Day 2: Main Draw U14

The first day of the Main Draw. More players, more matches — and the first real opportunity to see whether there was any difference between those who had come through qualifying and those who had entered the Main Draw directly.

You can, of course, pay attention to the technique and tactics each player uses. But here, I focused elsewhere — on behaviour, on psychology, on what was happening inside each child's mind.

Why the mind, and not technique or shot selection?

Think about why every child trains. Look at it this way: training is a laboratory. Each technique is a machine. The coach builds it with his tools — step by step, with precision. When it's finished, he puts the machine into the car — as a foundation, as a base — so that it runs simply and reliably. And in a match? In a match, you don't open the bonnet and start fixing the engine while it's moving. There, you observe other things — things you cannot see inside the laboratory.

The same applies to tennis: in training, you do what you do. In a match, you focus on the child's mind — on what is working, and on what is breaking down. The coach needs to understand a specific problem: why is this child anxious? Where does the self-doubt come from?

Let me give you a scenario. A player is performing exceptionally well and takes the first set relatively comfortably. But suddenly the opponent starts thinking: how do I break this psychology? And he finds a way. He stalls repeatedly before each point. He takes a time-out, plays the injured card — as if to say: I'm done, stop playing. These are the simplest and most common tactics you'll see. The second set goes to the opponent, and the child's mind has already taken off and flown away. By the third set, he can't bring the game back. He loses.

If the coach has been paying attention, this gets corrected at the next training session — so the child is better prepared next time.

The early matches — if you only look at the score — appear to show a strong player beating an easy opponent. But it's not always that simple. The scoreline by nature tells an uneven story.

As I saw in one match: a ranked player was up against one with no ranking. Both competed, but the ranked player had his weapon — powerful hitting. The other, unfortunately, had nothing specific to use in return. He just played well, fought hard. And that alone wasn't enough to close games — while his opponent kept reaching for the same weapon, over and over. The gap on the scoreboard looked large, but the story behind it was more nuanced.

There were also matches where it was clear that certain players had come simply to play — without their game being properly trained. I mean that kindly: good on them for competing, it's enjoyable. But don't expect magic in a difficult match or a tournament setting.

The later matches had more interesting things to observe.

In one match, Player A had taken the first set after a tough fight and was leading in the second — well done to him. But at that point, the parents of Player B came to me with a complaint: someone was coaching Player A from the stands. I heard them out and knew I had to deal with it. I couldn't ignore it, but I also couldn't give a warning to someone without knowing what had actually happened.

My move was to go and speak with Player A's parent. I said calmly: "I don't know whether you were coaching your player, but I want you to know that the rules don't allow it." Naturally, he didn't take it well — he assumed I was issuing a warning. He responded with some intensity: "Me? I wasn't coaching anyone..." — not angry exactly, but enough to draw eyes toward the court.

I explained that I didn't know what had actually happened — which was precisely why I hadn't given a warning. I was simply informing him. We continued talking and he understood that I wasn't against him. He then asked me who had told me.

At that point I noticed that Player A, inside the court, had stopped playing — he was watching us. I turned to him and said: "Don't worry — play your game." They continued.

In the end, we resolved it without any conflict. My own read on the situation: the plan of Player B's parent was to report the coaching so I would issue a warning — and disturb Player A's psychology in the process. It was more likely than not a fabrication. But I couldn't tell him "you're lying" — what I did was extinguish the situation quietly, so the plan went nowhere. The second set and the match finished without any further interference from outside the court.

The lesson? Children need to learn not to lose concentration over what happens outside the court — whether that's parents, or a supervisor issuing a warning. The mind has to stay inside. Unless the child has a strong enough mental game to glance outside for a moment and then return to centre — that doesn't concern us. If anything, it shows they've learned to control themselves.

One big mistake I made. Up until that point I had been managing everything well, and I kept telling myself: "Things are going fine — I haven't made a single mistake yet, not even a small one." Here is what happened.

Almost all the courts finished around the same time, but early — at 12:00 — while the next round of matches was scheduled for 12:30. I asked the players if they wanted to go on earlier and take a little extra warm-up time. All good — I assigned everyone to their courts. But then, when I opened the programme sheet, I saw that somewhere I had made an error. Before every match I ask the players their names, precisely so I don't mix anything up or mishear. Here, though, looking at the sheet, I realised I had confused something — and I found it: two players had the same first name. That made me doubt whether I had put each of them on the right court.

I went to correct it before the matches started and found that the tournament director had already identified the mistake. My question was: how had he noticed? Strange, but he'd sorted it. I explained what had happened and he said: "Don't worry — but better to ask for the surname." I heard him. Honestly, I already knew that was the right approach — but I learned it the hard way. We moved on.

A note worth leaving for those who may not know: when a match reaches the third set, players can request that the court be watered and re-lined. However, this requires the agreement of both players — if one refuses, it cannot happen. No matter how much the other protests, nothing changes.

In one match that went to a third set, the player who had lost the second set requested watering. His opponent was already in the bathroom, so we waited for him to return and confirm. When he came back, I asked: "Your opponent wants to water the court — do you want that too?" He answered with a slightly nervous laugh: "Uh, I don't mind." I asked again, firmly: "Are you sure?" — and he said yes.

But let's look behind the surface. It mattered whether he said no. Throughout the match, the player who had won the first set had taken it comfortably — but the clay had begun to dry out, making movement harder: starting, stopping, balance. The second set had gone the other way easily, and his opponent was already organised for the third. By agreeing to water the court, he handed his opponent back stable footing. In the third set he lost the thread entirely and dropped it without much resistance.

These are the details that separate players who understand the game from those who are still inside it. Reading the court surface, reading the moment — that is part of competing at this level.

On the adjacent court, another pair requested watering and re-lining after finishing only the first set. Normally that isn't permitted. However, the clay was dry enough that a gust of wind would have swept it clear — so I approved watering only, no re-lining. A boundary to keep sharper next time.

As the day closed, I saw something genuinely unpleasant. I'm talking about behaviour.

I was ready to leave once the final matches finished, when I heard chaos from one of the courts. I went over — a child was shouting, fuming, making a scene entirely on his own. Up to that point, difficult but not unusual. Then he started throwing the ball carelessly — and at one point hit the scoreboard and broke it. He received a warning from the referee.

The referee left me to watch over things — there were constant disagreements, so they brought in a second referee to monitor the match. Eventually the child reached his limit: he started swearing, and ended up swearing directly in front of the referee, claiming the referee hadn't seen a call correctly.

I wondered why the referee hadn't issued a penalty point. I asked the tournament director: "Can only the director give a penalty?" He disagreed: "The referee can give up to a penalty point — but beyond that, you come to me to decide what happens next." I understood — but by then it was too late for that match.

Remember: it matters enormously that your child has the right conduct and learns to show respect — especially toward adults. Before it becomes too late to bring it back.

As for what happened in the end — he lost, but not by disqualification. The opponent finished the match on his own terms. The child who had behaved badly lost on the court — and his behaviour helped him not at all.

Afterward, I went to him and said that what he had done in front of the referee was not acceptable. He denied everything — said he hadn't done anything, played the victim. Regardless. I said what needed to be said, and that was what mattered. At some point, he'll have to learn.

End of Day 2. Ready for Day 3.