THE Australian Open is nearing the business end of the tennis tournament.
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You can tell the die-hard fans in your office at the water cooler by the dark circles under their eyes and the tennis banter on their brain.
I only seriously settle into the Australian Open at the halfway mark of the competition because I haven't been able to smash out two weeks straight of late finishes since I last worked night shift four years ago. I'm pacing myself to make the finals.
On Sunday night on the small screen, I watched the Greek streak Stefanos Tsitsipas win in four sets against Swiss stayer Roger Federer.
Tsitsipas progressed to a quarterfinal, 6-7 (11-13) 7-6 (7-3) 7-5 7-6 (6-5).
My tween daughter was keen to watch the match with me, having spent the weekend camping with her tennis-mad friends and pushing, with all her might, for a later bed-time.
Though my daughter had played tennis at school, her scoring knowledge was thin on the ground.
From memory it was months before I learnt how to score a tennis match as a tween after I spent a couple of summers at the Yarrawonga Lawn Tennis Club. In D Grade, no one could manage to get a serve in and when it did finally happen to land in, everyone was caught out!
“Games are scored love-15-30-40,” I explain.
“Oh! That makes sense, love,” she says, ironically.
Scoring tennis makes about as much sense as Finnish to the uninitiated.
“We’ve been stuck on 40 for a while now,” she says.
“It’s called deuce,” I say.
“Well, if Federer wins one point on deuce, it’s advantage Federer. If he loses it, he’s lost that advantage and it’s back to deuce. If the Greek guy wins on deuce, it’s his advantage. Does that make sense?”
To be honest, I’m getting myself confused now.
My husband cannot help himself and calls out from a different room: “You have to win two points in a row to win a game from deuce.”
“That’s what I said!” I say.
It’s advantage husband.
With so many tiebreakers in this match, it pushes me outside of my comfort zone.
“How does the tiebreaker work?” my daughter wants to know, working towards an ever-later bedtime.
It was months before I learnt how to score a tennis match as a tween after I spent a couple of summers at the Yarrawonga Lawn Tennis Club. In D Grade, no one could manage to get a serve in and when it did finally happen to land in, everyone was caught out!
“Well, if it’s six games-all, you have to play a tiebreaker,” I say.
“Ja,” she says, knowing I’m well out of my depth and that I have a better grasp of Swedish than I do scoring tennis.
“How many points in the tiebreaker?” she continues.
“You keep playing until the chair umpire gets bored,” I say.
“Whoever happens to be in front at that time is declared the winner of the tiebreaker.”
“Right, like that’s a thing,” she says. “Dad!?”
“The tiebreaker goes until one player wins seven points by a margin of two or more points,” he says.
“Unless the chair umpire gets bored first,” my daughter adds.
It’s advantage daughter
Midway through the third set my daughter realises the player she thought was Federer was, in fact, Tsitsipas.
Suddenly, the scoring makes much more sense to her!
Now she can relax enough to notice that the ball girls and boys have to run faster than she’d ever be able to manage and that she’s not a fan of their hats.
With the time ticking over 10pm, I now know that my daughter has played me like a professional.
“Just one more set?” she says.
“One more game,” I say.
With ongoing chat about doubles and singles rules and the ball being in, on the line, I lose total track of the time. Before I know it, the match is done and dusted.
This is how the Australian Open hooks you in.
Game, set, match, daughter!