We all have strange dreams as children.
I grew up watching the likes of Roger Federer, Lleyton Hewitt and Andy Roddick in the early 2000s, they drove my fondness for the sport.
Roger was almost impossible to dislike because everything he did looked so easy. Hewitt was my first favourite though. I loved the way he fought for every point, even when the point was probably already lost. §
Roddick was different. He was the reason I picked up a racket in the first place.
That serve was ridiculous. The wind-up, the speed, the noise when the ball hit the court. I spent a lot of time trying to copy it, with reasonable success. Somewhere in the back of my head I always had this idea that, one day, I’d like to stand on the other side of it.
I remember watching the 2009 Wimbledon final, him against Federer in a sports bar in Hyderabad. I’d had a few beers and was convinced Andy was still going to find a way to win. He didn’t. I also watched him beat Hewitt plenty of times, which put me in an awkward position because I wanted both of them to win.
That isn’t how tennis works, unfortunately.
In 2016, I finally got to meet Andy at the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport.
There was a slight complication. I’d had knee surgery about six weeks earlier.
I’d spent the weeks before a planned tennis clinic working pretty hard on the rehab. Probably harder than my physio would have liked. But I knew there was a chance I’might get to hit with him on a grass court and I wasn’t going to be the guy sitting out because his knee wasn’t quite ready.
We hit a few during the clinic. I was pinching myself.
Then I asked him if he’d serve a few.
He looked at me and said, “No. I could hurt you.”
He was probably right.
That evening I met Andy and James Blake at dinner. We took a photo and I couldn’t resist telling Andy again that I was disappointed about the serves.
He laughed.
A few years later we invited Andy to speak at one of our conferences with Monica Seles. We ended up talking backstage after the session and I showed him the photos from Newport. I have no idea whether he actually remembered the clinic or was just being nice to me, but he played along and we had a good conversation.
Then I was back in Newport in 2024, and Andy was doing another clinic with our group.
I thought about asking again.
I asked.
This time he looked at me and said, “Alright. Just a few. This shoulder can only take so much these days.”
I went to the other end of the court and then took a couple of steps further back. It wasn’t a particularly sophisticated strategy. I just wanted a little more time.
Todd Martin was standing behind me watching.
The first serve went down the middle. The legendary ace.
The second one I managed to get my racket on, although the ball came off the frame and just crawled over the net. Calling it a return is generous.
Another one disappeared somewhere behind me after catching the frame. I didn’t bother turning around.
Then I got one.
I caught the serve properly, got my forehand through it and drove the ball cross-court. It was a real tennis shot, which felt like a fairly significant achievement at the time.
Andy stepped in and put the next ball away down the line.
I thanked him afterwards. He laughed and told me his serve had slowed down a lot over the years.
Maybe it had.
From where I was standing, it didn’t feel particularly slow.
I was grateful to have a fantasy like that fulfilled. Its been a few years but neither meeting Andy or actually facing his serves has sunk in yet.
