Love Match

Growing up in Spain, tennis was one of the most popular sports, just about everyone played tennis at school. I started playing when my family moved to Madrid and our parents became members of the snooty Apostol Santiago Club, where we could only play wearing white. I’m sure my mother was behind this ploy since she missed going to the beach in Valencia and loved swimming. The club had several pools and countless clay tennis courts that stretched several kilometers on the road to the Barajas Airport—now Adolfo Suárez. I’ve kept my red leather “passport” with the Saint James’ Apostle crosses for the last months before we emigrated to the United States. The crooked bowtie from my school uniform showed signs of an early defiance.

Not surprisingly, one of the first purchases I made with the babysitting money I started to earn was a tennis racket. I bought it in Woolworths in downtown Seattle; near the technical school I attended to learn English. My first partner was a Mexican student on the same circumstances. I always found interesting people to play tennis with, including Father Moore when I was hired as a professor at Saint Joseph’s University. The surprising thing is that I could beat him once in a while, one of the few women on the faculty at the time. Later, Linda, a colleague in the administration, became my most faithful partner. Women were not taking over the Jesuits in numbers for nothing. On my trips to Spain during the summers, I showed off my American expertise playing on the court of my parents’ summer place in El Escorial. Never mind that I was never able to beat my dad.

I followed faithfully all the Spanish tennis players throughout the years: from Sergi Bruguera, Manuel Orantes, and Carlos Moyá to Rafael Nadal. The women too, of course: Conchita Martínez, Garbiñe Muguruza and Arantxa Sánchez Vicario. But like for the rest of the tennis world, no one compares to Carlos Alcaraz, trained by another great Spaniard tennis player, Juan Carlos Ferrero.

Aside from his winning game and charming personality, I felt an immediate connection with Alcaraz. No, not my playing. I have even given up on pickle ball, the consolation for retired tennis players. We have in common our Arabic last names. Let me explain.

There are over a thousand last names in Spanish that start with the Arabic article “Al,” proof of the centuries of Arabian influence and domination in the Iberian Peninsula. The name Alcaraz comes from Albacete and the Murcia regions—just south of Valencia and where Carlos is from—it means the fortress in Arabic and was well-known for the valor of their warriors.

Our family’s last name was originally Alborch, which means the tower in the Arabic language, and it originated in the Valencia region. My grandfather changed it to Alborg to make it look more European, since he had a business of imported cheeses. When I visited my father’s birthplace, Salem (Shalom in English), the name Alborch was ubiquitous. Even our waitress had that last name. My father always reminded us that the Benicadell Mountains, which surround the small town, appear in the third part of El Cid medieval poem. In other words, as far as I am concerned Carlos Alcaraz and I are practically neighbors and share the same heritage, no wonder I’m so fond of him.

I watched the US Tennis Open faithfully this year, despite the fact that the Philadelphia Eagles played the season opener in the middle of one of my favorite matches. Actually, I received a reminder about the football game in Spanish, no less. Who knew that the Eagles were bilingual?

Needless to say, Carlos Alcaraz won the men’s single title, beating Jannik Sinner, last year’s champion, 2-6, 6-3, 1-6, 4-6. It didn’t matter that he shaved his hair “marine” style and that he wore a t-shirt “bubble gum pink” color, according to some sarcastic sport writer in El País, the Spanish newspaper. He has become the number one player in the world overnight, taking the title from Sinner, despite his beautiful red curly hair.

It’s very easy to love Carlos Alcaraz!

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 7th, 2025 at 10:06 pm by conchaalborg and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.