Once we’ve eaten and read the schedule for the day (this is called the ‘order of play’), we get our gear ready. We make sure our batteries are charged and our phones are set up, ready for trading. If you’re going to spend twelve hours at the venue, you’ll need a few other things too. Depending on the type of tournament I’m at, my bag will generally contain: two phones (one for internet, another for texting if necessary), three or four spare phone batteries, a Mi-Fi unit (as in a mobile Wi-Fi hotspot, which also needs a few spare batteries), a bottle of water, some snack food, sunscreen, a book, a jacket for those cold nights when you don’t move for three hours, and sunglasses for the glare off the court.
You can never predict how long your day is going to be. If you have four matches, you could get three straight-setters and a retirement and escape with a four-hour day. Conversely, you could cop four three-setters full of tiebreaks and trudge back into the hotel room twelve hours later! As a result, you always have to come prepared. It’s not much fun sitting on court at 1 a.m. when it’s eight degrees and you’re wearing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt (which seemed completely reasonable that afternoon when it was thirty degrees and sunny).
*
The working weeks start off busily for both players and traders. Players have rigorous training routines to follow, singles and doubles matches to play, and media and sponsorship commitments to fulfil. Depending on the size of the tournament, the first few days can consist of ten- to twelve-hour days for traders but by Thursday (finals time) the workload diminishes and we get some downtime. This allows us to go check out the sights, explore the city and wind down with some beers before hitting the bars on the weekend. After watching up to thirty matches of tennis during the week, surviving on snacks and quick meals, and crashing in a sterile hotel room of a night, the best cure is mixing it up and sampling the nightlife with a few good mates. Depending on how far they progress in a tournament, the players can also explore the sights in their downtime (although this often involves a promotional photo shoot and additional sponsorship duties). I doubt ‘hitting the town’ is ever pencilled into their agenda.
There’s not always time for gallivanting around the countryside and sipping fine ales, though. Some weeks, we get slammed with huge hours, day after day. I can think of a few occasions where I worked a seventy-hour week, and a thirteen-hour shift is not unheard of when covering a day’s tennis. Our diet isn’t the best during these weeks – consisting of snacks from vending machines and fast-food stalls, and late-night binges in hotel rooms. Conversely, most of the players have premeditated diets, prescribed to them by nutritionists or coaching staff. They will eat bananas on court and sip energy drinks to provide them with extra isotope hydration for improved performance. Their snacks, meals and workouts will all be calculated and followed religiously to give them the best possible preparation for match days.
*
On this particular day in Sydney, we have a late start. So, once we’ve let our food digest and organised our gear, we head down to the local tennis courts to have a hit. On our way, we see Bernard jogging with a mate as part of his morning exercise regime. It’s a frustratingly comical thing to try and play tennis after watching the pros all week. We get on court and think we can belt the shit out of the ball too. Why not? Everyone else seems to be able to do it. However, those sizzling down-the-line forehand winners I have planned in my head regularly turn into framed fizzers in the physical world. We play for an hour and on our way back the pros are still jogging.
*
In the hotel room, I’m trying to get a good internet connection on my phone before setting off for the day. Organising our bearings, tickets and phone connections can provide major headaches in new destinations. We have to be resourceful and resilient to get things done and put up with the constant challenges of navigating through country after country. In Sydney, it’s no big deal. But adjusting to different languages, remembering flight details and hotel names, and finding tennis venues or phone shops can range from simple chores to arduous burdens depending on where in the world we are. Then we have to plan our transport to the event, making sure we arrive with plenty of time to get set up before play commences. It pays to be organised – Jethro once had to run into the middle of a busy street in Moscow and literally stop traffic to convince a driver to take him to the airport in time to make his flight.
After the players have had breakfast and completed their morning stretches, exercise and warm-ups, they are picked up and chauffeured from their hotel by tournament cars. They have VIP areas inside the venues for training, eating and socialising. They are given a schedule for the tournament and provided with access to interpreters, food, drinks, towels, racquet services, gym facilities and practice courts. Our days diverge even further from this point on.
*
After setting up our phones, Felix and I pack our gear, meet up with a few of the other traders and head off to the venue. In Sydney, the tournament is held at Olympic Park, so the train is the most rational option for transport. This route requires us to walk, train, shuttle bus and walk again. It takes a little longer than a VIP chauffeur. When we arrive, there is a large crowd making the most of Sydney’s fine summer weather. The air’s abuzz with the chatter of excited spectators and it’s shaping up to be a good day of tennis for all.
I grab a seat on court four, set up my phone ready for trading, keep an eye on security and watch the action unfold. I’m feeling pretty quick on the buttons today and the back end informs me we’ve had a small win on the first match. Bernard plays in the second match and looks to be in good form. It seems we’re both having a good day.
*
Because we can’t tell people what we do, we often end up looking like friendless tennis geeks, sitting on court all day, soaking up the action like we live for it. I enjoy chatting to people in the crowd, as you often meet friendly, happy folk who are having a fun day and are in a good mood. A bit of conversation helps the day go by, but it can also get distracting (like when somebody borrows your sunscreen) and even a little awkward (when somebody asks if you’ve got the tournament’s app and updates on your phone there). I’ve had to excuse myself and leave a perfectly good seat to avoid talking to perfectly agreeable, albeit curious, spectators because of the nature of my job. It’s just not worth the risk, so instead we generally sit there like solitary nerds on court and let people think we are just that.
Their opinion of us must swing to alarm when we’re dragged from our seat by an angry security crew. ‘The lonesome loser’ becomes ‘the curious criminal’. Luckily for us, neither description could be further from the truth! Hours later, we have the opportunity to laugh about our awkward on-court escapades with mates over dinner and beers.
*
One of the first questions people ask when they’re talking to me about tennis is ‘Who’s your favourite player?’. It’s a funny question – almost seems a bit childish – but people enjoy different players’ styles, techniques and temperaments, and they like to compare opinions. You may find my answer slightly predictable and tiresome. It is without question Mr Roger Federer.
In Rome, while Feds was dismantling an adept Andreas Seppi (who was in good form on home soil), I once heard a spectator shout in broken English, ‘Roger, from what planet are you?’ I laughed along with the crowd. It was a valid question considering the unearthly display we were all witnessing. His stroke play, flair and aptitude are all unmatched, in my opinion. He has such timing, natural talent and effortless style, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather watch. Nadal, Djokovic and Murray may have trained hard enough to find the physical advantage over Federer, but I don’t think any of them could have conquered him in his prime.
Apologies to all those Nadal fans out there but in all honesty his style of play generally bores the shit out of me. I’m not denying he is a champion. After reading his book, Rafa, and gaining an insight into his incredibly motivate
d and tenacious psyche, I have all the respect in the world for Rafael Nadal. Mentally, he’s probably the toughest player to have ever picked up a racquet. He’s also modest and fair. But he’s boring. Not because he wins often. I have nothing against prolific success. He works hard for his wins and he earns them. But that’s the thing. He admits he’s not quite as naturally talented as some other players on tour, so he finds a way to win regardless. He grinds players down. He plays safe, defensive, monotonous tennis. He runs around his backhand to use his overpowering forehand. He bounces the ball sixty-eight fucking times before serving and goes through his superstitious routine every single time. Imagine watching that ball bounce for five hours straight. Imagine sighing in exasperation after watching that routine for the eightieth time in a day, as one of Rafa’s ball tosses goes astray and you realise you’ll have to sit though it yet again. Now you might understand why I get bored while watching certain players on court.
I honestly believe the greatest and most pivotal moment in Rafa’s career was his decision to play left-handed, knowing this would give him the advantage over the majority of right-handed players. (Kudos to Nadal for making this adaptation even though he was a natural right-hander.) In my opinion, he never could have matched Federer if he’d played right-handed (that massive forehand topspinner into Federer’s backhand is just too much of a weapon). But I won’t wax lyrical for too long – Fed’s track record says it all. He is undisputedly the greatest of all time, and it is an honour to watch him whenever he walks out on court. Most importantly, he comes across as a gracious, appreciative winner and a true gentleman for the young’uns to idolise.
Other favourites include: the unpredictable Latvian Ernests Gulbis for his unflinching attitude, powerful shots and classic sense of humour; diminutive and agile Ukrainian Alexandr Dolgopolov for his unique style, deceiving power and ability to outplay guys much bigger and stronger; and Frenchman Gaël Monfils for his raw athleticism, talent and showmanship. I also love a comeback story and thoroughly enjoyed following the returns of German legend Tommy Haas and American Brian Baker after their absence from the sport. It was heart-wrenching to see Brian Baker tear his meniscus (a debilitating and painful knee injury) on court at the Australian Open in 2013. He went down awkwardly and collapsed after trying to stand on his injured leg. He was also a set-up and on his way to the second round of a Grand Slam but instead had to retire hurt. Given his shocking history of injuries and extended absence from tennis, it was a miserable thing to witness.
*
As tennis aficionados, traders spend so much time on court we end up going through epic battles, struggles and ordeals on a daily basis with players. We’re like invisible teammates, willing players on and cheering from the sidelines. We get to know their temperament, mentality and headspace from certain telltale signs. It’s impossible not to notice these things if you spend as much time as we do on court. It’s also our business to know. If a player has a recurring injury or isn’t fully committed to a tournament because of personal issues, then it’s imperative we are aware. While computer models and gambling systems can be very quick and beneficial, they are still computers. Without human intervention they will gamble on injured players, hence our ‘monitoring’ of player performance is an equally critical aspect of court-side trading. If there is an injury we need to be there to suspend all bets. This is where having a second phone is essential for communicating with the back end. You don’t want to be throwing money on a player who is not hungry or fit enough to win. You don’t want to back a player who struggles with mental pressure either. Certain players choke when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, while others take it in their stride.
In his 2000 article in The New Yorker entitled ‘The Art of Failure’, Malcom Gladwell uses the 1993 Wimbledon final between Jana Novotná and Steffi Graf as a case study for choking. Ahead 4–1 in the final set, Novotná let the gravity of the occasion get to her, and her composure imploded. Her natural game dissolved. She double-faulted and mis-hit her way out of a commanding lead. Ten minutes later – to the shock of the crowd – she had lost the Championship 4–6. It is widely recognised as one of the greatest chokes in sporting history.
Gladwell reasons that people respond to pressure by either not thinking enough (panicking) or overthinking (choking). In tennis, the choking response is prevalent because of the crowd presence and the pressure players put upon themselves to perform in an individual sport. After watching countless matches, I couldn’t agree more with Gladwell when he suggests the true champions are separated by their rare ability to detach themselves from the crowd’s expectation and perform consistently regardless of the occasion. As Gladwell states, ‘Choking is a central part of the drama of athletic competition.’ It is an integral and pivotal part of the game, and one we must have a firm understanding of to be successful traders.
It’s a risky situation for traders to bet on a known choker. You’ll often hear the phrase ‘Just fucking serve it out!’ uttered in dismay when a player looks like he or she might choke what should have been an inevitable win. This is just another example of how nothing is guaranteed in the gambling world – you are always taking some sort of risk when you place a bet. However, the more we know, the better. And there’s no better way to build comprehensive knowledge of tennis players than by sitting on court.
It raises the question: how many people on earth would know more about tennis and the players than we traders? Well, I can only speculate, but, aside from coaches, other players and a few officials, you’d have to assume the answer is not many. We know which conditions players prefer, what their history is at certain tournaments (it’s amazing how often players have repeat wins at tournaments), how they perform on different surfaces and what type of form they are in. It’s a lot like horse racing, except you have the human element of emotion and ‘the choke’ to consider.
*
Bernard Tomic may be many things according to the Australian media or public, but, from my experience, he’s no choker. His match is over in two succinct sets. I’m grateful because it gives us another small win and reduces the amount of hours I have to spend in the stand. After my matches on court four are finished for the day, I head back to the hotel and relax for an hour. I pop down to the gym for a workout before dinner. Lo and behold, Mr Tomic is in the pool. I can’t get away from this guy today! He seems to be winding down after a day of exercise and competition. My friends call me and organise dinner at the hotel trattoria at 7 p.m., so I head back to my room and get ready.
*
‘Guess what Azarenka is paying against Ivanovic?’ Felix asks me, as we down a few beers in the hotel room before dinner.
‘Umm, well, she’ll be favourite, obviously,’ I state, biding time until I can make an accurate estimate. ‘Say 1.3. How’s that sound?’
‘Not bad, mate. She’s 1.28 at the moment.’
‘Nice!’ I’m impressed and a little disturbed by my bizarre knowledge of this niche. This is a common pastime between the lads, guessing what the odds will be and testing ourselves against the market. How good is our perception?
‘That seems a little short’ or ‘Shit, that’s long’ are often heard during these conversations. Followed by comments like ‘Yeah, the market have no idea, I’ll be throwing some cash on that’ or ‘I’m steering well clear of that match; they must have an injury we don’t know about’.
We place side bets and give each other different odds to the market just for fun, and almost always back a winner for the tournament. It adds an extra element of investment to keep us interested while at the tennis. At the Grand Slams or Masters, one of the most challenging bets is to pick the ‘singles double’ – the men’s and women’s tournament winners. If you can pull it off, the odds are handsomely rewarding.
‘I think Ana’s going to win it, though,’ Felix decides, knowing it will be a controversial opinion. ‘I’m throwing a tenner on her – you’ll see.’<
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‘You’re mad,’ I declare. ‘There is no way Ana is getting one over Vicky tomorrow.’
We’re still arguing about this when we meet a few of our mates in the foyer. As tragic tennis nerds, they all chime in with their opinions. Felix is well outnumbered.
At dinner, we are sat at a table right next to – yes, you guessed it – Bern and his team. It’s almost uncomfortable. He must be starting to worry that I’m some sort of obsessed psychopath. As his team toast to victory, my mates and I enjoy some Italian food and plan our night out on the town. Here is where our lives vary drastically: we go and do what we want, while he is bound by routine and responsibility. By the time we get in a taxi to head out, he will probably be heading to bed (despite his rowdy reputation in the media I never saw him out on the piss). Admittedly, we will be jealous of his clear head and healthy vibe the next morning while we nurse our hangovers and attempt to cure them at the breakfast buffet. But at least it will be my choice, while he will already be planning every detail of his day around that single word that runs his life and fuels ours: tennis.
*
That night, we go to a local pub and down some beers over a few games of pool. An American guy comes over and asks if he can challenge the winner. We get chatting to him and discover he’s a hitting partner who also follows the tour. His name is Rick and he’s worked on the tour for the past year. While he was never good enough to make it competitively, he’s still good enough to give the pros a decent warm-up. It seems he’s got an enjoyable lifestyle carved out on the road. Because he doesn’t have to compete in the morning, his routine isn’t anywhere near as strict as the players’. He prefers to enjoy himself in a similar style to us, and joins us for a few beers. When it comes to the tricky terrain of explaining what we do, we opt for the sneaky white lie. ‘We work in the media, for Sky Sports channel’ is the cover. This seems to suffice, and we continue talking about his duties on tour.
Game, Set, Cash! Page 4
