Savage Words: Uninspired by David vs. Goliath

Thirty-eight years ago this month, I was a member of the USF tennis team. We qualified for the NAIA national tournament. The six of us were the first team in the history of USF to qualify for a national tournament – in any sport.

That’s since changed, many times over. Football has won national championships, the track & field team qualifies all the time on the national level, the swimming team has had individuals compete on the national level. I’m sure there are others, but we were the first. 

We won our conference tournament, the old SDIC. We later won the region, which qualified us for the national tournament in Kansas City. But let me be clear, I wasn’t the reason we made it to the national tournament. We had two really, really good players on that team in No. 1 Dave Anderson, and No. 2 Rob Key. Those dudes carried us.

I won a match in the conference tournament to pick up some team points, and another at the regions, but that was it for me. My team-point gathering ended after one round.

Still, it was cool to be part of that team, and that trip to Kansas City. Four of us rode Dave and Rob’s shoulders the entire way, but again, to compete in a national tennis event at 19 years of age was a thrill.

I had no idea what to expect. I assumed I’d face some overwhelming competition. Let’s just say there were four of us from South Dakota that clearly didn’t fit in that week in Missouri.

We got to Kansas City on the same day as the tournament draw to find out who we’d be playing. For whatever reason, our head coach, Dan Canete, didn’t go with us on the trip. I know that’s strange, a head coach not being able to make a national tournament, but I don’t recall why he couldn’t attend.

In his absence, USF sent the men’s basketball coach, Orin Schueler, with us. I’m not certain if Coach Schueler was a tennis player, but he was with us, serving as a chaperone more than anything else.

Coach Schueler attended the draw, and returned to the hotel with some tough news for me. I drew David Head from the University of Texas at Tyler, the 20th ranked player in the country.

I sat stunned, realizing I’d get the No. 20 player in the country. I wasn’t in the Top 20 college players in Sioux Falls. But I got David Head in the opening round, and I knew I was in for a long day.

Turns out it was a short day, but more on that later.

That night, Coach Schueler and I went to some of the opening matches to watch. Our team didn’t play until the following morning, but the tournament was underway. David Head was the No. 3 player at Texas Tyler, meaning there were two dudes that were ranked nationally ahead of him. We sat, in awe, as we watched the No. 6 player from Tyler in his opening round match.

He was so good. So good. He hit a winner between his legs, right down the line. And this guy was a lower seed than good ol’ Mr. Head, who I was going to face the following day. Coach Schueler and I sat quietly as the No. 6 player from Tyler painted the line with his show-stopping between-the-legs shot. I could sense Schueler slowly glancing my way, taking this all in. 

The morning of our first-round match, Coach Schueler gave all six of us a 5x7 note card. Taped to it was an envelope with our per diem for the day, along with the draw information. I still have that card.

It reads: David Head (20) Texas Tyler vs. Tom Savage, Sioux Falls College.

Below that, in purple ink (I thought that was a nice touch), Coach Schueler wrote a Bible verse, six distinctly different passages for all of us.

My card read: 1 Samuel 17:49 – “Then David reached into his bag, took out a stone, and slung it, striking the Philistine on the forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell face down on the ground.”

The other side of the card read: “Save your receipts.”            

I got what Coach Schueler was trying to tell me, but it was less than inspiring.

“Coach, I’m guessing I’m the David in this scenario,” I said to him as I pocketed the per diem.

“Just do your best,” he said, and slowly walked out the door after patting me on the back.

Twenty-two minutes. That’s all it took for David Head to dispatch this USF lad in a 6-0, 6-0 laugher to open the national tournament.

I’ve often wondered over the years what happened to David Head. A quick search on the Internet the other night brought up nothing. My guess is he’s still basking in the memory of his 22-minute dismantling of me in 1988.

Unlike David in the Bible, I did not strike Goliath with a death blow rendering him face down on the ground. I had a hard enough time just returning one of his 900 mph serves.  

My national tournament experience lasted about as long as one episode of a television sitcom. It was also just a tiny speed bump for David Head on his march through the tournament 38 years ago, but it was a thrill for me.

And I saved my receipts, so that’s a win.