My (Brief) Professional Tennis Career

“Former Professional Tennis Player” is something that has been on my resume for the last five years. Is it true?

Kind of.

It was September 2012. After four long years, I was now officially a lawyer.

I just didn’t have a job. I spent my days job hunting (or at least that’s what I told my girlfriend when she asked).

I did have some free time though … well, a lot of free time. Enough time to ponder if there were any alternate careers I should be considering.

I had always wondered how a person becomes a pro tennis player.

Upon doing some research, I discovered that if not enough people had signed up, a person with no official ranking (me!) might gain entry to the Qualifying Draw of a Futures Tournament.

It turned out there were three Futures Tournaments in Toronto that year, and they happened to be the next three weeks!

It felt like destiny was knocking on my door.

Could I make it as a professional tennis player? I was the best player in my immediate family (only my father played), and I was even better than most of my friends. What the hell, I thought … I’ve got nothing to lose.

On Friday, I went to the Donalda Club in Toronto to sign up for my first professional tournament. As it turned out, there were spots left in qualifying. I was going to play!

With dreams of tennis glory, I arrived at the Donalda Club the next morning. I realized pretty quickly that I might be out of my element. The other players were ripped 18-year-olds with thighs of steel. I was an unshaven 27-year-old with a slight beer belly. The other players had coaches. I had gotten word from my brother that he’d come watch me play if he was free. The other players had Nike headbands, official gear and carried multiple racquets. I had a 2007 Toronto Raptors t-shirt with a couple of holes in it, a plastic bag to carry some of my things, and only one racket.

Uh oh, “What if my strings break,” I thought.

My first round opponent was Josh Graves. Graves had graduated from Northwestern earlier that year, and had previously been a high school All-American.

When the match started, my dreams of glory were quickly dashed. Graves belted every shot deep on the base line. If I left a ball short, Graves crushed a winner. During changeovers, I looked down, too embarrassed to make eye contact with my opponent. I awkwardly explained to Graves that I was a lawyer. In other words, “I know I’m terrible, but this isn’t what I do full-time!” Good thing he didn’t ask me where I worked.

Mercifully, the match ended in about 40 minutes, 6-0, 6-0.

I probably won about four points throughout the whole match. I wished Graves good luck, and left the Donalda Club with my tail between my legs.

Two weeks later, I walked into Mayfair Clubs on a Saturday morning to try my luck again. It was a familiar scene. Ripped teenagers, coaches … the feeling of being a square peg in a round hole. There was a middle-aged parent sitting amongst the teenagers.

“Who’s your son?” I asked him.

“Huh?” he replied.

Then I noticed a tennis bag at his feet. Wait. Was he playing? Was he the older version of me?

“Are you playing today?” I asked.

“Yup,” he said with a satisfied grin.

I introduced myself to him. His name was Paul, and he was 50-years-old.

I went to check out the draw. I saw that I was playing Paul Woolam. Please let his last name be “Woolam!”

“So it looks like I’m playing Paul Woolam,” I said.

“That’s me,” Paul replied.

“Oh nice,” I said calmly while desperately trying to contain my excitement.

We were assigned to Court 4. After I grabbed an early 2-0 lead, Paul hammered a couple of aces. He held serve, and sported an excited grin as we walked to the net to change sides.

“First ATP Game!” Paul exclaimed. We high-fived.

Throughout our match, Paul and I laughed during changeovers, and congratulated each other on winners. It was not your typical professional tennis match.

At five games all in the decisive third set, Paul’s back was cramping up. He kept fighting, but his movement was clearly hampered.

I took the next two games, and won the decisive third set 7-5. I had done it. For the rest of my life, I could declare that yes, I had won a professional tennis match.

Soon after that fateful day, I was offered a job as an associate at a law firm.

Against my better judgment, I accepted the job, and decided to retire from professional tennis.

As a lawyer, my colleagues would have fun with my ATP history.

When I joined them for lunch, they would say, “Wow, thanks for coming. It’s an honor to be joined by an ATP player.”

When the Futures Tournaments came to Toronto every year, my tennis friends would ask me if I’d been given a Wild Card into the events.

I may have been the butt of a lot of jokes, but when you do a Google Search for “Peter Mendelsohn Tennis,” this is what you find: “ITF Tennis-Pro Circuit-Player Profile-MENDELSOHN, Peter (CAN).”

Guess I’m not lying on my resume after all.