Day 1: Qualifying U14

I had decided to take on the supervisor role for the first three days — those early sessions when everyone arrives, qualifying included. It wasn't just a formality. I was watching every kid: what they were doing, how they moved, what they brought with them before they'd even hit a ball.

Qualifying day — four matches only. Four. And the girls didn't have any matches that day at all. I arrived an hour early, at 3:00, and immediately noticed a boy sitting with his father. I got ready for my duties and stepped back out to see if anything had changed. Nothing. Still sitting. The most he'd done was a bit of wall hitting. And what I read in him was unmistakable — anxiety, self-doubt, something eating at him from the inside. It didn't surprise me. You play the way you train. There is no magic switch on match day.

I sat down and scanned the space. In that quiet, I saw a group come in through the entrance — boys and girls, the girls who, as I said, had no matches that day. My immediate thought: they've come to train. I looked at the courts — empty, freshly lined, no one on them. And then I saw something that made me lift my head: one of the boys walked in with purpose and went straight over to the one who was waiting. Good sign, I thought. Now they'll organise themselves, warm up properly, get ready the right way.

They pulled out their rackets. Walked onto the court. Started playing. No warm-up. Nothing. The boys straight onto the clay, the girls onto the carpet — and that was that. Brand new rackets — certainly. Any understanding of what preparation actually means? Absent. And that, unfortunately, is not something you can buy in any shop.

Before the matches started, I noticed that four women had arrived for some kind of refereeing seminar. Nothing unusual — but what came to mind immediately is that in tennis officiating, the most important thing, above everything else, is experience. Why experience and not simply knowledge of the rules? Because players trust referees who used to play, or coaches who know the game well. And that won't change — if a child senses that the referee has no real feel for tennis, they will make their life very difficult. It happens often. Even when I'm playing and someone without that feel comes in, I think to myself: Right, they're going to botch the call and walk away. Experience also teaches you to read every kind of sign — from a slow topspin shot to a hard flat one, the ball mark changes shape from round to an oval.

When the seminar finished, the women were assigned to start the matches — balls, draw, everything. They looked nervous, which is entirely natural. Experience is what eventually dissolves that kind of anxiety. What they lacked was confidence — they kept turning to the head referee for guidance, which tells you they were doubting themselves. There will be many mistakes. The important thing is knowing how to correct them.

Three of the four matches kicked off — though one was delayed. A player didn't know the regulation on clothing. He was wearing a shirt with a large logo; we told him it wasn't permitted and asked him to change. He didn't have a spare shirt with him. The only solution: he turned it inside out and off he went. My thought in that moment was simple: if he doesn't bring a second shirt for a match, he's probably not bringing one for training either. Worth noting that if a child continues playing in a sweaty shirt in the wind, they're raising their chances of a back injury — or at the very least, enough discomfort to stop them playing well.

Anyway, all the matches got started. I noticed that on one court, the chairs were sitting in full sun and nobody had moved them into the shade. Chairs don't move themselves — that only happens in dreams or in films. Children need to learn to make decisions between points, from the simplest things — like moving a chair — to the more complex, like how to unsettle a cold opponent. That is exactly why they play matches: to improve in ways that go beyond the rally — perceptual, behavioural, emotional. And don't overlook something just because it seems obvious. If you don't teach it, they won't know it.

I moved the chairs into the shade myself. I know I shouldn't have — they should have done it. But it was us who placed them there without thinking about the sun.

The kids played, competed, gave what they had. There wasn't much to observe beyond that — only four matches. But there is one thing I would want every player to know — or every coach to teach: when your opponent calls a ball out and you believe they're stealing the point, you don't wait for someone else to check the mark because you're embarrassed, or because you think the supervisor will notice. Wrong. You go to the mark yourself, and you call for the supervisor. The supervisor cannot enter the court unless asked by the players — unless they have clearly seen the opponent stealing a point, in which case they may intervene without being called.