‘I mainly hit with the girls,’ he explains. ‘The guys will gladly hit with each other if they have the opportunity but many of the girls prefer a guy to hit with instead of another female player.’
‘Why’s that?’ Felix asks, lining up the eight ball.
‘Well, half the time it’s because they want somebody who can hit powerful, consistent shots to them, but sometimes it’s because of their attitude problems. Some of the girls are such bitches none of the others want to hit with them!’
I remember seeing Maria Sharapova hit before and noticing how powerful her groundstrokes were. Even though she was hitting with a guy, she was still too good for him. The poor bloke was blasted off the court. So this revelation doesn’t surprise me. To be honest, the comments about some players’ attitudes don’t either. Some of the girls are so nasty and foul-mouthed on court that I don’t blame other players for not wanting to have a hit with them.
Felix pockets the eight ball and shakes Rick’s hand after a close game.
‘Another round?’ Rick asks.
We all look at each other and nod in agreement. ‘Why not?’ I say. ‘It’s not like we’ve got to be up early to hit the courts.’
Everyone laughs and clinks glasses in celebration of an enjoyable life on tour.
*
From what I’ve seen and heard of the average tennis player’s lifestyle, it appears to consist of travel (often on the same flights we’re on), living in hotels (sometimes the same ones we’re staying in), eating, sleeping, training and playing matches. For most of his career, Nadal has trained over six hours per day. Every day. That means that, each year, he spends almost half his waking hours with a racquet in his hand.
They live and breathe tennis, and that’s what it takes to be at the top these days – the level is so high. It came as a bit of a shock to me when I realised that some players are, well … is the word ‘losers’ too harsh? They spend their whole day at the tournaments training, playing and watching tennis. Then they go home, hang out with other players, watch TV in their hotel room and do it all again the next day. They’re dedicated athletes so they don’t drink or party often. One of my English co-workers once asked Victoria Azarenka if he could buy her a drink. She politely declined. Ouch. I’ve seen groups of players heading to dinner in the hotel or to a nearby restaurant together on many occasions. Because of this closed culture, most players end up dating either their coaches or other players. Roger and his wife, Mirka, met on the tennis court, as did Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf. Tomáš Berdych dated fellow Czech Lucie Šafárová, Hewitt dated Clijsters. Then you’ve got Ivanovic and Verdasco, Kirilenko and Andreev, Malisse and Capriati, Melzer and Benešová, Pennetta and Moyá, and the list goes on. Bulgarian Grigor Dimitrov is rumoured to have a few top female players on his hit list, and vice versa for Maria Sharapova. On top of that you constantly hear whispers about who’s been shacking up with who and even begin to notice when a new admirer repeatedly turns up in a player’s corner to cheer them on. Almost every player on tour has some sort of romantic history with a fellow player or coach. But let’s stop there before this turns into a fucking gossip magazine. One thing is for certain, tennis players do not date traders. Most of them don’t know who we are, for starters. Some probably think we’re creepy stalkers following them around the world, while others would run a mile to avoid the scandal of being involved with an international gambler. There has only been one exception that I know of. Before my time on tour, an Italian trader dated one of the French girls. It was destined for failure though – once her coaching staff figured out what he was involved in, they ordered her to end the relationship.
A few mates and I once sat at a restaurant table next to Andy Roddick while he played tour guide and entertained a couple of Czech players in Memphis, Tennessee during one of these typically boring ‘tennis-player-dinners’. Hats off to Andy for breaking out of the tennis circle and marrying the smoking hot actress and swimsuit model Brooklyn Decker. Although I must admit, him spotting her on T.V and getting his agent to call her agent in an effort to tee up a date is a little weird. But it worked, so I’ll just shrug my shoulders in dismay and keep my agent’s number on speed dial.
There are many exceptions, of course (I almost walked into Novak Djokovic while he was partying and dancing with friends one night in a trendy nightclub in Sweden – I believe he was sober, for the record – and he appeared to be having a blast), and I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the players, but from an outsider’s perspective it all seems quite reclusive. Then again, this is coming from the guy whom most people assume to be the ‘lonesome loser’, sat court-side by himself all day. So maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Either way, I admire the players’ achievements and lifestyles but I don’t envy them.
*
Players may have fame and wealth but they also have an obligatory dedication to their sport. I personally feel that fame is something the world has mistakenly overrated and become sadly obsessed with. In any case, I don’t see how you can enjoy the wealth when you’re a slave to the gruelling yearly calendar that tennis follows. Sure, you can afford a Ferrari, but it will sit in your garage on the other side of the world for forty weeks of the year. Once holiday time rolls around, players have the option of pointing at a map and saying ‘Let’s go there’. Thing is, I get to do that almost once a month in my job. Aside from the lack of physical talent, I could never have made it as a tennis player – I just don’t have the drive, subservience and discipline required to follow such a lifestyle. Luckily, I’ve found one that suits me just fine. While it isn’t that far removed, it is a very different existence.
4
MEET THE CREW
‘Ciao, buongiorno,’ says a man in his mid-thirties as he takes a seat next to me.
‘Ciao,’ I reply, ‘come stai?’
‘Sto bene, grazie,’ he laughs and gives me a nod of approval. I’ve never met this man but I know who he is. It appears he knows who I am too – our reputations precede us. We’re in Melbourne, Australia, at the first Grand Slam event of the calendar year, so why are two strangers exchanging Italian pleasantries in the middle of a tennis stand?
Well, traders are a colourful bunch who come from all corners of the globe and range from mathematical genii and entrepreneurial masters to addicted gamblers and borderline alcoholics (often juggling all at once). It took me some time to really get to know everybody – when you’re new to the scene, most traders will keep their distance until they know you’re one of them. Not Arturo, though, aka ‘the Godfather’. He’d wandered up the stand and nodded in my direction. I didn’t know what to make of this guy but I’d heard he was an experienced trader so I returned the nod, and he came over to introduce himself.
He’s a talented and jovial Italian who can also speak fluent English, Spanish, French and Polish, as well as dabbling in a little Russian and German. And that’s not to mention the maths skills. While we watch the match together, he tells me how he got into the profession many years ago.
‘I was working as an interpreter in the media department of the tennis tour,’ he begins, ‘when I realised there was so much potential for court-side gambling. So I started using the staff Wi-Fi access codes to trade matches from the stand. After doing a few trials in my spare time, I quit my job to take the gambling on full-time.’
In his first year, he made over a million euros. He’s addicted not only to gambling but to the life of the tour too. After eight years of following it around the world, he’s well and truly stuck in its routine. His knowledge of the world is constantly surprising (he knows most cities on tour intimately and navigates cultural conventions and dialects with ease), and his card tricks are legendary on a night out.
Arturo is one of the pioneers of the occupation that has now become my own – court-siding. As the online market became more crowded and competitive, people began to seek new means of obtaining ‘
an edge’. Initially, there were only a select few who had the brains, balls and bank account to initiate such an original and unusual idea.
‘I would book myself a flight to the next tennis tournament,’ Arturo reminisces, ‘purchase good tickets, take my laptop in and gamble away while sitting court-side. We’re talking circa 2006 here. Those were the good old days when we could all sit on the baseline with our laptops out and trade to our heart’s content. There were only a handful of us back then. We’d compare our winnings, swap books and magazines, and talk about our next holidays. “Oh, who just fucked up?” I’d yell across the stand. One of the other traders would raise his hand and shake his head in embarrassment. “Thanks for the payday!” It was all fun and games though, I’d buy him beers that night and we’d laugh about it. Nobody had a clue what we were up to and nobody bothered us. It was all too easy!’
Most of the originals had a tennis tournament in their home town or at least nearby, so naturally the majority of them were European. These guys were true lateral thinkers, ignoring uniformity and opting to work outside society’s conventions. The practice of turning up to a live event and logging scores in real time is commonly and aptly referred to in the gambling world as ‘court-siding’. While many online gamblers know court-siding exists, most simply don’t have the means, imagination or drive to join the party. So, while it’s not a completely secret vocation, those of us who do it have been able to operate with a relatively limited amount of competition and exposure. On the whole, the practice remains largely undiscovered by the general public, and we traders do all we can to keep it that way. Invariably, new traders will pop up to try their hand on the tour. Some stay while others succumb to greed, bad luck or poor operations. One thing is for certain, though – it’s a much more crowded industry than the secret society that existed back in 2006.
‘If only I’d known then what I know now,’ Arturo lamented. ‘I would have saved more of my money!’ He burst out laughing in the stand. ‘We would work for a week without any stress, clear anywhere from 5000 to 30,000 euros and then take off to enjoy the spoils in a sunny location. We had weeks on end in Ibiza, the Canary Islands, Greece, the Caribbean, the Amalfi Coast – you name it. We’d party until the cash got low and then book ourselves a flight to the next tennis tournament. Easy as that.’
Why did he have to go and tell me that? I thought I had it good until I heard the stories of the golden days!
*
Sitting in the stand with Arturo this first day is a great introduction to the obscure trading society that is hidden in plain sight, right in front of me. He points other guys out to me, explaining what to look for and where to sit to avoid detection. It’s easy for experienced traders to spot one of their own.
‘Look for the telltale signs,’ he tells me. ‘If you see a guy sitting by himself or even two guys in their twenties sitting together, they’re most likely trading. My friend down there’ – he points towards the front of our stand – ‘that’s Romeo. I’ll introduce you to him later. He’s Italian too.’
When I get to know Romeo later, he has no trouble living up to his name. He is a textbook Italian playboy who loves his designer clothes and flaunts his success around the globe. He would regularly show me X-rated photos of his latest exploits and conquests on his phone.
‘Okay. And, to the left, see the guy with glasses on? That’s my friend Giovanni. He can speak many languages also. So feel free to introduce yourself, his English is good.’
Gio is another talented veteran of the tour who will go on to give me plenty of advice during matches. He even tests my speed skills on his laptop one day to see how good I am. (I score a 0.17, which I am pretty happy about.)
‘Behind us, see the guy who looks like Johnny Depp?’
I turn around to see an effortlessly stylish, long-haired dude in a leather jacket and nod.
‘That’s Vittorio. He’s from Naples, so he doesn’t give a shit about security problems. There’s nothing that worries him on this tour – his home town offers many more intimidating problems than we have to worry about here.’
‘Yeah, I can see his hand in his jacket. He’s definitely trading.’
‘You’re learning,’ Arturo smiles. ‘Tell me if you can spot Leo. He’s not far from Vittorio.’
I scan the crowd between the tennis points. It doesn’t take long. Another guy wearing glasses is slouched comfortably up to the back left of us. He has his right hand in a satchel, and, once I spot that, I know he is trading too.
‘He’s not Italian but he is a good friend. Leo is from Madrid, so his Spanish translates quite well with Italian. We all talk together and understand each other. That’s not all, though. Over the other side of the court, I can just make out a few of the other guys. There are the English traders, and a few Russians too. Have you met them yet?’
I haven’t, but apparently there is a horde of traders present at the event, all cruising under the radar and turning a tidy profit for themselves. If you didn’t know what to look for, you’d never have guessed it. I am amazed but excited to learn I will have familiar faces and colleagues I can hang out with during my time on the road.
*
Later, once I settled into the tour, I discovered that most traders are pretty friendly guys. It’s worth pointing out that ninety-five per cent of them are male. The combination of gambling, sport and single life on the road must suit men more than women, I guess.
The casual flings and one-night stands are as inherent as any other part of the trader lifestyle. We’re young, energetic and ambitious. Meeting girls during our travels is inevitable. Holding on to them is a much tougher prospect … and one we generally give up on after long enough on tour. There is a glaring absence of girlfriends or steady relationships on the court-sider scene. The truth is, you can’t work full-time on the tour and expect to maintain a healthy relationship. I watched guys try and fail time after time. There are exceptions, of course, but, generally speaking, intermittent long-distance relationships are destined to failure.
Having travelled for a few years before joining the tour, I was accustomed to this kind of life and knew what to expect. I’d had girlfriends back in Australia but had never really worried too much about being settled at a young age. It wasn’t until I started travelling and began to connect with like-minded girls from other parts of the world that I really made the most of my single life, though. With my new itinerary, I couldn’t wait to party around the world.
After a few tournaments, some of the traders would recognise me and extend the standard head nod or wink on court. If I bumped into somebody between matches, we might have a quick chat about the week and I’d find out a bit about them. Beers on the weekend were usually a pretty popular suggestion and we would catch up once the business end of the week had passed. This is the way I came to meet many traders. We’d hit a bar, order some food and drinks, celebrate a week of trading and share a range of stories from all over the tour.
This was how I came to meet the Englishmen Doug, Angus and Dylan. Doug was an ex-pilot who had lived and travelled all over the world. Angus was an intellectual who had travelled South America extensively and had a passion for anything with a Latino influence. Dylan was a larrikin with a wicked sense of humour who (to his displeasure) was often told he looked like Peter Andre. They all loved tennis and a night out on the town. Their back-end computer whizz was an ex-maths teacher with a genuine love for the language of mathematics and an addiction to online trading. Apparently, he used to drive around the English countryside playing pokies in pubs and draining them of their coins. He had the system figured out and, with his mathematical prowess, knew how to trigger a win.
On one of these late-night expeditions around the local pubs, he was pulled over by the police for a random breath test. When they saw the bags of coins on his car floor, they started asking a lot more questions. According to standard police logic,
he was under suspicion of robbing a bank. He had to quickly explain his little charade and assure the officers he hadn’t been involved in anything untoward.
While his fund-raising exercise wasn’t illegal, it certainly wasn’t a conventional way of earning a living. So he graduated to trading after recruiting my new English friends and promising them a generous commission to fly around the world and report on tennis matches. A successful gambling syndicate was born.
I met many traders during my time on tour, but these guys were the ones I spent most time drinking, partying and travelling with (apart from my own co-workers, of course). Traders share a special bond. While we’re not the best of mates because we’ve only known each other a short time, we’re all part of a unique society. Yes, we compete against each other but that is accepted as part of the game, so there is rarely any bad blood or hostility between us. It’s not like there are many of us out there, so when we all get together outside of work we celebrate and make the most of our time on the road. There’s a whole world of bars, beers and good times to be sampled, and we do our best to see them all.
*
Back in Melbourne, Arturo decides to extend some generosity by sharing a tip. The veteran trader fancies himself as a bit of a gambling guru. As a newbie, I’m all ears.
‘I’m going to lay Vera Zvonareva tomorrow.’
‘Oh, really? Why’s that, mate?’
‘Well, she just walked past me and she has a few pimples and her breasts looked swollen. I think she’s got her period. She’s definitely going to lose tomorrow.’
I cough to stifle a laugh and then laugh at him anyway. I can’t help it. ‘You what?’ I ask.
Game, Set, Cash! Page 5
