Tim Parks is having problems with his son - the boy just doesn't know when to let dad win!
Fifteen love.
This is it, the decisive game. Mick serving for the set.
And I'm already down. I hate losing!
Just turned fourteen, Michele is already taller than me and heavier. No doubt handsomer. Yep, he's overtaken me in all kinds of ways - but he still hasn't beaten me at tennis!
Not that I'm any good at tennis. In fact we're both pretty useless. The first few games are even-Stevens, then around three all, he collapses and I forge ahead. But today things are going the other way. For God's sake, I'm going to lose! Why isn't my son collapsing?
Forty love.
Three set points, I tell him
He's going to collapse. I sense it. Suddenly I don't want him to collapse. I want him to win, to have his day, to overtake me. For heaven's sake, Tim wants to lost. To lose. It's a weird feeling.
Mick double faults and has a tantrum. I'm damned if I'm losing on purpose in response to his tantrum. On the other hand I now really want him to win.
Mick relaxes and hits a really long low powerful ball I just can't reach.
Set!
Coming to the net, he grins. "You're finished , old man."
"The battle's ... only just ... beginning, " I tell him. "From now on ... the gloves are off."
But I'm panting, and he knows it.
