“And the new, Wimbledon Champion 2023 is …”
Argh, those words will never be said about me or, for that matter, anyone I play tennis with. The last time I looked, I think my doubles team were about 140th in the Surrey District League … and if I played singles I would be infinity further down the league tables to a place of near obscurity.
In fact, I do not think I could actually even return the serve of any Wimbledon champion past, present or even dead! And that’s including the juniors!
However, never being able to achieve the number one position in tennis has ever stopped me from enjoying it. Never having played a match with an umpire in attendance has ever stopped me from making instant and fair decisions. Never having an expensive racket has stopped me from being able to compete and never having been professionally coached has stopped me from teaching myself.
And, what follows, are my thoughts on how tennis has not only provided me with oodles and oodles of fun, and friendships, it has also taught me lots about life….

Performance

“It’s not the winning that matters, it’s the taking part”.
Really? I don’t think so. It’s absolutely about the winning that makes the taking part so much fun. I’m not talking here about a friendly knock up with the kids in the park, that’s different. But most people who have ‘invested’ in their sport, play to win in my experience and embracing that mentality, within reason, forms the very nuance of what makes ‘sport’ a healthy, fun and valuable investment. Read my blog here about the match I just HAD to win … and why!

Scoring

This is my opportunity to apologise to all those poor unsuspecting people I have bored witless at various times over the years with my fascination of the tennis scoring system. It’s genius!
A match is not won or lost until the last shot is made. At 40-0 down, 2 sets to nil, 0-5 … you can still come back to win. And it happens! Admittedly not so often these days for myself, but Andy Murray has made a career out of it and he’s still going strong!

Winning

As I mentioned, ‘winning’ is important and in my experience, those of us who seek to win competitively, enjoy a long and happy relationship with tennis. Remove that ‘competitive’ element and the playing becomes less rewarding and ultimately erodes the motivation to play.

Losing

Losing is good for us. If nothing else it helps us to enjoy winning more. Of course, there are ‘good losers’ and ‘bad losers’. Personally, I think I’m too accepting of losing.
More self-belief, more commitment to the match and less ‘drifting off’ would result in more wins, which in turn will inspire me to play more, and better. It’s always a good thing to ‘play up’ too. Where possible, play against those you aspire to be as good as, if they’ll let you. And therein lies another skill of subtle persuasion.

A gentleman’s draw

Two things here. One … why is it referred to as a ‘gentleman’s draw’ as opposed to a ‘lady’s draw’, a pronoun or similar? No doubt a delve into ChatGPT will reveal more about the origins of this phrase. However, it is worth noting that such a conclusion is very rarely reached in tennis, unless, of course, the Pimms has been left standing too long or the salmon sandwiches are beginning to turn up on the corners. Tennis players want to win, not bloody draw!

People

For me, one of my main reasons for getting in to tennis almost fifty years ago in the local park and then going on to join tennis clubs has been as much to do with the people as with the sport itself.
From little Ken, the ‘Ernie Wise’ of my first club back in Huddersfield to more recently, my team partner and erstwhile ‘Cancer Twin’, Patrick Crabtree.

Credited with allowing possibly the most unorthodox player to join the gorgeous little club that is Barnes TC, Patrick, then the club Chairman, welcomed me on day one and instantly made me feel very welcomed.
We soon become good friends off the court too as we would often finish off a match with a pint or two at the clubhouse bar or further afield at a riverside pub, chatting about Barnes life and contrasting our upbringings which had brought us to a point in our lives where we played matches together and ultimately were both diagnosed cancer in the same month.
“Nadio. I’ve got the same as you”, he exclaimed over the phone as I was leaving one of my pretreatment tests.

“What? No backhand?” I replied, curiously.
“No. Cancer!” Came the response.
I was floored. Somehow, the thought of this great man, with a beautiful, caring wife and daughter, having cancer, was so not fair. It just seemed so wrong to me.
“I couldn’t think of anyone better to have it with”, came his rather odd next sentence.
But I knew what he meant, no offence intended and certainly none taken!
And so, for the next few months we would continue to play tennis together and often meet up just for chats and some soft fruit. Yes, that’s how basic our treats became, soft fruit and a sip of water. Each.

Eventually, my treatment plan prevented me from joining him for a while as my body gave in to the rather punishing treatment by which time his immune therapy programme had only just started. And so he cared for me.
But then, I started to get better but sadly, whilst Boris partied, Patrick often suffered in near isolation as his immune system left him prone to everything going. Hence long stays in badly staffed hospital wards (did I mention whilst Boris partied?).

In the end, suddenly and certainly far sooner than either of us dared to speculate whilst sucking on our mangos (no, not a euphemism lol) it sadly did not work out for Patrick Crabtree … ‘A True Gentleman Both On and Off The Court’ as is inscribed on the Trophy we now play for in his name.

Mentioning Patrick does not happen without triggering thoughts to the biggest match of my life, so far. I blogged about it then, but in short, nobody on the court knew at that time that my own health was deteriorating so rapidly that it was destined to be my last match for some time. Winning was all that mattered, in more ways than one! You can read about it here.

Nicknames

I have had the pleasure of playing with and against many great players. Not so great in the sense that they were world class, but great personalities. And with that comes the nicknames and anecdotes. Such as ‘Brenda’. Steve was highly competitive, so much so that at 4-5 down in the deciding set, and losing 30-40, he ‘called for light’. Meaning that he declared he could not see sufficiently well to complete the match and it had to be paused.
This results in the opposition having to return at a later date to complete the match. All for the sake of what could have been just another 10 seconds. I think I would have chosen a more apt nickname than ‘Brenda’ (which rhymes with his surname. No offence to any Brenda’s reading this!).

Umpiring

Only players of a certain level will have experienced playing with umpires. That renders me unqualified to say much other than what I have witnessed on the TV. However, the fact that thousands, if not millions, of people are competing at any time of day, globally, without the need for an umpire, is credit to a sport that has a set of rules that are easy to understand, administer and replicate globally. Rarely does ‘interpretation’ get in the way of a correct decision in tennis. A pity we couldn’t say the same for other aspects of our lives.

Protocols

Standards, morals, ethics and traditions are all coming into question more now than ever as we tussle with the impact of ChatGPT. But tennis has its own and I have to say, they are polite, respectful and transferable to the pub, boardroom or even dare I say bedroom (I’ll save that for the memoirs!).

Social skills

When we were all confined to our homes apart from a few minutes of outdoor exercise (Hunt comes to mind!), we realised then how much we missed not just the physical side of tennis but the mental benefits too. Learning how to socialise both on and off the court, often with people from vastly different backgrounds and often different generations, is both a pleasure and a treat.

Productivity

Last but not least, are the lessons we can learn about productivity. I include in this the benefits of preparedness (Luke, are you reading this?), equipment maintenance and mindfulness. All are worthwhile investments. And to that point, comes the serve. Serve big, serve fast and serve it deep … statistically produces a massive ROI even though for that 5 seconds, the level of effort required seems disproportionate to the outcome.
It’s not.
Take it from me … you don’t want to get into a rally if you can help it!

Written by me, Nadio Granata on the 2nd anniversary of ringing the bell. In fond memory of those who didn’t make it … your legacies live on.

#NoChatGPT

Chiswick Quay Marina
Thursday 13th July

#bemoremandy

Supporting Macmillan Cancer Research

Writing my blog whilst being diagnosed with cancer and updating it throughout the treatment process has been cathartic and challenging. Revisiting those painful experiences was never easy. It also caused some relationships to be stretched as I determined to navigate my journey back to ‘normality’. For no matter how personal our journey might be, others (particularly those who care the most) also suffer.

I write this today, some two years on from that frightening time when I wandered into that unwelcoming doctor’s surgery. Since I was no longer ‘registered there’ due to a recent change of address, they initially tried to send me away. Knowing now what I did not know then, my stubbornness probably saved my life.  If I had waited to fill out the forms and be allocated a different GP, my stage 3 throat cancer would undoubtedly have got worse. Moving half a mile to a new postcode during lockdown could easily have killed me. Such are the small margins between stage 3 and stage 4, surgery or non surgery, life and death, success and failure, happiness and despair. Am I being over dramatic? If you have watched the movie, Sliding Doors, you know exactly what I mean. 

TWO YEARS ON

Today marks something of a landmark for me, though far less spectacular than many of those previous highs I have written about. 

Gone are the ‘get well soon’ cards and the hundreds of ‘thumbs up’ on my facebook posts. Gone are the bottles of morphine, purple syringes and stacks of liquid food supplements. Gone too are the cooling fans, sick buckets and pre-prepared Post-It notes for when my voice packed up on those excruciating Zoom calls. And long gone are the hopes of a reconciliation with a partner who walked out on the day of diagnosis. 

All those daily reminders of a cancer journey through lockdown, alone, and on a boat are now a thing of the past.

The heatwave has also gone. Wearing a mask, incessantly washing my hands and trying to keep cool in the cabin of a metal ship I call home, has been replaced by one of the longest, wettest, coldest winters in our lifetime. Life is returning to ‘normal’ as my health returns to that of a somewhat ageing but otherwise fit and active 59 year old – thank God!

The physical recovery from throat cancer has been painful. I would be doing an injustice to those who go through this journey if I were to suggest otherwise. The oncologist and her team were right when they said it was going to be tough. It hurts like hell and the suffering lasts for many long, tired and frustrating months – in my case around 18.

Having reached the Year 2 milestone, I have little more than a croaky voice and occasional dry mouth to show for these pains. The scar of the feeding tube into the stomach resembles little more than a cute, smiling emoji nestled on a re-inflated, ever-expanding belly. The blistered neck that wept its yellow puss shows no sign of the disgusting, hideous sight it once was. 

Recovery has seen a gradual return to strength, hope and happiness. I regularly considered myself ‘better’, only to discover that in fact I was simply a fraction ‘better’ than the day before. In mathematical terms, I travelled just 0.3% of the journey each day.

This reminds me of the lecture I once gave, talking about the Holy Grail of marketing: Segmentation, Targeting and Positioning. My margins of improvement were tiny, but still noticeable. Even if one day was much like the next, there were tangible improvements from one week to the next – though two doses of Covid did not help, and there has been a long-lasting impact on my levels of energy as they are finally getting back to where they used to be.

SCARS

We who recover from cancer carry a burden in our hearts and minds that nobody will see. The guilt that we survived when others didn’t, is also real, though humbling and hopefully diminishing with time. Their memory is never far away. Not yet, anyway. 

But then there is the fear. Only today did I learn I am actually in ‘remission’ as opposed to ‘cured’. I was always a little nervous that my symptoms might return. Even worse, secondary cancers might develop. 

The term ‘remission’ is chilling. It is a word that shouts of a life only temporarily mine to live. I need to do so. Fully. Now. In case the cancer returns.

But, you know what, it makes no bloody difference what I think. Life will deal the cards I was meant to have regardless of whether I am in remission or cured. It will be what it will be.

Another aspect of being a ‘cancer survivor’ is the membership card I now have for this special club. Not quite as ‘official’ as that curious handshake of people from a certain ‘cult’, or that nod from one Hells Angel to another as they respectfully pass each other on the highway.

No. Our ‘membership’ is more subtle and often goes unsaid. It’s one reserved for those who have come through shit and know life is simultaneously precious and precarious. 

It’s an inner sense of achievement tinged with a hint of fear. A sense of accomplishment awash with a degree of sadness as we hear tales of those who failed to beat the odds. To them, I bow my head and thank them for taking my hit for me. 

For I have this rather difficult to explain belief, that life is finite and therefore so is good and bad. It evens itself out over our lifetime and everyone gets an equal opportunity on earth to live their best life. It’s our choice to concentrate on the positive or focus on the negative.

One person’s ‘bad luck’ is to others a motivation to make change happen. Life is binary. It’s a finite sequence of decisions. Yes or no. On or off. Left or right. So much depends on the risks we take, the positive mental attitude we cultivate, the resilience we developed over a lifetime of making good and bad decisions. 

We all have a similar mental budget, metaphorically speaking, we just choose to spend it differently.

The past two years have seen a whirlwind of hospital appointments punctuated by endless Covid testing. I’ve stumbled along walks, taken many risky bike rides and spent hours washing my hands. It has been a time of fear. But now, as I pick up the pieces of a weary mind and devastated career, reality is striking home. 

PAINFUL REALITIES

The metaphorical crutches are off and bills need to be paid. A recent interview I gave for Sky News and the Macmillan charity about dealing with cancer through the cost of living crisis, was real. 

Imagine being in a coma for 2 years, with your eyes wide open, then waking up to this shit show. 

The question might have seemed a little harsh a few months ago, but seems entirely apposite now:

“What is it like to recover when the world around me is in something of a meltdown?”

It’s a fair question and one that focuses my mind on this next battle. 

Brexit, Truss, the war in Ukraine, energy price rises, inflation and hikes in the interest rates impact on most of us. Now the widespread redundancies in my homeground sector of technology, are a very personal reality. Ironically, Artificial Intelligence could accelerate the collapse in IT and many other sectors. I no longer have any excuse to ignore these very real challenges. Sympathy only goes so far.

Using my ‘downtime’ to write a book about a kid who was unhyphenated at birth and made it big, only to be smacked in the face by cancer (first draft is almost finished) and more recently learn as much as I can about artificial intelligence, machine learning and other related developments that are rapidly affecting the world I am returning to, this current phase has just got a whole lot tougher. Writing this brings it home to me how fragile the economy is right now as more banks collapse and crypto looms high on the horizon.

I left home and school on my 16th birthday… amid miner’s strikes, blackouts, 16% interest rates, riots and high unemployment. It feels to me, right now, that we are heading back to those days. Perhaps worse (quantitative easing has masked the real depth of the problem). 

As a previous Teaching Fellow, I have pondered a return to education. But Higher Education in the UK, previously one of the UK’s biggest exports, is entering a period of utter and total collapse. It needs to confront the perfect storm of highly efficient remote learning, increased competition from ‘cheaper’ international providers offering more and better degrees in English and a severely reduced research budget decimated by Brexit.

Artificial Intelligence definitely affects jobs. It is already happening and not least within my field of sales and marketing technology. ChatGPT has a lot to answer for … and I’m not just being ironic. What used to take a journalist, PR or copywriting professional half a day to construct, publish and measure is now being achieved in minutes. And the really scary thing – just like trains and supermarkets and classrooms and petrol stations – is that professional content creation is becoming a ‘self-service’ DIY activity. Experts are no longer required. 

It’s no longer the exclusive domain of the lawyer, accountant, graphic designer, coder, marketing exec. Why pay them when you can do it yourself? Heads will roll as industries find the perfect excuse to let their people go (Vodafone announced 11,000 job cuts at the very moment I wrote that sentence!). 

Onwards and upwards …

But I want to end this second anniversary message on a high. 

There’s been a great deal of happiness on this road to recovery. I admit, I’ve become extremely selfish. When time, health and money afforded, I travelled aplenty. I enjoyed many wonderful times with my family, especially my granddaughters who, through the marvel of video calls, have learnt to recognise their croaky grandad on those days and weeks we are apart. 

I’ve been to countless gigs, including those featuring my two very talented (they get it from their mother) sons, something I feared would never happen again. And I’ve been hosted and fed and spoiled by too many people to mention… but you know who you are! 

It was wonderful to attend my daughter’s wedding and be reunited with cherished family and friends. Even my ex mother-in-law who gave me ‘a good talking to’ just before she recently passed away at 97 years of age. That was special. Especially when she hugged me and called me ‘Naddy’. She really did have a soft spot for a rogue, a box I have ticked many times with careless abandon. 

As we get older, we all attend more funerals. It’s an irrefutable fact. In the past two years it is quite extraordinary how many very close family and friends have passed away. Shocking. Surely that’s not normal even for someone of my age. But funerals are now very different.  They now feel like an opportunity to celebrate a life lived. Something I no longer take for granted. 

Being diagnosed with cancer is no longer a death sentence. At least, for some of us. 

So to Paul from Facebook and the guy at The Plumbers Arms and the lady’s brother who flagged me down whilst out walking along Strand on the Green just the other day … and others who have read my blog and messaged me (and anyone else who may be affected by the same throat cancer I had) the ability to eat ‘normally’ does come back.

One single grain of black pepper used to leave me in indescribable pain. An innocent moussaka left me in tears whilst I desperately tried to drink gallons of water to counter the effects of the spices (yep, it’s hardly got any!!). But now it’s fine. Certain foods still do hurt, especially if consumed later in the evening and too much vino can leave me so croaky I avoid talking to strangers and young children after sundown. On the plus side, I sound scarily like Leonard Cohen on the karaoke!

The treatments are remarkable… and the science is getting better by the day. Every single visit to Charing Cross Hospital has been well managed, polite, fun and endearing. It’s as if I wear a badge that says, “Treat him with care … he’s special”. And of course Macmillan have been there for me too.

Hope really does spring eternal so if anyone is heading into a cancer treatment, I’d say “back yourself”. 

To coin a phrase from a friend in business: “‘Net, Net’, being diagnosed with cancer has not all been so bad. Yet in the world at large, sadly there are worse things to come.” 

Thanks for listening!

Written Monday 10th April to Tuesday 16th May 2023

Somewhere in Dorset, Yorkshire and London.

Read my full blog: http://www.nadio.co.uk