Herald writer takes on Megan LaLone and survives

I was never what you’d call “exceptional” at sports. I tried really hard and had a few almost-spectacular moments, but for the most part my athletic endeavors were pretty forgettable.

That’s probably why I became a sports writer. The way I see it, those who can’t do, write. And those who can’t write, well, they ask me to proofread their term papers.

My favorite sport to play in high school — and through college, and even to this day — was tennis. There was no uncomfortable equipment to wear (I’m looking at you protective cup) and it was low-key enough to where if I swung at a ball and missed everything, there weren’t a few hundred people in a stadium on a Friday night to see it happen.

So when I found out I would be doing the district tennis preview for The Herald, I jumped at the chance to challenge Stanwood’s Megan LaLone, who has finished second at the past two Class 4A state tournaments, to a match. I never got to go to a state tournament when I was in high school, so I figured this was my chance to shine.

Deep down, I knew I was going to lose. Really, it wasn’t even that deep down. But I had a little hope. Maybe I’d win a set. Surely I’d at least win a game. And if I didn’t win a point, I was going to throw my racket away and never look back.

Most importantly, it was going to be fun to pick up my racket for the first time in a long time, and see if I still had “it.”

In case you were wondering, no, I don’t still have “it.” I have no idea where “it” went, but I sure could have used “it” on the afternoon of May 7.

I would bet an entire Herald paycheck — so, you know, like big bucks — that I was the weakest opponent LaLone has faced this season. I almost felt bad. While training for the upcoming district tournament, she would’ve gotten a greater challenge from the big green wall at the end of the Stanwood courts.

When I was a kid, coaches always spouted the cliche, “It’s not about winning or losing, it’s how you play the game.” Well I lost. Bad. And to be honest, I didn’t play the game all that great either.

Suffice it to say, that if I was still in high school, I would not win a girls 4A state championship.

I really don’t want to discuss the final score or a lot of what happened during the actual match, although I’m sure we’ll have to eventually. I’d prefer to just jump right into LaLone’s post-game comments.

I promise this is an actual quote, and as I stood there trying to catch my breath, it made me feel significantly better about myself.

“You got better as you went along,” she said graciously.

Much to my astonishment, LaLone even said there was a particular part of my game that was so amazing it took her by surprise.

“Your serve was pretty good,” she said, possibly lying. “It caught me off-guard. I was impressed by your serve.”

Part of my strategy for the game was to not practice my serve in warm-ups, so I could do just that. It worked a couple times, but in the end even my serve couldn’t save me.

It did, however, help me win a game.

That’s right, “a game.” As in one. Which, incidentally, is the exact number of seconds it took for me to realize I was not going to win this challenge against LaLone.

It was the last game, and I jumped out to a 30-love lead. I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. So, obviously, I promptly hit two balls terribly and made sure LaLone was right back in it. Then I took a 40-30 lead and, down 0-4 in the second set, and watched as LaLone hit a beautiful cross court shot that was well beyond my reach.

The worst part is she had been doing that the entire afternoon, and I couldn’t stop it. I modified my serve so that I was in the process of running to my right while still serving, and I still couldn’t get there in time.

I think LaLone has a magical tennis racket, which if you ask me, doesn’t seem fair.

At deuce (a 40-40 tie) I got the advantage when she hit a ball into the net. At this point I got really nervous. Victory (small or otherwise) was just one decent serve and a decent hit away.

I began to breathe heavily and tried to calm down my racing heart. I looked across the court, with what I imagine was a very intense look on my face for an exhibition tennis game.

“You made me nervous on that last point,” LaLone would say later.

I served. It felt great.

It sailed long.

The second serve I just made sure got in. I immediately darted to my right in anticipation of the cross-court shot, but I didn’t get the chance to hit it. The return from LaLone went into the net.

I dropped my racket and threw my arms in the air. I was so excited and happy a random passerby probably thought I had just won the lottery. Or a date with Scarlett Johansson.

LaLone swears vehemently that she did not hold back and intentionally allow me to win a point. As a journalist, I remain skeptical. As a tennis player, I remain thankful.

That was the last point LaLone and I played. We have varying explanations for why the match ended there. Down 0-6, 1-4, I say I had to go Lake Stevens High School for a 4A district baseball game between the Vikings and Jackson.

“Then you quit,” LaLone said smiling.

Actually, we’re both right.

I’m very thankful to LaLone for letting me spend an hour on a beautiful Monday afternoon playing the game I love, and realizing, once and for all, that I am not a tennis prodigy that never was. Now I can go back to writing about people who can play sports, and proofreading my friends’ college essays.

You know, where I belong.

David Krueger is a Herald writer and recreational tennis player.