Hello everyone! Dear friends, our loyal readers, regular visitors of the site and guests who stumbled upon our page by chance, we are happy to announce that our beloved author — our Annjett, precisely BetSportsLive, has provided a unique opportunity to start publishing her book about one of the most wonderful sports in our opinion — tennis. Anya, in her unique style, will immerse us in the world of professional tennis, help us understand its history, nuances, tell about legendary (and not so) tennis players, behind-the-scenes intrigues, rises and falls, paying great attention to the Challenger Tour, in general, read, enjoy and be sure to write comments. And we, in turn, once again thank our Anya-Annjett for the honor bestowed upon us and the opportunity provided.
Chapter One. Gastão Elias
Today, it seems, is already May 2nd. I’ve played 298 clay matches across tournaments in various countries, cities, and continents. Tomorrow, I’ll face Rune again. We, I think, know each other well. At least in 2021, I beat him twice in finals. Both times 2:1, and both times he fought hard! This brave young Viking… I’m going into the season 15/3 on clay, I’m ready. Yesterday, I just beat Cobolli and (remember my vision!) this 19-year-old Italian has a big future. He’s perfect. And I’m always thinking: where will the next challenger be? I’m used to thinking ahead. And I have just 2 matches left until my career reaches 300!
Gastao 2021
You know, I started the season well. I won that very futures tournament… The one whose results aren’t archived on many sites, and point by point is remembered by few. Basically, I won against Rune. And Rune is Holger Vitus Nodskov Rune, an 18-year-old Dane. Of course, on that futures, another match was notable. But we’re not talking about that now.
So, I got off to a good start in the season. I even thought then — maybe I should connect with my chronicler. But you all know Annjett! She’s always busy, with affairs, thoughts, problems, worries, an overactive imagination… In short, she was nearby but still out of reach. And so I sat down to write this chapter. Someone has to do it! Someone has to tell the story!
I arrived (with Anya on the line, don’t worry) at that very Futures. And what do you think I did? I beat everyone masterfully, I was magnificent. Magnificent and fearsome, I even schemed a bit! I won 4 sets 6:0 out of 11 played and — you can confirm this on Tennis Explorer — when I reached the final, I didn’t know what a glorious 2021 awaited me. It turned out my homeland, my Portugal, was waiting.
Four Estorils or the Road to Biella
Biella, Tuesday and Wednesday, I’m here now. I smoked a bit, had some coffee. You know, tennis players don’t often admit they smoke, and I don’t advertise it much. David Ferrer (everyone knows David Ferrer) smoked two packs a day during training, and that didn’t stop him from reaching the Roland Garros final. Where, as you remember, he lost to his friend Rafael Nadal. That match will live on forever, and I… I watched the game and cried uncontrollably. I love David Ferrer.
…but if you think I smoke because of that, no. I like the thoughts that slowly come to me with the smoke, I enjoy the color combinations on beautiful cigarette packs. I take a cup of coffee and ponder: what awaits me tomorrow? After all, I really don’t know the outcome in advance. No one does, but I came to the Biella courts for the 8th challenger of 2021 (Italy) to reflect. To reflect on types of rest, on life, on tennis itself. What does this cosmic game hold? What secrets are hidden in it? What do you feel when you earn another break point against the future best of the best (maybe) after 40:40?
For example, I feel a mix of satisfaction and elevation. It seems to me that I know exactly what kind of tennis player I am. Do you think I’ve become extremely cunning? Not at all. I travel to different tournaments, I watch young people passionate about tennis. They inspire me! You know, my coach Fabian Blengino often calls me scatterbrained. But I’m focused. I’m quick. I’m fresh and young. I have a lot I can and want to tell you, reader… I didn’t come here for nothing. I’ll tell you about the glorious tournaments of 2021, and we’ll meet again!… Meanwhile, I passed through four Estorils, hurry up and join me!
Gastão José Ministro Elias di Oeiras
Gastão José Ministro Elias — that’s my name. Gastão Jose Ministro Elias, yes. You can even read about me on Wikipedia, where they’ll tell you how good and handsome I am. How I wear a black hood (they won’t tell you that — that’s me sharing), and travel to tournaments. I’m the second Portuguese tennis player after João Sousa. And I don’t know what to do with that: I don’t remember wanting to be first. But I clearly remember the year I’m in now.
I feel the strength to beat anyone, but that’s not what I’m chasing. I’m still mentally running on the sands of my Oeiras (in the world — Estoril). After playing 17 matches on ‘my’ courts, you can draw some conclusions. And I just want Fabian to say tomorrow, ‘Gastão, don’t give away the match easily!’ and I’ll find — pull out! — motivation from my drive. And again, like on May 30, beat the Norwegian. If you’ve read Andre Agassi’s autobiography ‘Open’, you’ll understand my thoughts. If not, go to that site. We’re all walking the internet in one world, and in another, through the waves of our imagination. I walk through tennis. Now, I am tennis.
In 16 matches (yes, actually 16: once my opponent nobly refused to cross rackets with me) on clay in ’21, I was only worried once: when I lost to Colar in the first Portuguese challenger. I lay in a not-so-expensive hotel, staring бодро at the ceiling, thinking, ‘Gastão, madonna mia. Why did you even return to clay? Isn’t 20/33 over the seasons from 2018 enough? You’re 30, Elias! Why are you here?’
But I put on the hood. Went out to breathe the dew. The morning moisture refreshed me, it was invigorating. As invigorating as no tennis match in all universes multiplied together. And… I ended the verbal acrobatics inside myself. ‘The ’21 year is wonderful and good,’ I told myself. I endured a bit more and played until April 10, where I lost to Nuno Borges, only to take revenge on him on May 29. Through a retirement, yes. When you read this book, my friend, know: without you, this story wouldn’t exist.
The Game That Started 0:2
I was frustrated. You know, it happens in tennis matches: you plan to lose in advance, you’ve outlined your game plan, and then… Your opponent pulls off a sneaky shot where it shouldn’t be possible. And you stand on the edge of the court not understanding: why? Basically, around the middle of the second set, I got frustrated. Up until then, everything was going well.
And what the heck did I get out of it? Smudged patches of my own imagination on the tiebreak, which I was already set to win. But my cross-court backhand (Fernando Gonzalez style) didn’t hit the line. The second cross-court backhand not only missed the line but went way out. And I lost to Rune, even though, as I mentioned earlier, I wanted to know… In the name of what was I losing? It wasn’t a game of dares!
June 3 or Match Day
The match is in an hour and 15 minutes. I had an intensely strong training session today, working on stoppers, drops, tweeners, butterflies… I love tennis! I love tennis for its scope, the smoothness of lines, the vast imagination. It seems to me that when people compare tennis and chess… Those people… You know… They think too simply. Tennis isn’t chess in motion; tennis is structured chaos, art in its purest form, a divine beginning with no end. I’m 30, guys! And I’ve reached the stage where I want to formalize the unformalizable. You know, just recently (May 28, yes), I played against a genius of skills, my great friend from Argentina — Camilo Ugo Carabelli. I won, 6-7 6-3 6-0, and… That was the best we could give each other: mutual supporting sport in its purest form, emotional intensity, struggle. Now, that’s left only on challengers and (nothing against the pro tour and the real big guys like Tsitsipas or Thiem), I can tell you a lot about it. I can talk for hours, or just in moments. I can swiftly tell a story with one masterfully executed racket swing, or ‘lay’ a shot along the court on the thinnest line… I am a Tennis Player. My language is read in games, and my dialect point by point.
… And now I’m sitting, waiting for the match that I already like in advance. This will be a glorious battle, well, for now. For now, I’m mentally on the wonderful courts of Biella.
I stepped out. He served to love and broke me right away.
How to Brew Porridge or What I Tell Myself After Such Losses
It turned out I lost in the name of the subsequent victory of the ‘Viking’ (that’s what I’ll call Rune, affectionately) in the tournament. He broke through to the final and beat Marco Trungillati (an amazing Argentine) 2:1… But I’m mentally at 4-5 in the second set, I’m a bit stuck. At that point, the Norwegian had 4 double faults and converted 2 more break points than I did. Was I thinking then or not (what’s it like to go out without a plan and just not ‘digest’ the flow of the match internally)… I was thinking. But what was there to think — he hit a few balls that shouldn’t have been possible, and somehow (I gave away serve twice and Rune was serving for the match), we reached the tiebreak. And the porridge was brewing right before all that…
To Be Continued… We invite you to discuss the book on our forum.
