I just finished this ugly tennis book, haha.
I’ve played tennis for about 20 years now and seem to love it more than ever. I started to play competitively again earlier this year and picked up this book off my shelf for a refresher.
When I played as a junior, I believe I was pretty good but a mental numbnuts on court. I never prepared correctly by sleeping, dieting, developing a plan, being aware of my weapons and weaknesses, or anything else. To my first high school coach, this was all probably extremely obvious, and she let me borrow her copy of this book either Freshman or Sophomore year. I poked through a few chapters, but about 15 years later I’ve finally read the full thing (I never gave it back to her: another reason I was a high school numbnuts).
First, would it have benefitted me to read the whole thing while I was a junior player? Probably not, but that would have been my own fault. I was pretty aware that sleeping well, analyzing your opponent, and adjusting your game were all keys to victory, but I don’t think I could’ve convinced myself to actually do any of those at the time. When I was younger, I was totally aloof towards anything that mattered, which is recognizable now as arrogance or stubbornness.
Do I think I got anything out of reading it now? Kind of. Yeah, I’ll say more or less. I think I’m a better student about everything now. One hump is that the book reads like an ancient text of tennis, reported in a dated, pre-internet voice that's equivalent to home remedies like keeping nickels in your pocket to avoid the flu. It doesn’t help that Gilbert is a cornball the whole way through. I think starting chapters with quotes from his mom about how he was a precocious chore dodger are pretty cringe. When he sagely declared the secret energy drink to be “water”, I rolled my eyes a little. DRM is a frequent acronym that means “Don’t Rush Me”, and he offers all kinds of eccentric ways one might put this into action during a match: touch your strings, tie your shoes, move your towel from one side of the court to the other, go touch a rock in the corner after every point. Very "grandma's home remedy" tennis right there.
But that last kind of advice is also where the dated cornballness kind of starts to appeal to me. There’s definitely a dedication to just doing what works because it seems to work. Even if it’s not science or scripture, he’s tried these things and for some reason they bring results. One of my favorite bits of advice is keeping snacks in your bag, and when Brad recommends a candy bar he mentions that some people might say not to eat that much sugar since you’ll crash, but if that happens just to eat another, “who knows”. These imperfect pieces of advice appeal to me maybe just sentimentally. He sounds like coaches I had growing up, and maybe they’re borrowing their voices from books and coaches like this.
Right now, it’s really easy to learn tennis strategy and technique off YouTube, and unfortunately these channels are pressured to provide quick fixes and attractive visual branding in order to maintain and grow an audience. I see all kinds of bizarro advice based on buzzwords about learning a “modern forehand” or applying “kinetic chain” principles. The videos that have the most views often have somebody swinging a racket with an arbitrary red circle around their wrist or racket and the words “DO THIS” or “STOP DOING THIS” and then they talk long enough to get YouTube ad revenue and plug old videos. I at least think this book is better than those videos, and the current trend of horrible thumbnails even makes me warm up to the horrendously ugly book cover image.
So I like this book as an extended lesson that you need to revisit and think about time and again. It’s definitely more useful than watching Youtube videos, and it gives advice that is probably worth the money from a professional coach but nobody would really want to pay for. The basic message is that most players will go out to the court brain dead, and that you can do that or you can try to come out and apply your mind to something else besides your personal mechanics. Brad spends 200 pages trying to prove his message that 10% of the time you’re going to get your ass kicked no matter what, 10% of the time you’re going to kick their ass no matter what, and 80% of the time the match is up for grabs and that the only thing that matters in competition is the score at the end of the day. I think it’s encouraging. I can see it making tennis more fun, freshening up your mindset a bit, and maybe actually getting a few more wins.
I’ll say a big bonus are anecdotes about old pros too, what Brad would tinker with during a match against Agassi, Sampras, and the rest of the gang. It’s notable that he talks very highly about Jim Courier’s game, who had won 4 majors in the 2 years before the book came out, but then never won one again afterwards. Not everything from 1994 tennis can age as well as the rest of his advice.