Over the past few series, Short Stop has focused on stories that fall under the fiction umbrella. While some have been autobiographical, they present something more creative within the framework that is deserving of exploration. The chance to dive into what interests an author becomes a rewarding experience as I broke down themes and found interesting tidbits. While this will be the same for the upcoming series, the approach will be a little different. I’ve been a fan of David Foster Wallace ever since reading “Infinite Jest” years ago and have been curious to delve into his essays. In an effort to better understand his potential as a writer, I am going to be spending this column exploring the seven entries for “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again.” Will the mix of analysis and autobiography provide something rewarding, or will I never do a nonfiction column again? Join me and find out. The only caveat is that due to some of these being lengthier, there’s an off chance the entries will take longer to release. Keep that in mind and let’s delve into one of the most unique voices of the late 20th century.
For the second time in this anthology, Wallace has returned to the subject of tennis. Whereas the inaugural piece focused on his time in Illinois, he has shifted to a player who most people may not know 30 years later. If they do, it’s because he would go on to coach the more successful Maria Sharapova. As someone who barely knows anything about tennis as a larger sport, the name Michael Joyce doesn’t inspire any memories. Whereas other names in this text, notably Andre Agassi and John McEnroe, are more recognizable I feel like he’s somebody that never quite became the next big thing. Given that his highest ranking would ultimately be in the 60s, one has to wonder why it was worth profiling him. There are clearly better names. Wallace would be the first to tell you that. And yet, by emphasizing this forgotten name I’d argue Wallace captured a brilliant mix of analysis within a greater understanding of self.
The choice to pair this with “Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley” adds a perfect bookend for some greater subtext in the writer’s career. Despite being one of the most respected authors of his generations, it can be assumed that he felt in some ways like a failure. While he would reach the peak of “Infinite Jest,” the inability for him to reach that height ever again must’ve weighed on him. Even his push for audiences to be more authentic likely created a struggle to know if he was buying his own rhetoric. More than that, the ending of the opening piece could transition into this piece easily for no other reason than it explains how Wallace and Joyce are very similar. Both aspired for success but, in different ways, were limited by their physical capabilities.
The major difference is that at the time of publication, Joyce’s story was in present tense. There was an assumption that he could’ve gone further with a little effort. Even then, Wallace knew that he’d never get there. Through the exhaustive deconstruction of a player’s stance and hitting style, he nitpicks Joyce’s weaknesses while still believing in the potential. The geekiness is endearing though exhausting to outsiders who have no idea why a lot of the language matters. It’s a study of atmosphere down to the way that certain players are selective about what type of courts they play on. To hear him explain everything is to add depth to an average tennis game, but otherwise this may be the hardest piece for casual readers to get into. It’s an exhausting study that feels like it takes everyone on a winding journey through the ins and outs of a sport that was experiencing a cultural moment in the 90s. Agassi was their version of a rock star in more ways than one. When describing his hitting style, Wallace compares his approach more to that of a metal roadie in its inelegance.
There is a lot that’s unknown for Joyce in this piece. Because of that, there’s something akin to the gambler’s mentality. The truly ambitious types will look at the field and see what has the biggest potential to be an upset. For as easy as it would be for Wallace to follow Agassi the entire time, he chose Joyce because there was an aura about him that seemed much more promising. He captured something distinctly American from the minute they met and his status as an underdog really boosted the potential of the narrative. While it ends a bit underwhelming, there’s clear affection for Joyce to go further and surprise everybody. There’s acknowledgment that it isn’t likely, but Wallace’s belief that Joyce was inspirational as a subject carries the piece into something more humane and interesting.
This isn’t a journey of celebrity. It is one of exploring the passion of sport even amid one’s shortcomings. In “Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley,” Wallace detailed a similar story of being good enough to play on specialized courts but wasn’t built to play in the conventional mold. Reading about how his physicality ultimately limited him, you understand why he would be attracted to a player like Joyce. He had gotten further than Wallace and stood to be an up and coming star. In a list of names that the author’s attracted to, Joyce stands out as the one who is doing something unique. The power of prose is that he convinces you that there’s genuine potential.
Something that amuses me about this essay is that it’s one of the few entries that has a post-script. By some luck, Joyce would appear on the Pablo Torre Finds Out podcast in 2024 to discuss his opinions regarding Wallace. There is acknowledgment from the former tennis player that he was initially skeptical of the piece. It could be that Wallace describes him as virginal and that he had difficulties talking to women. However, the older that he got the more he understood the greater meaning of the piece and understood it as empathy. A fun detail from the interview is that Wallace would take Joyce out to steak restaurants, which would explain why there’s several metaphors within the larger text.
What’s fascinating about Wallace from Joyce’s perspective is that he was a master of observation. During their time together, he never noticed him taking notes or documenting moments that he would deem necessary for the text. In light of the Illinois State Fair piece, I have to admire his clarity more if he was as diligent there. Wallace had a love for the world around him to the point that he latched onto the beauty of the mundane. The way that he describes tennis players is borderline romantic sometimes, as if describing the intricate details of a sculpture. As Wallace puts it, tennis is the most beautiful and difficult sport imaginable. Coming out of this essay, I choose to believe him.
Before returning to the essay completely, I want to touch on a little more of the post-script. Joyce’s career as a player could be seen as unsuccessful. However, his time with Sharapova would lead him to higher glory. Despite Wallace’s admiration for him, the two would never meet again. Even in the event where he could’ve bugged Joyce for tickets, he chose not to. The admiration for Wallace’s humbleness reflected in Joyce’s tone during the conversation. Even when discussing the author’s suicide, there was some remorse that led to the haunting final paragraphs of the piece. As Wallace summarized his opinions, he ended by saying “I wish him luck.” Through the subtext, the reader could see that this essay may have been about Joyce, but it was also about Wallace feeling like he was a victim of his shortcomings. There was a shared empathy that was beautiful and understood that tennis was about more than greatness. It was about self-expression, and Joyce embodied it perfectly despite never being all that flamboyant or noteworthy.
As someone studying Wallace, it would be inappropriate to not mention something else about this essay. For as perfectly as he delves into the experience of being at a tennis competition, there is something at the bottom of every page that is also worth considering. If you know a few things about him, especially in light of “Infinite Jest,” you will know that his use of footnotes are notorious. Whereas his fiction found footnotes to footnote, here we are thankfully restricted to the bottom of pages. Even then, I don’t know that they have the same metatextual element of his novel. At most it gives you asides that really mess with the pacing. I think there’s a lot worth unpacking in those footnotes, but it does become exhausting to take those detours and read about experiences that are relevant to the larger piece, but also have an inessentiality to them. It would be one thing if this was every few pages, but Wallace has something for every page of his 43 page essay. There’s even some that are so long that they sprawl over pages.
Do I hate the footnotes? Not really. To me, it’s one of Wallace’s great innovations within the writing world. He not only had provocative ideas within his main body, but the footnotes present an understanding that no text can fully convey the expansiveness of one subject. For the sake of tennis, it makes sense that he would exhaustively go off on tangents and spend as much time talking about craft and Joyce as he does the food sold at events or even the lengthy history of regulations. So much of this is designed to immerse the reader, and I do think it’s an acknowledgement that for an event that dwindles 128 candidates down to 1 winner that not everything can ever be covered. Without saying it, he reflects the maximalism of being human within the intimacy of his personal journey and affection for this one man.
At the end of the day, I don’t know if I love tennis as much as Wallace does. In some sense, it works as a spirituality for him and I admire hearing him convey it to his audience in such vivid and incessant detail. Compared to the David Lynch piece where he feels too removed to establish a greater thesis, having his whole life be embodied in this sport allows for some greater truths to emerge. There’s camaraderie and recognition of what humanity is best at. There is a need to recognize that Joyce, like 127 other people in that tournament, were not destined to win. That shouldn’t excuse their craft or talent. Instead, it should be celebrated for trying.
Coming Up Next: “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again”
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