One Chance

By Todd Perry

There is far more to the game than just being on the court.

One Chance is a testament to how Todd Perry achieved his dreams and aspirations by following his passion for tennis, ultimately playing the most prestigious tournaments in the world against some of the most revered legends in sport.

Todd provides his reads with insi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Todd Perry Tennis
• Release date: Jul 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922803863

Todd Perry

At the age of five, Todd Perry embarked on his journey to pursue his passion for tennis, and by the age of twelve, he had become the number one player in the state for his age. Because of Todd's love for his chosen sport, he was able to find his life's pathway both on and off the court. Aged 20, Todd began travelling around the world competing in professional tournaments, and by the age of 22, he had gained a world ranking. Building on his success, this determined athlete played main draw singles at the Australian Open, thereafter focusing on a doubles career which was better suited to his skill set. He won six ATP Doubles titles and defeated titans of the tennis world including Nadal, Djokovic and the Bryan brothers.After retiring as a professional player, he became the director and head coach of the Todd Perry Tennis Academy. Todd's passion, derived from his experiences and journey, now inspires children to pursue their dreams by utilising sport as a metaphor for their lives.

Book preview

Adelaide International. Precursor to the Australian Open and established in 1889, it is one of the oldest tournaments in the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP). It also happens to be my hometown.

As a child, since I was nine, I excitedly looked forward to the thrill of going to watch the tournament every year. There has always been something truly special about the atmosphere there: the bright lights of Memorial Drive Tennis Centre; the hard and loud outdoor courts; the roar of the crowds. My crowd.

When I became a successful professional tennis player, I played many matches and tournaments around the world. But to me, compared to all of the tournaments other than the Grand Slams that I’d ever played, this one—on my home turf—was the one to win.

"This was my court."

All the big names in the game have played Adelaide: Agassi, Sampras, Federer. And this year, Novak Djokovic was the man to beat—he had established a reputation for himself in the tennis world of being the real deal, and to this day he remains one of the undisputed greatest tennis players of all time.

I’d played the finals here, two years before. It was an intense tournament and, if I’m honest, I had let my nerves get the better of me. Thankfully, I did learn from this experience and, as I knew my professional career couldn’t last forever, I had decided I needed to have one last crack at winning Adelaide.

One last chance to represent my hometown.

It was January 2007, and I was coming off the heels of an international top twenty doubles ranking over the past few years. Ranking that high in tennis is quite a humbling accomplishment. We’re talking about being in the top twenty of players out of literally millions who compete, and I was proud of my years of hard work to achieve that.

But it wasn’t quite enough. I needed something I had yet to accomplish as my crowning achievement, and this was the year to do it.

I can do this. I have to do this.

I had a brand new doubles partner, Wesley Moodie, and we entered the tournament feeling great—in fact, I had arranged 120 tickets for friends and family from the tournament director before I even hit the courts. It was going to be that kind of tournament; all stops removed and full-on.

No pressure.

My home ground tournament began.

With my enormous entourage of invited guests watching, Wes and I elatedly managed win after win. We beat the top seeds early-on, including the then fifth best-ranked doubles team in the world. We continued on to win both quarter-finals and semi-finals—two stressful matches in one day owing to rain. An intense amount of exertion was needed to succeed, and it was beginning to take its toll on me, physically and mentally. My arms were sore. My hands were beginning to blister. My focus was starting to slip.

To be honest these matches all blur together a bit, but Wes and I were at the top of our game, and we just clicked. And, more importantly as night arrived, we were well poised for the next day’s finals.

The finals. Against the mighty Djokovic … who would go on to win the singles title before our doubles match had started.

No pressure.

Wes and I were both exhausted from days of enduring full-on adrenaline getting to this point: cheering crowds; sweaty palms; and unbelievably attuned reflexes that would rival the quickest cat. Tennis is not so much a game as it is a strategy—one requiring psychological and physical strength, both of which were beginning to falter by this point. I knew I couldn’t get this far again and not take it all the way.

Not this time.

Therefore, I had to make sure that I was as well-prepared for the next day as I could be. It was after 10 in the evening before Wes and I were finally able to catch a breath. Owing to earlier neck injuries, I wasn’t in prime condition by this point. So, even at this late hour, I called my long-time physiotherapist, AJ, for a last-minute treatment. She was already almost home, yet she turned around and came back to assist me. I can’t express how much that meant to me—but I can say it left me feeling great, both in terms of my neck and my spirit. Lying on the physio table that cool night underneath the grandstands where I’d come to watch the greats over the years, I couldn’t help but think, "Wow."

This is the year.

Being on the road for 35 weeks a year, it’s hard to describe what it’s like being in your hometown again—even the luxury of getting to sleep in your own bed—especially for a tournament of this magnitude. As I lay in my bed that night, I recalled two years before and my last time in the finals.

I’d come so close, and yet I’d faltered. I’d let emotions get the better of me even before I had stepped onto the court. That morning, I’d driven the nostalgic trip from my childhood home to the venue, down the same roads, allowing myself to reminisce a bit too much. I’d made the mistake of warming up on the court—centre court—with tears in my eyes as I considered the weight of the tournament and what it meant to me. Before I’d even played the match, I was spent.

I was determined not to make that mistake again.

So, the next day dawned and there we were, ready to play the final match of the Adelaide International. I had purposely warmed up on an outside court, and I’d even spent time talking with my sport psychologist, who helped me to get into a good mental state before starting the match.

Even after a delay to the start of our match, due to Djokovic’s winning the singles title earlier in the day, I was ready. We were ready. It was warm out, but not blistering. The courts were cool. The air was still, but the grandstands were packed—with over 100 people in one section cheering solely for me. I was representing my hometown.

The noise was deafening.

"No pressure."

We were playing two of the top players in the world. Djokovic and his then partner Radek Štěpánek were both top ten singles players in the world. We were playing on my home court, in the finals, in front of thousands of people.

Although I’d only talked to each of them in passing during your typical locker-room banter over the years, I found Djokovic to be a pleasant enough guy. He was younger than me and world-renowned for his returns. And Štěpánek? Well, he was an interesting character; a self-proclaimed mind-game player, who would try to get under his opponents’ skin. Wes and I had already strategised about this—we were determined not to let him get to us.

We each had our own unique strengths on the court: Djokovic with his returns; Štěpánek with his strategy; Wes with his ridiculous serve (he’d actually won a Wimbledon doubles title two years earlier); me with my specialty net game. In the world of tennis, I daresay we all were fairly evenly matched at the time.

The atmosphere on the court was electric, with excitement and anticipation flowing from the stands. We started well, winning the first set 6-3. Then we lost a bit of momentum in the second. We had our chances, but we made a few mistakes that cost us the set—probably due to exhaustion from the days leading up to this moment. However, we made up for it after that, and we ended up in a match tiebreak—where the first team to ten, with the advantage of two points, would win the match.

There we were, in the heat of battle, up 9 points to 5. The crowd’s cheering showed no signs of slowing. The sun was beating down. Then we lost the next point. We were now at 9-6, and it was Wes’s turn to serve.

We’re SO CLOSE to the win. Is this really happening? Wes’s serve is insane. This thing’s over.

I was almost numb with excitement.

Wes hit two ridiculously great serves … and both were returned equally well.

It was now 9-8.

Then all of a sudden, two minutes later, we were down a match point at 9-10. Now it was my turn to serve … to Djokovic. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried. Serving had never been my strong point yet returning had always been Djokovic’s.

This can’t be. I can’t lose the final again. Not like this.

I managed to survive the first of my two serves, so there we were, 10-all, and I was trying to focus on what was happening around me. I took a breath and repositioned my racket again.

Get your head in the game.

With every point, the crowd was going berserk. Having watched the finals in Adelaide for so many years, I knew from experience that it was deafening at times, but there on the court, in the heat of the moment, I’m not sure I even heard them.

It was 13-all, and Djokovic was serving to me this time on his second serve. I had never before in my life spun the racket so many times in order to get the right grip—to say my nerves were on edge would be an understatement. Sweaty palms, racket finally ready, I returned.

Phew. I made a great return, and Djokovic hit the backhand volley wide!

Now it was 14-13.

"Ok. This is it. One more point. Just one."

I was serving. I literally stuck out my chest—it’s amusing now to think about it—and went for it.

I served. Djokovic made a powerful return, and the crowd cheered. Digging out a low backhand volley (my specialty), I returned, and the crowd roared. Djokovic ripped a strong forehand at Wesley, who hit a short volley straight back. Djokovic got to it just in time and returned … straight at me.

The crowd was deafening by this point; I imagined the camera crews were having a hard time keeping up.

My mind went blank for a moment—a mere fraction of a second, but I knew. I blinked, and I knew.

I need to leave it. It’s going out!

I didn’t even have to look.

Out!

We’d won! We won against one of the greatest players the game has ever known and his highly credentialed partner.

But most importantly, we’d won Adelaide.

The crowd went absolutely insane, ballistic even. Adelaide had won Adelaide. People were jumping up and down in the stands, cups and hats were flying in the air and the screaming must have rivalled a jet engine. Numbness momentarily took over me. My face was red with sweat and my arms were tingling with adrenaline. The world just dropped from view.

There’s no question: this was the greatest feeling I’d ever had in my life. I wish I could have bottled that feeling so I could take a sip of it every now and then. It was truly that fantastic.

Returning to the present, we eventually all shook hands. Djokovic even gave me a big hug, as he could see what winning Adelaide meant to me. To his immense credit, he was extremely gracious about the whole ordeal.

As I walked towards the huge section of family and friends—who were still losing their minds from this incredible victory and had their arms raised, grinning down at me from the stands—emotions washed over me. In that moment, I experienced such happiness and excitement, and I also felt immense relief when considering everything that could have gone wrong yet didn’t. I had known going into this that it was my one last chance to achieve this victory, and I’d done it.

After the match prize ceremony and a shower—at which point my highly supportive brother came to visit the locker room—the surrealism of the whole ordeal began to settle into a more tangible reality, and I went to