I recently served as a referee at the match up of two very
highly ranked college teams. It was a
great deal of fun. The level of squash was something I practically did not recognize from the last time I saw collegiate
squash. Here are the country’s top level
amateurs: deft of racket, swift of foot, rife with grit, fire, and flair, but
not at the expense of good conduct, directed both at their opponent and the
referee. All in all, it was three hours
very well spent. But, what was so
remarkable was not the level of talent, but the stark reminder it served of some
simple basics of the game. In fact, I
came away from the afternoon thinking of that book title, “All I really need to
I know I learned in kindergarten,” because the stuff that won on this particular
day is the stuff that wins on any given day, the stuff you’d pick up in an
introductory clinic on what constitutes good, which is to say, winning squash. Here’s the stuff:
Fitness: Given
that these players train five days a week, you’d expect that they’d all be in
super shape. And, they were. Nevertheless, you could definitely see that
there were certain players that were fitter than others. And for those who were less fit, that
weakness got revealed and exploited through the match, and, in fact, could have
been the deciding factor. For the less
fit player, he didn’t seem to understand that he was breaking down on that
level, though from this side of the glass, it was obvious. So, remember: you have to be willing to play
a succession of very long, very hard points, and be just as physically able to
play the next long, hard point without blinking. There’s no long half time in squash, no
tagging out to someone on the bench. Essentially,
there’s nowhere to hide in that ruthless, relentless, well-lit little box. Everything falls apart when fitness does.
Fireworks from the
racket: These players could do almost anything they wanted with the racket,
digging the ball for improbable retrievals to send it anywhere in the court;
cross-courts to the nick, soft, feathery drops, recovery shots between the
legs, behind the back, and over head.
Nevertheless, the most punishing place to put the ball, the place that
coughed up the loosest balls from the opponent were the basic, straight rails,
those balls that hung tightly to the wall, and bounced well behind the service
box. Good, long, consistent length was
the foundation for every other bit of flair from the racket. It was all predicated on being able to hit
tight rail after tight rail.
“Don’t hit tin.” Hashim Khan’s famous dictum is as salient
today as the day he uttered it. It was
astonishing watching how detrimental hitting the tin was: a momentum killer, a
spirit suffocator, and a gift to the opponent that just kept on giving. Invariably, the player who lost the match had
hit the preponderance of the tins, and each tin further sealed his fate,
rendering a comeback, new life, and hope impossible. Of course, I was not privy to the heated
strategy sessions that team mates and coaches had with the player during the
game breaks, but I had the strong urge to barge into the losing player’s confab
and say, “hit fewer tins!” As always,
some tins are forced errors from an opponent’s good shot, but it seemed like
more often, the tin was the result of poor shot selection, going for too much,
and therefore examples of poor sport cognition, a message of desperation that
was clearly sent to the player who reaped the benefit. So, DON’T HIT TIN.
Vocalizations
were usually bad for the vocalizer. I
find it’s best to simply keep your mouth shut, no matter the intensity of the
emotion you are feeling. Again, it was
usually the player on the losing end of the battle who was yelling or
muttering. Such utterances do not help
the player, and only send the signal to your opponent that you are having a
temper tantrum inside your head, and not adequately focused on right thinking. Simple, “nice shot” to the opponent,
reasonable appeals to the ref, and maybe a spirited “c’mon!” suffice. But, generally, a cool head is the one that
does not vocalize anything, and also does not say mean spirited things internally
to the self if a mistake is made, or when under extreme pressure. Keep the landscape of the mind cool,
self-compassionate, and widely observant for the best results. It is a great, beautiful, and necessary thing
for an athlete to have fire. The trick
is to keep that fire as a smoldering, motivating heat, and not let it become an
immolating conflagration. Harsh and loud
vocalizations fuel the fire toward the direction of a bonfire. Save the vocalizations for the off-court
celebration after your victory.
