S.1 E.9 Wednesday 04/17/2019: It Feels Better When I Hate Them

Andrew counsels "The Bad Girl of Tennis," Robbie Owen and mentally prepares her for her match against a rival by challenging her not to use her rage to fuel her play, but by being calm.

Season 1 Recap:

Fergus secretly plots Andrew’s demise from prison. The Beck family mourns the death of patriarch Ted Beck, but childhood wounds between Andrew and Brandon still fester. Andrew reluctantly agrees to give a speech at his father’s memorial ceremony on Saturday. However, Andrew has other matters on his mind, mainly how to tell Sandra he has a gambling problem when last week’s events have her ready to leave him. Andrew talks with his patients, and Gina tries to get Andrew to attend a Gambler’s Anonymous meeting before he loses everything he has worked for. Lorry tries to keep Fergus and his henchmen at bay while she takes over The Five Iron after successfully conducting Operation Phoenix.

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Episode 9. Preview

Andrew counsels Robbie Owen, “The Bad Girl of Tennis,” before her next match in the Miami Open. She faces an opponent with a history of aggravating and distracting her with yells and screams, which makes Robbie lose her temper. Andrew gives her a “game within a game” technique to help her rein in her anger and frustration to get this crucial win if she wants to win the Miami Open and several other spring tournaments and be in the top four when she plays at Wimbledon in July. Andrew has a flashback to a boyhood memory that puts his life in perspective.

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Andrew pushed down the guilt and shame about losing John. He felt a burning pain coursing through his body. He let out a deep breath and pushed the feelings deep. Then he had an idea.

If he won’t come to me, I’ll go to him. I’m going to the game tonight! I can see him pitch and then try to talk to him after the game.

With that thought and some relief in his gut, he moved on to his next troubled athlete: Robbie Owen, “The Bad Girl of Tennis.”

Andrew grabbed his iPhone and searched for Robbie’s number. As he scrolled, Gina called through to his phone.

“Hey Gina, What’s up?” Andrew asked.

“I have Thomas Underwood from Real Sports News on the line. He wants to talk to you about doing a special about Ted.”

“Yeah, he left me a voicemail.”

“A little soon, ya think?”

“Yeah, he’s all about the story. He’s trying to get ahead of the herd.”

“You going to do it?”

“Hell, no! The guy makes athletes' lives miserable. He's always looking for the ‘gotcha story.’ He’s a menace to sports, but millions of people watch his show on Real Sports News, so he keeps them entertained in sports drama.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Tell him I’ll call him back. I gotta call Robbie.”

“Okay, boss, I’ll let him know.”

Andrew hung up and found Robbie Owen’s number. He stared at it for a few seconds and then closed his eyes. He needed to be on “his game” with Robbie. He had a plan to see John, and just like he did in his youth after a bad golf shot, he compartmentalized it and focused on the next shot. The next shot was all that mattered. The next call with Robbie was all that mattered.

Andrew FaceTimed her. He needed to see her facial expressions and read her body language. Andrew was a master at reading microexpressions, which was helpful as a therapist and a big advantage at the poker table. The phone rang a few times before Robbie picked up. 

Robbie had her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. As she grew into her twenties, the girlish face revealed prominent cheekbones and intense blueish-gray eyes, but she had full lips. The years of braces did their job, and she had a mischievous smile of pearly white teeth. 

Robbie greeted Andrew with a smile as she said, “Alright, Doctor Beck?” 

Robbie’s Mancunian accent was a low octave, a bit raspy, and very working-class. As tough and rough as she could be, when she was not living in her “tough girl persona,” there was a genuineness to her that, in those brief moments, made her endearing.

“Hello, Robbie. I’m doing as well as possible under the circumstances.”

“Mate, me dad can be a right tosser if he died on me like that? I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk before your matches with Walker and Yamada. How do you feel you did?”

She waved her hand at the phone and grinned as she said, “Ah, easy-peasy, mate. Walker couldn’t handle me serve, and Yamada, I had her chasing me balls all over the court. I was like winner left, winner right, winner middle. I was a fucking star.”

She had a big grin, and her eyes flashed excitedly and intensely.

Andrew laughed, “I bet you were. But how did you feel going in? I know you sometimes have trouble focusing. In the early rounds, you handled Walker six-one, six-two, but what happened with the first set with Yamada? You lost six-four.”

She looked away from the phone as she replied, “Yeah, you know me, mate. I can be a bit of a slow starter. The bitch got the jump on me, yeah? But I made her pay.”

She leaned into the camera as she said with almost a grunt, “Made the cow run fifteen miles rest of the game chasing me balls!” 

She emphasized and deepened her voice when she said, “balls” sounding masculine, and made herself laugh with a snort.

“Okay, okay. You have  Stephanie Argento from Italy today.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows furled as she said, “Yeah, so? I’ve beaten her several times.”

“Yes, but she took the first set off you last time. And was beating you four-three in the second set before you got in your groove.”

Again, she looked away from the camera and licked her lips, saying, “Yeah, she took me surprise, you know. She got better.”

She looked back in the phone and crossed her arms as she declared, “But this time, I’m ready for her.” She pointed her index finger at the phone and yelled, “She can’t handle me serve! Nobody fucking can!  I’m ready to come out strong and make her run. Wear her down in the first set and close her out in the second!”

“Okay, but if I remember right, her animated cheering and fist pumps got in your head a little bit.”

“She was ranked number one hundred and fuck, and she won a few games and acted like it was fucking Wimbledon! Yeah, it pissed me off. I overplayed some shots and raged a bit.”

“I’ll say you raged. You got penalized a point and fined for smashing your racquet and cussing.”

“Yeah, well, lost me head. Won’t happen again.”

“Why not?”

Robbie leaned into the phone and said with a snarl, “Because the cunt’s not going to win a fucking game off me.”

“Robbie, she’s on a roll. She upset your old teammate from Alderley Edge,  Angela Clarke, yesterday. She was seeded number 12.” 

She scrunched her nose as she said, “Ah, fuck-a-nut, I wanted to kick that bitch’s ass too.”

Andrew ignored the Clarke comment and added, “So what if Argento comes out all pumped up and breaks your serve in the first set?”

“She fucking won’t!”

“Robbie, do you hear yourself? Just the mention of her breaking your serve and your anger rises. Your cheeks got flushed, and you scrunched your eyebrows.”

Andrew paused and waited for her to relax her face. He said softly, “You know, you can play to win. Just win. Not every match has to be a grudge match.”

Andrew stopped talking to watch her reaction. Robbie’s eyes looked downward to the floor. She took a breath and let it out. She blinked her eyes a few times and bit her upper lip.

Andrew let her sit in her feelings and continued talking in a low conversational tone while Robbie conceded the moment. 

“This goes back to all those girls who made fun of your tennis clothes, wearing braces, and using a second-hand racquet when you started out. Every time someone slights you, you feel triggered and the need to destroy them. It's not your best tennis when you get in destruction mode.”

Click here for Robbie’s Backstory.

She looked at Andrew and scrunched her eyebrows again. “What should I do? Go out all airy-fairy like, and be her best fucking mate?”

“Robbie, not everything has to be one extreme or the other. You play your tennis. One point at a time. One game at a time. Play your best tennis because Robbie…”

Andrew paused while she looked at him, her face relaxed and her eyes wide.

“Yeah?”

Andrew answered emphatically. “You are the best in the world. This is your year. You are going to win here in Miami, then Monaco, then Roland Garros, and then Wimbledon. But to get there, first, you will beat Ms. Argento, not because she took a set off of you last time, but because your serve is unhittable, your backhand is atomic, and no one can beat you at the net.”

Andrew paused again. Robbie’s eyes glistened, and she took a deep breath as she looked away from the camera. She rubbed her chin and covered her mouth with a hand inside of her sleeve while she did it. 

Andrew increased the intensity of his tone. “Go play your game your way.”

He then paused and said sarcastically, “So what if she gets excited? She’s Italian, she can’t help it.”

Robbie chuckled and sniffed as she wiped the bottom of her nose with her Lycra shirt sleeve, her fist inside the sleeve holding it taut.

“When you get on the court today,” Andrew continued, “instead of trying to crush her, make your goal, besides winning, not to let her bother you. If she bothers you or gets under your skin, she gets a point. And every time she does something to try and piss you off, which is her game plan, and you don’t react, and you hold your mental ground, you get a point.”

Her face relaxed, and her eyes brightened as she said, “Kind of like a game within a game, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, all right, I can do that.”

“Great. I know you can. Did you talk to Rich Downham today?”

“Coach Downham is right here. You want to speak to him?”

“Sure—”

Andrew saw the ceiling and the floor spinning several times and heard the sound of the phone being fumbled in someone’s hands. A giant hand covered the camera, and it all went black for a moment before a man’s face with impeccably groomed brown hair and brown eyes focused on the phone. 

A professional but friendly male voice spoke with a refined but Mancunian accent.

“Sorry about that Doctor Beck, she threw the bloody phone at me.”

Andrew laughed as he said, “No problem, Coach.”

 “You all right, mate?”

“Yes, all good here.”

“Awful business about your father.”

“Yes.”

There was a short pause, then Coach Downham continued, “Right. So you gave Robbie some final thoughts about her match, did you?”

“Yes, she can’t let Argento get in her head. Right, Robbie?”

Coach Downham turned the phone, and Andrew could see Robbie in the distance swinging her racquet, and she yelled out, “Too fucking right. The daft cunt!”

“Robbie, there’s no need to call her a cunt. All that does is spike your cortisol levels and get you tight. She can just be an opponent.”

Robbie didn’t respond, so Coach Downham turned the phone back to himself and said, “I think what Dr. Beck is saying, Robbie, you don’t need a deep hatred of every player you come against. Is that right, Dr. Beck?”

“Yes, Coach, it is.”

Coach Downham held the phone so Andrew could see them both, and he said, “Play with a level head, and your game will be level, right?” 

Andrew saw Robbie stop swinging her racquet. She looked at it and then began poking at the racquet strings as if she was trying to straighten them and replied in a rare but sincere voice, “But it feels better when I hate ‘em.”

“Oh, Christ.” Coach Downham lamented.

“It’s okay, Coach. Hey Robbie?”

“Yeah?”

Robbie returned to the phone, so they were both in Andrew’s view.

“I really appreciate you voicing your truth right there. Sometimes, we get a focus from anger, our rage. It hones us to our goal. We see nothing else but the win. When I was playing competitive golf in my early teens, and my dad was criticizing me to no end, I’d get really pissed off. Then I’d use that anger, torque my body, swing as hard as I could, and crush the ball like a grown man. I could feel the focus and the adrenaline coursing through my body from the rage, and in the moment, it felt great.”

Andrew paused while he watched Robbie take in his words. She stared intently at the phone, and he knew she could relate to what he was saying.

He continued, “But there was a price to pay. By the late holes, I was exhausted, and my accuracy was off, which led to more criticism from my dad and me, trying not to lose control of my emotions. Even if I kept them in check, I was spent by the end of the tournament and needed to hole up in my room for a while to recover. In those exhausted moments, I hated playing golf. Even when I won.”

Robbie listened and was silent, which was unusual for her. Most times, she would interrupt and deflect the conversation to a sexual comment about Andrew to throw him off his game. But today, she was dialed in.

Andrew continued, “Especially after three or four hours of tennis when you need that adrenaline kick, I can see why you use anger to keep you focused. But trust me, it will burn you out. It uses more energy, and you start making mistakes as that adrenaline recedes. And since you have been angry for so long, the anger, like an out-of-control flame, gets turned on you, and you get burned up.”

She sat on a nearby couch, spinning her racquet on its head and watching it spin. 

“Look, Robbie, tennis is hard enough with an opponent who is doing things to you on the other side of the net, but if you have to fight yourself as well, then that’s two against one.”

Robbie’s head jerked up, and she stopped spinning the racquet.

Coach Downham chimed in, “When you lose control of yourself, you lose control of the match, and then you make more mistakes and lose when you should have won. So, let’s stay calm and focus on your shots, game, and strategy.”

She looked down and started spinning her racquet again as she said, “I get it. I’ll do me best.”

Coach Downham added, “Robbie, your best tennis is when you’re confident and playing calmly. Everyone in the stadium is waiting for you to blow your top. Don’t give them the satisfaction either.”

“That’s a great point, Coach,” Andrew said. “the fans want to see drama. Give them the drama of your amazing shots, not you yelling at the umpire.”

Robbie stood up, walked away from the phone, and made overhand stroke motions as she yelled, “All right, all right already! For fucks sake, I’ll be fucking calm, all right?”

Andrew tried to subdue his chuckle as he shook his head. “Okay, Coach, good luck!”

“Thank you, Dr. Beck. We will get in touch after the match.”

“Go get ‘em, Robbie, you got this!”

Robbie returned to the phone and stuck her face close to the camera as she said, “Oh, Dr. Beck?”

“Yes?”

“How about, if I win in straight sets, you fly your pretty face down here, and I’ll sit on it, yeah?”

“This is me hanging up now, Robbie.”

Robbie cackled as she stood up, wiggled her butt, flashed her tights under her tennis skirt, and bounced away from the phone as Andrew ended the FaceTime.

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Andrew threw his phone on his desk and sunk into his chair. He just shook his head, and laughed as he repeated Robbie’s words aloud, “It feels better when I hate them.”

He stared out his window, looking in the April sky. The clouds were gray with patches of blue sky poking through. He thought about all his golf opponents; he never hated them, and it was the game he hated. 

He reached across his desk and lifted the plexiglass cover of a baseball on a stand. The ball was signed by his favorite player, Reggie Perry, the Tides home run king of the 1990s. 

Andrew recalled him and Ted at a local charity event with Reggie and several other pro athletes from the New York teams. Twelve-year-old Andrew begged his father to get him a signed ball. 

Ted replied sternly, “No, Andrew, I’m not asking him that. Pro athletes hate that shit when some dumb kid comes up asking for a signed ball, just leave him alone.” 

As Ted walked away to take a picture with his fans, Andrew approached Reggie. He asked the towering 6’6 "man for an autographed ball, and Reggie grabbed one off the table and pulled out a pen. As he signed it, Reggie smiled and looked down at Andrew.

”Tides fan?”

”Yes, sir.” A young Andrew replied shyly.

”You’re Ted Beck’s kid, right?”

Andrew nodded.

“Do you play baseball or just golf?”

Andrew looked up at his hero and felt emotion well up inside as he said, “I want to play baseball, but…my dad…my dad…he…uh…” 

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Reggie got down on one knee and looked Andrew in the eye.

”Kid, your dad is a tough son of a gun. He’s just like my dad was, I can tell. Made me hit baseballs until my hands stung so much they felt like they were on fire.”

He put a comforting and soft hand on Andrew’s shoulder as he handed him the autographed ball that said: Keep swinging hard! Reggie Perry.

Andrew heard his father yell, “What did I tell you?!”

Reggie kept a comforting hand on Andrew’s shoulder; it was the first time in his life that Andrew did not feel threatened when his father yelled at him.

”Hey, Reggie, I’m sorry. I told him not to bother you.”

Reggie extended his hand to shake it as he said, “Hello, Ted, it’s no bother; that’s why I’m here. I bet your son will be a great baseball player someday.”

Ted grimaced as he said, somewhat stunned, “No…he plays golf.”

Reggie nodded with a grin. “Of course he does.”

Reggie winked at Andrew, and as he walked away, he yelled back, “Keep swinging hard, kid!”

Andrew marveled at the ball Reggie handed him as he tried to figure out why when standing next to Reggie, he did not get that feeling in his gut when his dad yelled at him. He thought so hard about it, that he did not feel the pull on his neck as Ted guided him away.

Back in his chair, Andrew held up the ball and read the faded writing, “Keep swinging hard.”

He said to the ball, “I’m trying, Reggie, I’m trying!”

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Up Next:

S.1 E.10 You Know All My Secrets

Andrew prepares New York Black Knight Basketball Star Lamar Hayes for his first playoff game on Saturday. Lamar has a history with one of the referees and has gotten fined for comments to him. He struggles with communication issues with his new girlfriend and famous actress, Janice Cooper, while she is going off to Europe for her next film and will not be around for the playoffs. Lamar flips the tables on Andrew and presses him to talk about Ted’s death and how it has affected him. Andrew feels like he has revealed too much and gets nervous, but Lamar comforts while also ripping into his doctor.

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Author’s Note:

A special thanks to my dialogue coaches, Shelly and Gareth Woods, who helped me bring Robbie alive. I didn’t dare try to speak like her. She is a fun character to write; if you have not read her backstory, click on the link and read how a tiny girl from the wrong side of the tracks grew up to be the “Bad Girl of Tennis.”

Coach Richard Downham's name comes from a combination of two of my university mates when I attended Northumbria University in Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Ric Eggleston and Julian Downham. We are still friends, and Julian and Ric have been big supporters of my writing!

In this episode, we see Andrew at work and how to deal with the volatile temperament of some athletes. Rage is a real problem, especially in American Football. Coaches encourage young men to channel their rage into the game but do not give them tools to de-escalate their rage after the game. This then had some athletes turning to drugs and alcohol to bring themselves down. When not controlled and understood, violence can be transferred off the field.

There have been instances when I’ve “seen red,” and yes, there were some benefits on the mat, but not nearly as useful as when I was calm and relaxed. In the matches in Judo, where I did my pre-match breathing and calming exercises, I was much more fluid and let “my training take over.” At my last tournament many years ago, I could not recall the throw I used to defeat my opponent. I only remember the “ooohs” from the audience. I had to look at the video; it was the best throw I had ever done; it was perfect because I was not thinking; I was in the moment.

This is what Andrew and Coach Downham try to prepare Robbie for: to be in the moment. She has had so much trauma that she can quickly get angry. However, one of the things I never realized about pro tennis is how much pressure and isolation they are under.

If you think about it, tennis is the only one-on-one sport where you are not only separated from your opponent by sixty feet, but you are also not allowed to talk to them, or until this year, anyone! Until this year, talking or making any signals to your coaches could cost you points in the match and a hefty fine. So imagine being on a court for several hours, pushing yourself to your limits, and feeling all the pressure, and you cannot talk to anyone. No wonder they shout to themselves, “Let’s go!!” They only have themselves to talk to. In Judo, it’s very personal, we grab each other and wrestle on the ground and try to choke or submit each other, we can also talk to our coaches when the referees stop play or we go out of bounds. Boxing and MMA have breaks at the rounds. So the next time you watch tennis players, think about how much is going inside their heads as much as their bodies. They are amazing athletes! I learned so much about them during my research.

Again, thanks to Marsha, Shelly, Gareth, and Mike for their feedback on this episode.

Enjoy!

Chris K. Jones