Playing any sport, and, more generally, any game, teaches you a lot. In particular, it teaches you about strategy and psychology. Tennis is particularly good in this regard because it’s such a psychologically intense sport. There are two features to tennis that make it especially so. In singles, each player is an island unto himself. In singles, there is no team on the court; each person is the sole representative of one of the opposing sides. As a result, that person is in a position of absolute control and power with respect to his side’s movements and actions. This creates significant mental pressure but also represents a valuable opportunity. Next, the opponent is, in a strict sense, a simple entity. Unlike a team, which comprises multiple components in the form of players with different roles, such as strikers, defenders, and keepers, the other side is just one person. This simplifies the strategic calculation and planning that a tennis player comes up with and executes. Together these features mean that tennis is a very good arena in which to learn simple but generalizable lessons about self-management, human interaction, and games. In the next series of posts, I’m going to write about some of the life lessons tennis has taught me.

Lesson #1: Play the game on your terms. Generally speaking, the player who imposes himself on the match and, to use a sports caster’s turn of phrase, “dictates play” will be successful. He’ll also probably be enjoying himself more; after all, it’s fun to be in control. When you choose the terms of engagement, you gain confidence by sovereignly exercising your ability to shape your circumstances, you exercise this power in your favour, and you put your opponent in the uncomfortable position of reacting. Even if you end up losing, you take pride in the fact that you lost on your terms. If you’re going to fail, you might as well fail on your own terms.

Playing the game on your terms means deliberately choosing to act a certain way. While you can’t directly control your opponent, you do have this freedom with respect to what you do. In tennis, this means choosing, for example, to attack your opponent’s backhand wing, coming to the net after first serves, or taking off pace and adding spin. When practiced systematically, these choices might be called strategies. Each player brings a certain temperament and certain physical abilities to the game and is more or less suited to different strategies. The key realization to make is that either you choose a strategy, or, by default, a choice will be made for you by your opponent. By being thoughtful, deliberate, and disciplined, you can be the one making the choice for your opponent, a choice which, presumably, goes in your favour.

An important insight for me, however, was that this is good not only because your choice favours you. Probably more important is the very fact that you are choosing and actively dictating affairs: there is a particular kind of confidence and motivation that comes from being active in an interaction, as opposed to reactive. It’s frustrating and stressful to be obliged to react constantly to what others are doing. In contrast, it’s liberating to be active, and to do so with such conviction that others engaging with you are forced to adapt. Stefan Edberg was famous for serving and volleying, which is perhaps the most aggressive tennis strategy there is. You serve and immediately come to the net. Your opponent is forced to return a hard serve with the added pressure of having to pass you at the net. Edberg was known for this, and his opponents fully knew what to expect from him. Edberg didn’t care though: he chose to play the way he was best at. If someone was going to beat him, they would have to beat him by playing the tennis he was best at. He was world number one for 72 weeks.

His case conveniently illustrates another aspect of this principle: an aggressive style is generally preferable to a conservative one. I’m one of those people who are generally reserved and risk-averse, which translated into a steady, baseline style of tennis. The problem was that even though this style suited me, it didn’t put the same kind of pressure on my opponents as an attacking style. So I started playing more aggressively by coming to the net more and hitting harder shots. I made more mistakes, but I could see first-hand the power of challenging my opponents so directly. They would often make more mistakes than me because they weren’t used to playing under such pressure. You might call it the Edberg principle: just ask the question head-on, and make your opponent come up with something. I’ve noticed this same dynamic play out in other games, most notably in poker. I’ve observed first-hand the huge difference that exists between betting and calling. Even if the decision concerns the same amount of money, calling another player’s bet is much more uncomfortable than making that bet yourself. The good players exploit this dynamic by generally taking risks only on their initiative: they put big money in the pot first, forcing the others at their table, usually me included, to make a tough decision. They determine the price of the hand. Over the course of a game, this can really wear on a player, and on the flip side, the confidence a player gains from controlling a table in this way is immense.