All The World’s A Stage (and the court is mine) by Diana Rendon

— “A man whom both the waters and the wind

In that vast tennis court hath made the ball

For them to play upon entreats you pity him.”

Pericles, Pericles, Act II, Scene 1

This past spring, in the midst of performing a three-month run of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, I found myself where I would any other Friday morning before acting class – on the tennis court bickering with my coach Mish. 

He always knows exactly what to say to fuel the fire in my game. Whether it’s words of encouragement when he can see my brow furrowing in frustration to a point of no return, or a “CLOSER!” when he knows I can definitely see that the ball is going to land five feet in front of where I’m standing. In the restful moments of picking up balls so we can start a new exercise, Mish can typically be found poking fun of me in some way or asking why I’m not on a Netflix show yet. 

This particular Friday, Mish pointed something out that I had yet to ever hear from him.

“Your grip on your racket is finally getting so much looser. How?” What he meant, of course, was ‘how have I been giving you the same note for 2 years and you’re only now seeming to take it? 

The answer? Sword-fighting.

An integral part of my classical theater training this past year was stage combat, specifically single sword. I had only ever done unarmed combat, and it was definitely a huge learning curve for me when first getting familiar with the weapon. A common note I would get from my teacher, Dave, was to loosen my grip on the hilt, as it would prove easier to manipulate the blade to exactly where I wanted it to be. I told him that I have the same issue when I play tennis, and I always suffer the consequences of wrist pain the day after a lesson. 

Because I was practicing sword fighting more often than tennis on any given week, I was able to integrate the loosening of my grip pretty quickly and soon enough, the skill was shining through in my rallies with Mish. 

When I first picked up tennis, I was in the beginning of my year-long break from acting. I was strictly writing/directing at the time, and needed a hobby to fill up the space acting had in my brain and body. This means that the simultaneous training of the two arts (yes, tennis IS definitely an art in its own way) was completely new to me. 

I expected to learn a lot in the eight months I was spending ~40 hours a week doing Shakespeare, but the one thing I couldn’t have anticipated learning was that tennis and acting are incredibly similar, well beyond the physicality of holding a sword or racket. 

In acting, everything is about the other person. Their relationship to you, how their words affect you, how you draw them in. Yes, you should be thinking about your character’s lived experience, words, mannerisms, but everything you do should be 1) in pursuit of the other person and 2) reactionary to whatever they are offering you. Tennis is the same game. It’s not a team sport so you’re alone in all that you do, but everything comes down to your opponent.

In tennis, I can’t anticipate what my opponent is going to do. I can only stay in a constant state of readiness and respond accordingly to wherever the ball may land on my side. When I’m on stage, I can’t really predict how my scene partner will deliver their line or how it’ll affect me; all I can do is stay in the moment so I can properly reply. I know what my next line is already, sure, but I also already know how to hit a good forehand. 

I can equip myself with all of the right tools and techniques as much as I want, but in the final moments, I can’t win if I speak or swing too early. 

Right when I was beginning to put these pieces together, my suspicions were confirmed in a class. Sara Topham (renowned Canadian stage actress) came in as a guest and told us about an acting exercise she created called ‘Federer.’ I gasped instantly, and she flashed me a smile as she explained that the exercise was in fact named after tennis legend Roger Federer. The exercise was all about assessing how you’re luring your scene partner in with each line of verse. Just like in tennis, she described, you have to draw your opponent in before you play a winning point. So with each line, are you advancing, retreating, or holding space?

I began to apply this as much as possible with my text analysis. Soon enough, I found myself on Friday mornings whispering a verse line under my breath with each crack of my racket swing to help with memorization. It all became intertwined. 

On stage at night, I’d remember how I had consciously inhaled through my diaphragm to catch my breath after running after the ball that morning; then do the same before making my big entrance. 

On the court, I’d whip out my sword-specific wrist stretches before beginning my warm up. 

On stage, I’d absorb my scene partner’s every move and wait until the last possible second before making mine. 

On the court, I’d bow to Mish after successfully winning a point against him. 

I’d slip on my tutu and flats before grabbing my guitar the same way I’d slip on my pleated skirt and Adidas before grabbing my racket. 

I’d walk onto a stage of some sort, whether it was sprung floor or clay, and perform.