained earlier. Ken should have backed his instincts. Ken was too nice. What I take from it is the knowledge of the experienced technician. How precise the judgment can become with repetition. How a craftsman absorbs the details of his craft.
This story came to me today when I realized that The Men who do all the hard work in our back yard left a rake behind. It was there propped against the side of the garage. Only medium size, with metal tines, not like the enormous plastic thing inside the garage I hardly ever have cause to use (thanks to The Men). It was the prospect of giving the rake a run which led me to the new broom. Or maybe the weather did.
We had a storm here in Austin overnight. Fierce and loud. Our house is sat in the middle of nineteen pecan trees. The lady who sold us the place mentioned how the trees kept the house significantly cooler. We thought at the time she was pitching us, but she was right, they do. What she didn’t tell us is that they also ‘self-prune’ which means when I sneeze in the living room half a dozen branches fall down in the yard. It was a mess out there this morning. And it’s a Sunday, that occasional day when real men do yard work after all. That’s how I came across the Pro Rake.
No question it does a better job than the amateur version. Somehow separates the leaves and seed pods from the stones that make up the dryscape of our Texas garden. Made a big pile for myself and was feeling pretty good about the upgrade. Decided to do the job right (must have heard my old man in my head) and went and got the new broom I’d bought. Hadn’t used it yet, but the old one had broken and a man must have a broom about the place. Truth is I bought the same type that I’d had before, looked the same, but once I started sweeping I noticed differences.
You never know with new stuff. Have the manufacturers figured out a way to make the same thing cheaper (poorer quality, lesser components) or more efficient (Improved Broom Technology!)? This new broom was the same green color as the old one, angled head, same length, but it seemed heavier, the brush part coarser and more dense. It swept OK, but it didn’t feel as well-balanced in my hands. The old one had lasted a long time. This one was losing bristles already. The new broom was sweeping clean, true enough, but I didn’t feel as comfortable with it. Don’t expect it to last.
I love change and the technology that brokers it, but sometimes can’t help but wonder if the service box has been measured wrong.
I covered the same concrete area I always do. On balance it probably took about the same time, but while I normally find sweeping an almost meditative act, this time around I was grimly going about my business. I normally (secretly almost) enjoy sweeping, mull over an idea or two, think about what’s coming up in the week, but not today. Just found myself imagining Mister Rosewall with this new steel racquet in his hand; couldn’t help but wonder what he’d make of it all.