Free Ebook , by Gerald Marzorati

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, by Gerald Marzorati

Free Ebook , by Gerald Marzorati

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Product details

File Size: 1216 KB

Print Length: 289 pages

Publisher: Scribner; Reprint edition (May 17, 2016)

Publication Date: May 17, 2016

Sold by: Simon and Schuster Digital Sales Inc

Language: English

ASIN: B010MHAG54

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Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#332,113 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store)

I was sure I was going to fall in love with this book. Like the author, I’ve followed professional tennis since my teens, but not until my late 50s did I start to play regularly. The struggle to get better at a sport at the very time that the stresses of age are dogging one’s every step is a deeply engaging subject for many of us, and Marzorati’s writing about the pro tour for the New Yorker has been informed and insightful. A meditation on the nature of both tennis and the aging process sounded like something right in my strike zone. What took me by surprise was how thoroughly vanity and snobbishness would vitiate the whole enterprise.Marzorati is at some pains to make clear from the outset that he is much better than most people in all the ways that matter: more successful in his profession, more intellectually sophisticated in his tastes, more disciplined in his pursuit of excellence. He is likewise eager for the reader to understand that he is also better than most amateur tennis players, despite having started late (hence the title). Any reader expecting a lot of funny and endearing self-deprecation about the early stages of learning to play tennis in your 50s will find none of that sort of thing here. Marzorati is no casual weekend hacker, and by the time we meet him he is already well past the beginning of his late-life tennis journey. The author’s body, he wants us to know, has been honed to an impressive peak of fitness – his “fitness age,” we are told, is 26. The book, accordingly, is not about learning to play tennis late in life. Rather, it is about the author’s strenuous and expensive efforts, in his sixties, to become even better at tournament-level tennis than he is already. It is also about – and here’s where the “meditation on aging” angle comes in – Marzorati’s emotional struggle to come to terms with the melancholy fact that he will never be better than the very best amateur players his own age. Mind you, he never fails to mention that those players have had the advantage of starting to play and to train seriously very early in their lives, at a time when Marzorati was occupied with the intellectual pursuits that would make him so conspicuously successful in life. At the end, having vastly improved his singles game by dint of dedicated work with some prominent coaches, he arrives at this hard-won plateau of self-awareness (spoiler alert): he must settle for being merely a very, very good amateur senior player of doubles, and try to enjoy the game for its own sake even though he must sometimes expect to lose matches.All of this preening is an unfortunate distraction, because when he actually writes about professional tennis players, and about what various tennis gurus think of the “inner game” of the sport, Marzorati can be illuminating. He is very good at describing what it’s like to be on a tennis court in a seriously competitive match, and what it takes to make various shots effectively. Most of this comes during his visits to tennis training camps, and yet here again, alas, the insistence on his own superiority intrudes itself on the reader’s notice. Marzorati is picky about the kinds of people he likes to play with. It’s not just their tennis skills that matter, it’s who they are. In a burst of candor, he confides that he can’t abide playing with people who aren’t in the same league of worldly success that he himself enjoys, because the chat at changeovers and between sets isn’t at a high enough level for him. Luckily, he is usually able to remain in this comfort zone of privilege by attending camps that are expensive and demanding enough to attract particularly competitive people with lots of money. Marzorati, as befits the editor of the New York Times Magazine, lives in one of the exclusive suburbs north of the city and, when he is not jetting around the country to tournaments and workshops, plays at places like the old Forest Hills West Side Club and the venerable Amackassin Club in Yonkers.Tennis has spent many years, and the USTA has spent many millions, trying to overcome its traditional white-flannel image as a sport for the elite by getting more people involved in the game. Marzorati, by contrast, has no problem with that elite tradition; the sport’s air of privilege, its remoteness from ordinary people, accounts for much of what he likes about it. This book merely updates the traditional image: for the modern “serious amateur” like the author, body sensors have replaced white flannel, the better for world-class tennis consultants to film and analyze each step, turn, and stroke for their well-heeled clientele.Marzorati’s penchant for boasting pops up throughout the text like a nervous tic. He can’t even mention his son, a senior in college, without remarking that the boy has his pick of the most elite law schools in the country. Or make an analogy to baseball without bragging about his early prowess as an outfielder. One can’t help feeling that it took a measure of restraint on Marzorati’s part not to tell us what kind of car he drives. Many readers are likely to find that these periodic thumb-in-your-eye jabs make the author a less than congenial companion on his strenuous and highly intellectualized quest for tennis excellence. No doubt Marzorati is an impressive fellow. But it’s difficult to work up much sympathy for his angst at, for once, not being the very best at something. And it’s harder still to avoid the conclusion that, in his journey toward keener self-awareness, he still has some distance to travel.

A wonderfully researched and clearly written exploration into the nature of aging and what some of us are doing in an attempt to delay that inevitable process. My best praise of this book is that I have added it to my very short list of "must read and re-read" books, which is now three books long: A Handful of Summers, Too Soon to Panic, and, now, Late to the Ball. Anyone of a certain age who is not happy with the prospect of becoming inactive should read this book, whether or not tennis is an interest.

About a week ago, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about Mr. Marzorati's new book about his journey to become a seriously good tennis player despite his age (late 50s/early 60s). After reading that WSJ article, and as a 63-year old who many years ago had a decent club-level game, I knew I had to buy this book.I started reading the book this morning, and I quickly read the first 74 pages. Here is the impact the book has already had on me:I went out to my garage and found my old tennis bag. Then I went to my local sporting goods store and bought a tennis ball machine and a box of balls (as I know no one with whom to play).In the late afternoon, I went to my local public courts, set-up the ball machine, and in the process of doing so I noticed a father going through drills with his daughter on the next court while his wife looked on. I made a comment to him that his daughter had a beautiful backhand. That started a 45-minute conversation about tennis, our tennis backgrounds, tennis injuries, the joy of being on the court, etc. I had yet to hit my first ball, and I had already met a very nice tennis family.I hit cross court forehands and backhands, volleys, and ended the session with some serves. It was a beautiful late afternoon/early evening, and it felt wonderful to be back on a tennis court. Before heading home I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items. The clerk asked me if I had been swimming; that's how much I had perspired during my session.I ordered three books on Amazon by David Foster Wallace after reading about him in Chapter 11 of Mr. Marzorati's book.On eBay I found an old hardcover first edition of Levels of the Game, and I bought it.This evening I already feel the soreness starting, and that feels good.Tomorrow morning I will be back on the court, practicing my strokes using the ball machine.All this, and I have only read the first 74 pages of Late to the Ball.I enjoy reading good writing, and Mr. Marzorati's writing (he is a former editor of the New York Times Magazine) is very good, indeed.Needless to say (but said anyway), I highly recommend Late to the Ball.

As an older tennis player myself late to the game, I found the story irresistible and certainly understand his fascination with the game. I'm glad a tennis enthusiast with the literary chops to give some insight to the rest of us (especially the aging cadre, of which there are tens of thousands) under the game's spell took the time to add to the bibliography of this amazing sport. I'll probably read it again and am glad it's in my Audible library. I bought the Kindle version and sometimes read it visually too. How amazing is it that they were always synched whether I started listening on my iPhone or Amazon Echo, or read it visually on my iPad. Honestly, I'm not sure why I rate it only 4 stars other than I think the 5th star should be reserved for monumentally outstanding works. I reserve that for Vladimir Nabakov, also a tennis aficionado, for his better literary works.

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