Right, ‘tennis player Tanner.’ That name kicks up some dust, let me tell you. Not because of some pro tour legend I followed closely, at least not for me. It’s more about this one kid, we’ll just call him Tanner for the sake of this story, who I bumped into at the local courts a good while back. Or rather, a type of player he represented for me.
This kid, let’s say his name was Tanner, he had some real flash. Walked onto the court with all the gear, you know? He could whack the ball, no doubt. Had a serve that could make you blink if it landed in, and a forehand with a lot of sizzle. You could see the raw bits there, the kind of natural ability that makes you think, ‘Okay, this kid might have something.’ So, I found myself watching him a bit, trying to figure out his game, just out of habit, really.
Observing the Raw Talent
I’d see him practicing, mostly by himself, just bashing balls. He wasn’t really working on anything specific, just hitting hard. I remember thinking, if someone could just channel that power, teach him a bit about construction of a point, maybe get his footwork a bit more organized. He was all arm, a lot of the time. But the power was undeniable. Pure, raw power.
I even chatted with him a couple of times, just casual stuff. Offered a tip or two, like ‘Hey, try to watch the ball a bit longer,’ or ‘Maybe think about your recovery step after that big forehand.’ He’d nod, say ‘yeah, yeah,’ and then go right back to what he was doing. It was like water off a duck’s back. I wasn’t his coach, just a guy at the club, so fair enough, right?
- He had this massive, flat first serve. Boom or bust.
- His forehand could be a winner from anywhere, or hit the back fence.
- Movement was a bit… let’s say, economical.
The Frustration I Imagined a Coach Might Have
Now, I didn’t coach this specific Tanner, but I’ve coached guys like him. And that’s what the name ‘Tanner’ brings to mind. The immense potential, and the equally immense frustration when that potential just doesn’t want to be shaped. I recall this one young player I did work with, years ago. Let’s call him ‘Not-Tanner.’ He had similar gifts. We worked our tails off. Drills, match play, strategy talks. I poured everything I had into him.
But the mental side, man, that was the mountain. He’d play like a world-beater in practice. Then, in a match, if a couple of calls went against him, or he missed a few easy shots, he’d crumble. Shoulders would slump, he’d start rushing, making unforced errors all over the place. It was like watching a different player. You’d try to talk to him during changeovers, get him to reset, but he’d be lost in his own head.
It made me think about this old project I was involved in, completely different field. It was a community garden initiative. We got the land, we got the tools, we had a bunch of enthusiastic volunteers initially. I drew up the plans, organized the planting schedules, got the soil tested. We put in so much groundwork. But then, consistent long-term commitment from the volunteers just… dwindled. People got busy, lost interest. So, you had this beautifully planned garden, with all the infrastructure, but not enough hands to consistently tend it. Weeds started taking over certain patches. It wasn’t that the plan was bad, or the soil was infertile. It was the follow-through, the day-in-day-out grind that fell short.
So, when I hear ‘tennis player Tanner,’ it’s not really about one specific person. It’s a shorthand for that kind of situation. You see the blueprint for something great, whether it’s an athlete or a project. You might even invest your own time and energy into it, trying to bring it to life. But if that core drive, that internal grit, or that consistent effort from the main party isn’t there, well, there’s only so much you can do from the outside. It’s a tough lesson, one I’ve seen play out a few times. Makes you a bit more selective about where you invest your energy, you know?
