How To Win A Squash Rally – Part 2

Those of you with a good memory will remember my previous attempt at identifying the behaviour pattern required to win a squash rally.

Unsurprisingly, it drew on those old themes of dominating the ‘T’, sending your opponent to all four corners of the court, and then finishing off the rally with an  unreachable shot.

So just in case you didn’t grasp it the first time, here’s another example.

This time, it’s Britain’s Daryl Selby who demonstrates what the pattern looks like during a second-round match against France’s Mathieu Castagnet at the 2016 Windy City Open in Chicago; all except the ‘unreachable shot’ part, that is.

Which begs the question, is there another ‘hidden’ pattern and, if so, what does it look like?

Here’s a suggestion:

  1. Return the ball from whatever part of the court your opponent sends it.
  2. Wait for a feeling of ‘hubris’ to manifest itself in your opponent. This may be fed by a combination of impatience, boredom, frustration, over-confidence, fatigue, incredulity and even mirth over your retrieval efforts.
  3. Trust that your opponent’s hubris will mutate into ‘self-doubt’ in respect of his or her ability to successfully kill off the rally.
  4. Await the inevitable.

In this scenario, of course, there’s no need whatsoever to worry about your opponent’s actual ability to win the rally. You do, however, need to acquire Zen-like powers of patience and trust, as well as being able to reach and retrieve the ball for long periods of time.

When I come across a fool-proof method for perfecting this, I’ll let you know.

 

Weston’s Game (from the Squash Novel ‘The Club from Hell’)

The match at the Heliopolis Club went into a fifth game, Gamal levelling with his trademark forehand volley-drop into the front right-hand corner.

Weston left the court to towel down, take a drink and reflect on the state of play, and on the state of his body. His three month sabbatical, enforced by the medics back in London, still had two weeks to run. In the beginning, an old friend had fixed him up with a villa in Barbados where he’d been able to swim and snorkel most of the day before eating dinner, prepared by the housekeeper, on the terrace overlooking the sea. He’d drunk no alcohol, read, and retired to bed early with only a painkiller for company.

But then, he’d felt the need for some recreation, something with an edge, something  competitive. So he’d come back to part of the world where he’d spent so much of his time in the service on assignment. Somewhere, despite recent political upheavals, where he felt comfortable, connected with history, alive.

Here, in Cairo, he’d kept up a fitness regimen to maybe seventy-five per cent of his potential. Swimming, running and weights at the club, with the occasional game of tennis, and now squash with an old friend and his former squash coach. Gamal was now in his early fifties, but was still more than a match for him.

They resumed their match, watched from the balcony by some youngsters whose parents, he reflected, obviously had the money and the connections, for them to be there. Weston started the stronger, keeping his opponent to the back of the court, but then tired as Gamal’s superior powers of deception began to take their toll. It was their third match in as many weeks but now, he sensed, he was getting closer.

++++

Showered and changed, they sat by the pool drinking iced tea and watching the sun set over the city. They talked business, politics. Then family. Gamal’s family. Weston had none. At least that was his story.

‘So how’s that nephew of yours?’ he said, switching to Arabic. ‘The squash player?’

Heliopolis Club, Cairo

‘Ah, a fine boy,’ said his squash partner with pride. ‘And a fine coach too. But  now, I hear so little from him and see him even less. He left home over a year ago to work abroad. Always on the move, my friend. So many places around the world.’ He paused. ‘Do you know, the last my sister heard from him, he was coaching squash on a yacht somewhere. Can you imagine that? On a yacht!’

Weston smiled and lifted his face towards the setting sun.

When they’d finished their drinks, they picked up their bags and racquet cases and walked towards the reception area.

‘Same time next week, Jim?’ said Gamal.

‘Yes Gamal’ said Weston. ‘Why not.’

He left his playing partner and walked out into the early evening heat.

‘Taxi, Mr. Faulks?’ asked the concierge.

Weston nodded.

++++

Later, in his room at the hotel, Weston retrieved his cellphone from the safe. It displayed a solitary text message from an unidentified number. It read simply: ‘Call Global Trading. Urgent.’

He took a second ‘phone from the safe and connected it to a small electronic device taken from his racquet case. He keyed in a number from memory and listened. There was a click and then a low hum on the line as he heard the call being diverted.

At last, he heard the voice – precise, distant but unmistakable – of the person he most respected in the world.

‘Weston?’

‘Ma’am?’

‘The party’s over.’

‘But, I thought –‘

‘One of our sales force is reporting exceptional activity.’

‘Where?’

‘In the Gulf, although imports from the US are looking up as well.’

‘What about my sabbatical? It doesn’t end until –‘

‘To hell with your sabbatical. I need you on the first flight to Dubai tomorrow. Got that?’

‘Yes ma’am.’

The line went dead.

Next week’s match at the Heliopolis Club was most definitely off.

++++

The following afternoon, Weston found himself sitting in the Dubai offices of Global Trading awaiting the appearance of Dan Thorpe. A stencilled sign on the glass door read ‘Mr. D. R. Thorpe, Sales Director, Middle East & North Africa’.

Weston had been ushered into Thorpe’s office, a scene of uncharacteristic disorder given the true role of its owner in the service. Now, looking from his third floor vantage point towards the Dubai skyline, he sipped at a glass of sweet tea and wondered what sales activity was about to be shared with him.

When he finally appeared, Thorpe looked much the same as ever, slightly dishevelled with dark hair greying at the temples and a stooped posture as he walked towards Weston, hand outstretched. They exchanged pleasantries before sitting opposite each other across Thorpe’s desk.

‘Sorry about the sabbatical, Jim’ said Thorpe. ‘Duty calls, eh?’

Weston gave a wry smile and relaxed into his chair.

‘A week ago, our cousins across the pond shared some intelligence with London about someone they’ve been watching. Someone they believe may be about to take possession of a, shall we say, shipment intended for subsequent distribution – and, presumably, consumption – within the US. They don’t appear to know where the shipment will be handed over but experience suggests it will be at sea. Somewhere in the Caribbean.’

‘What has that got to do with Her Majesty’s Government?’ asked Weston.

‘I’m coming to that’ continued Thorpe. ‘The person the cousins have been watching has connections to someone that London believes could turn out to be a threat to our national security. Someone who, coincidentally, arrived in Dubai just over a fortnight ago.’

He leaned forward and pushed a manila folder across the desk towards Weston.

‘The man the cousins have been watching is called Ivanov. Viktor Ivanov. Born in St. Petersburg. In his mid-50s. Bit of a track record but hardly public enemy number one. That’s his photograph on top of the heap. He pretty much lives on his yacht, the Ekaterina. Registered in St. Petersburg naturally. It’s now in US territorial waters. As far as the cousins can tell, it got there via the Baltic, the North Sea, the Med, North Africa, the Atlantic and the Caribbean, stopping at at least a dozen ports, including London. Quite a holiday cruise – assuming that he’s on holiday of course.’

Weston looked the photograph of a thick-set balding man with a black goatee as Thorpe continued.

‘Ivanov has his family with him. More precisely, wife number three and two children – one from a previous marriage. That’s a picture of his wife, Maria. Looks like an archetypal Russian good-time girl who’s seen better days but there’s something much more interesting about her.’

Weston looked at the picture. It showed a plump, bleached blonde woman in her late 40s, perhaps, wearing a flowered smock. She was standing at what looked like a ship’s rail.

‘Which is?’

‘She’s the elder sister of this man.’

Thorpe pointed out the third photograph.

‘Anatole Grigoriev. Also from Petersburg. And the person we believe now controls the opium trade routes from Northern Afghanistan through Iran and the former Soviet republics.’

Weston picked up the photograph. It showed a clean-shaven athletic-looking man with short dark hair. He was wearing a white shirt and slacks and was sitting under a parasol, holding a cocktail glass up to the camera.

‘He looks a happy soul,’ said Weston.

‘He should be,’ answered Thorpe, ‘Considering the amount of money he must be making. But there’s just one problem. Grigoriev doesn’t just have aspirations to control the global drugs trade. He wants to destroy the West. It appears to be personal, for some reason. That’s what HMG is panicking about. London believes that whatever Ivanov is up to is just a side-show. Grigoriev is the one who pulls the strings. And now he’s sitting in a penthouse suite over at the Burj Khalifa Hotel.’

Weston shrugged.

‘I suppose it makes sense,’ he commented. ‘Big Russian community to provide  cover. The cousins not exactly popular in the area for obvious reasons. Just us honest British businessmen left to see fair play.’

‘That’s where you come in,’ said Thorpe.

‘London wants you to find out what Grigoriev’s up to. Whatever happens in the cousins’ backyard isn’t our concern. But how Grigoriev responds most definitely is. And you may just have a way of reaching him. Take a look at the fourth photograph.’

Weston picked it out of the folder. It showed an attractive young woman playing tennis at what he suspected was the Burj Khalifa Sports Club. Long legs, high cheekbones and a pretty good-looking double-fisted backhand by the look of it. She was wearing a white visor with her blonde hair pulled into a pony-tail.

‘Grigoriev’s younger sister, Tatiana’ said Thorpe. ‘Rather different from his older one  I think you’ll agree?’

Weston nodded and placed the photograph back in the folder.

‘She certainly has friends here,’ continued Thorpe ‘But seems to spend a lot of her time in sports clubs. Money no object, of course. Tennis, swimming, golf, even the odd game of squash, you’ll be pleased to hear. Speaks four languages that we know of, all of which, coincidentally, you speak fluently. I’m sure you’re more than capable of engineering a casual meeting?’

Sunset over the Burj Khalifa, Dubai

When Weston had left for his hotel, Thorpe closed his office door and picked up the telephone. He pressed the scrambler and heard the familiar click and hum.

‘Thorpe?’

‘Yes, ma’am. He’s just left.’

A question.

‘No, ma’am, he doesn’t know anything about the runaway on Ivanov’s yacht. Or the private investigators.’

‘Good. Thank you, Thorpe’

He hung up.

++++

It was early evening at the Burj Khalifa Sports Club.

Weston timed his walk past the table by the pool to coincide with that of the white-coated waiter. At an opportune moment, he moved sharply out of the waiter’s path, knocking into the table and upsetting the cocktail glass standing on it. The glass hit the floor with a satisfying crash.

‘Oh, how clumsy of me!’ he exclaimed, turning to the young woman sitting there.

‘I beg your pardon, madam,’ said the waiter on cue, making to pick up the broken glass.

Weston turned towards him and spoke quickly in Arabic.

‘Please get the lady a replacement, Hassan, and charge it to my account.’

The woman spoke in accented English as Weston turned back towards her. ‘Please don’t concern yourself. It was a simple accident.’

By this time, Hassan had abandoned the glass and scuttled away on his highly lucrative errand.

‘Please. I insist. It was completely my fault, Miss – ?’ said Weston, this time in Russian.

She smiled.

‘Grigorieva. Tatiana Grigorieva.’

He extended his hand.

‘My names Faulks. Jim Faulks.’

She hesitated, took it and answered. In Russian this time.

‘You speak very good Russian for an Englishman Mr. Faulks. Are you a member here?’

‘Jim. Yes.’ he said. ‘And you?’

‘Yes. I arrived in Dubai only recently.’

‘Then I insist on helping you feel at home’ he offered. ‘Tell me. Do you play any games, Miss Grigorieva?’

She laughed.

‘Tatiana. Yes, Mr. Faulks. I do play games.’

She looked into his eyes.

‘In fact, I happen to be very good at them.’

Acknowledgement

‘Weston’s Game’ was first published as Chapter 10 of ‘The Club from Hell’, a collaborative squash-themed novel conceived by Ted Gross of The Daily Squash Report. Written in weekly installments by a team of 10 squash writers, the novel was posted by Ted on the DSR website where you can read it in its entirety.

For the record, the writing team comprised, in no particular order, Steve Cubbins, Aubrey Waddy, Alan Thatcher, John Branston, The Squashist, Tracy Gates, Rob Dinerman, Mick Joint, Will Gens and your truly.

Despite the appearance in the above instalment of the multi-faceted (and mysterious) ‘Jim Weston’, the real hero of ‘The Club from Hell’ is Ted Gross. Without his leadership, co-ordination and support, there would have been no ‘Club from Hell.’

Thanks Ted!

Squash and Sudden Death

In a recent blog posting, I described the longest squash match ever played. It took place in 1983 between Pakistan’s Jahangir Khan and Gamal Awad of Egypt. In a postscript, I mentioned that Gamal Awad died of a heart attack in 2004 at the early age of 49.

But four years before the match between Khan and Awad, the men’s world-ranked number 13 player, then aged 27, also died of a heart attack. Except this time, it was on court during a tournament match in Australia.

The heart attack victim was Jahangir’s elder brother, Torsam Khan.

Squash and Heart Disease

Seven years after Torsam’s death, I was working as a research scientist for what is now one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies. I was also spending an inordinate amount of time playing squash at the company’s sports club which was located on-site just a couple of hundred metres from the research library. And it was while I was browsing the scientific journals in the library that I came across a very interesting article.

It was written by Robin Northcote, Clare Flannigan and David Ballantyne of the Department of Medical Cardiology at the Victoria Infirmary in Glasgow, Scotland. Now, some of you may know that Scotland had (and still does have) one of the highest levels of heart disease in the world, a situation not helped by certain local dietary preferences such as the infamous deep-fried battered Mars bar. So, looking back, the appearance of the Northcote article in the British Heart Journal didn’t come as an enormous surprise to me.

The article had the arresting title, Sudden death and vigorous exercise – a study of 60 deaths associated with squash’. And, by the way, sudden death was defined as “death occurring within 1-24 hours of the onset of symptoms” with the study looking at subjects who had “collapsed while playing squash or within an hour of playing”.

Squash and Psychology

After consulting a few of my fellow squash-playing scientists, I remember citing the article in the squash club newsletter I was then editing. It didn’t generate much, if any, feedback from squash club members even after I’d pinned a copy of the article to the noticeboard outside courts 1 and 2. Anyway, it certainly didn’t result in an exodus from the squash leagues or a noticeable reduction in the number of squash courts booked.

Nearly 25 years after it first appeared, the Northcote et al article is still worth reading. The authors state that, “Many individuals in this study with known medical conditions continued to play squash. Men in middle age seem reluctant to acknowledge that they may be in poor physical condition or health. We and others have noted that sportsmen tend to deny physical infirmity and prodromal symptoms.” Prodromal symptoms (or sets of symptoms) are ones which might indicate the start of a disease before specific symptoms occur.

Most of the people in the study had professional or executive jobs with only 2 of the 60 subjects working in what were regarded as ‘non-sedentary’ jobs. The authors go on to state that, “In addition to a tendency to ignore prodromal symptoms and pre-existing disease at least half of the subjects in this series may have been type A personalities, and this in itself may have increased their risk of sudden death and the development of coronary heart disease”.

Personality typing theory emerged in the 1950s and described two common but contrasting types of people, the highly-strung Type A and the easy-going Type B. These types were regarded as  corresponding to patterns of behaviour that could respectively raise or lower a person’s chances of developing coronary heart disease. Despite its citation in the Northcote study, the theory has since  been regarded as obsolete by many researchers in contemporary health psychology and personality psychology.

But, whatever theory you choose to believe, the overall message remains the same. The risks associated with playing squash and experiencing sudden death originate, at least partially, in the mind.

Exercise-related Sudden Death

In 1994, Northcote published another exercise-related sudden death study in the Oxford Textbook of Sports Medicine (Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK). This time, he looked at a range of sports and activities including running, swimming and soccer, and sudden deaths occurring in the mainland UK, i.e. England, Scotland and Wales. His findings are presented in the following table.

Sport / Activity Number

(Male)

Number

(Female)

Mean Age

at Death

Squash 124 2 44
Soccer 53 32
Swimming 50 6 53
Running 38 1 37
Badminton 26 49
Rugby 14 30

Although squash is at the top of the table, Northcote emphasized that there is a very low statistical risk of sudden death from any sport and that the figures don’t  imply that squash is more dangerous than other sports. Nevertheless, his table does show that a significant number of squash players have probably died unnecessarily, for reasons not unconnected to those proposed in his 1986  article.

Squash and the Mind

So, nothing for squash players to worry about?

Well, in 2004, I had a heart attack. Not something I’d recommend although I’ve certainly found it to be character forming if not personality changing. Unfortunately, or come to think of it fortunately, I wouldn’t have made Robin Northcote’s original study as I hadn’t been playing squash immediately beforehand. But the incident did lead me to take a renewed interest in my own psychological makeup, how it influenced my approach to squash, and how I could change it for the better. In other words, how I could change my mindset to re-connect with squash, feel the passion again – and reduce the risk.

Well, I’m still taking an interest and things certainly do seem to be getting better in all respects. Although I am, of course, still working on it. Promise.

The Inner Game of Squash

Holistic Sports Coaching

In the 1970s, American tennis instructor Tim Gallwey wrote The Inner Game of Tennis, a book which described his own novel approach to sports coaching. His approach included aspects of what are now possibly best  known as sports psychology, performance coaching (or life coaching) and meditation. Gallwey proposed that, for each player, their sport is made up of an outer game – played against an opponent – and an inner game, which takes place inside the player’s mind.

Tim Gallwey

Tim Gallwey

Squash in the Mind

The inner game approach requires players to make specific non-judgmental observations about what Gallwey called critical variables associated with playing their sport. Amongst other things, these variables could include the flight or bounce of the ball during rallies, the position of the player’s feet or their squash racket head, or even the sound made when they or their opponent hit the ball. The purpose of making these observations is for the player to become increasingly aware of their playing state, leading their body to automatically adjust and correct itself to achieve the best performance it can. This inner game effectively takes place inside the player’s own mind and is played against lapses in concentration, nervousness, self-doubt and self-criticism. In other words, it’s played against self-imposed obstacles put in the way by players themselves – a problem which will be equally familiar to squash players as to tennis players!

Squash Health

In response to the book’s success, Gallwey followed up with further inner game books on golf, music, skiing, work and, in 2010, stress – possibly written in recognition of the increasing work life challenges faced by many people as a result of global economic uncertainty and changing employment trends. This series of writings has gradually expanded the range of tools and techniques which can be used to coach the inner game in different life contexts – from sport, to work and, increasingly, to health. In fact, the series could be seen as harmonising approaches to coaching the body and coaching the mind.

Squash for the Soul

The idea of harmonisation fits neatly with the concept of a balanced lifestyle or a healthy work life balance – something which many people strive to achieve during their lives and which squash coaches are expected to promote. And one strand of the inner game approach which Tim Gallwey describes at the end of The Inner Game of Tennis
deals directly with this. He talks about “the inner game off the court” and the need for players to realise that the skills they need to achieve their life goals and overcome barriers are the same whatever they are doing. Under the memorable (and very 1970s) heading ‘Unfreakability’ he outlines the need to acquire the ability to see the true nature of what is happening around you – “and to be able to respond appropriately”.

The skills Gallwey is describing are characteristic of meditation or what he calls ‘the art of quieting the mind’. And it’s the ability to concentrate and maintain a state of inner calm off court as well as on court which is a key teaching of the inner game approach.

Squash for the soul, you might say…