Some years back I had tennis pro in class and my ex-wife wanted to learn how to play tennis so I started swapping him lessons. We would go out to some "bubble" on Long Island and he would try to teach her for about 45 minutes. When she got tired I would pick up the racket and because of my hand-eye coordination and the fact that I played badminton, ping-pong, and softball could get it over the net.

So, now he said, "Let me show you the right way to hit a forehand and to hit a backhand and to serve." Now I'm thinking, "right foot extended on the forehand, don't break your wrist; on backhand keep arm close to body, left foot extended, don't break wrist, follow through. On serve, put ball and racket out in front at arms length bring right hand with racket down and around in full circle as you throw ball in air and try to hit as ball starts down, fully extend body, aim for other side of net in the proper box. Now I'm hitting it into the net, or onto the adjacent court or into the stands, since I had all the power in the world but no control. (Sort of like the gorilla that could play Golf, who would hit the ball 450 yards even when putting.) So I said, "hey, I was playing better before you started to teach me, why do I have to learn all this stuff, since I sort of naturally do it pretty good, I mean, what's the difference? Why don't you serve me one for real? (Up until then, he was doing sort of doing bounce-hit) The ball came at me about 95 miles per hour, I swung where I thought it was going to be and the ball sailed over my left shoulder. (He had put English on it.) The next ball came so fast that I swung and missed it by about 3 feet. So, he looked at me and said, "This is just like acting, Ed, if you want to get better you're going to have to learn to do it right." So, I got the bug and went out and bought a Prince racket (with the large "sweet spot" strung at 85 for extra control,) little white shorts and tennis sneakers with a little ball on the bottom so I could pivot correctly and started to take lessons.

Once a week I'm schlepping to Long Island for a lesson .On weekends we are going to free courts up in Inwood to play doubles with friends. Slowly my "game" is improving.

Six months later, I get a call from an agent, "How's your tennis, Ed?"
"Well, I'm not Jimmy Connors, but what do you want?"
"There's a director in town who won an Academy Award last year for a short he did and he's doing another short on 4 tennis duffers who go out on the weekend and play ".
"Well, that's me."
So, I went up to the hotel where the guy was staying and I read for him.
I get another call from the agent.
"He LOVES you! The tennis audition…."
"The what?"
"The tennis audition. He wants to see if you can play a little tennis. It's at 6th Avenue and 23rd Street - at the bubble there." (Good, I knew the place. I played there.) So, for the next week, I went there and I practiced with a friend - at least an hour or two a day. And when I wasn't doing that, I went to 19th Street, where there was a tennis clinic where I could get balls pitched at me so I could work on my return serve. When I wasn't' doing that I was at the playground at P.S. 41 on Greenwich Avenue where I could return balls to the square that I had chalked on the wall.

I went to the audition, fully prepared with my Prince racket, little white shorts and pivot sneakers. I walked out onto the court and there was a great big blond fellow (the tennis pro) and the director and the producer and god knows whom else. I have auditioned for major Broadway and Hollywood directors, in front of well-known producers, and was never as nervous as I was on this occasion. The guy bounced the ball on the floor and hit it over the net real easy and I hit the ball into the net. The guy hit another ball at me real easy and I hit the ball into the back wall, the next one I hit with the edge of my racket, it went straight up into the air came down and nearly hit me on the head. (Flop sweat now broke out on my brow.) The director said, "Let's see you hit one, Ed."

I threw the ball in the air, swung at it with my racket, missed the ball and hit myself in the arm. (How I did that I do not know and couldn't repeat it for money.) The director came over, put a hand on my shoulder and softly said, "It's alright, Ed.". "But I play much better " I pleaded. With a sad look in his eyes he whispered, "I know, I know."

I went home, threw my racket in the closet and haven't played since. It wasn't a matter of talent; it was a matter of technique and me not being able to perform under pressure.

Years before, one of my first acting jobs in television was on a live show. It was a minor part, but I had two scenes. The first scene consisted of basically one line and I had no concern about it. (After all I had done quite a few plays, various Radio shows and worked as a stand up comic and M.C.) The second scene was a page and a half long and most of the dialogue was mine including a long speech. I had received the script the day before and hoped I would remember all the lines. We would shoot that one in the afternoon

We started to rehearse the first scene. I was to enter upstage, stop, and say "Mr. So and so?" and Mr. So and so would say, "Yes, Roberts or Harris (or what ever my name was) Come in." I was then to cross down to the two actors in the scene hit my" mark", a tiny green tape on the floor and wind up in between them, where I would be introduced by my "boss" to whoever the other guy was, and then say the end of my line, " Frank called to say he was going to be late"(or something like that) get a "thank you" and exit. ("Piece of cake!") I entered, thinking, ("Now remember to stop, so the camera can shoot in for a close up") they always did that when a new character would enter ("stand up straight") so the light will hit you right (They spent a lot of time setting that up" Say your first line, then walk slow enough so the camera, a huge monster with a red light and three lenses that was pushed around by a very large fellow, can "track" you, find your "mark" and say the rest") I entered, said my line, walked slowly, saw my mark, stood right on it, looked my "boss" in the eye and said ; "D A A A H " (complete blank. I could not remember my name if you asked me. Flop sweat, the same flop sweat that was to break out on my head at the tennis audition years later, broke out on my brow.) At that moment I heard the actor playing my boss whisper to me. "Hit my foot." "HUH?" "You're looking for your mark, I'll put my foot on the mark, they're shooting from the waist up, slide the toe of your shoe into the side of my foot and you'll be in position." That's what I did and the shot was perfect, and the afternoon scene went just fine. Just a matter of relaxation, concentration and technique.

The actor who played my "boss" was Jack Warden, and I will never forget the kindness he showed a very raw, green, untrained kid.