Bobby Hoffman: The Legacy of Reluctant Legend

In January 2016, Bobby and I had a conversation that led me to writing him an unpublished blog. This is an updated (and now-published) version of that and what I read at his memorial service, May 2016.

Everything I love about tennis has to do with Bobby.

But not everything I love about Bobby has to do with tennis.

For years, I took his clinic every Thursday morning, but it wasn't until he got sick that we became close.

One of our first conversations after his diagnosis went something like this:

Me: You have quite the Howard County female fan club.

Him: You think I'd have gotten a date out of it at some point.

Me: You're straight?

Him: You thought I was gay?

Me: Well how else could you possibly understand women so well?

We laughed about that a million other things. But it was through many hours at chemo, dozens of lunches and countless chats that we covered some serious and real topics.

He told me that when he realized he wasn't going to be able to come back to work, he was crushed. He said making that phone call to finalize his retirement was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. It meant the end of a nearly 20-year career.

Bobby was proud of the extraordinarily faithful clientele he'd built, but he turned to me with a perplexed look on his face and asked -- what's my legacy? I hope it's not that I fought cancer for a year and that's it. I told him of course not and then made some stupid joke about him being SO private that some people weren't even sure he was actually sick.

But it got me thinking about Bobby's legacy.

I've been fortunate enough that he shared with me some of the handwritten cards and letters his kids had given him for Father's Day, his birthday and Christmas. Not only are they gifted writers, but clearly as kind, sensitive, charming, tuned-in, funny and empathetic as their dad. His legacy to his kids is evident even to an onlooker like me.

But his legacy to the men and women --overwhelmingly women-- of CA tennis is something remarkable too.

Bobby's harem of housewives, myself included, is a fellowship of short-skirted groupies who drank the Kool-Aid of loosen your grip and go down the middle. We keep on our toes, split step if we can, knowing full well if we send a ball into the net, we were still likely to hear "I don't care, I love it!" A ball that lands in a neighboring court could get a "I like what you're trying to do". And if you caught him on a particularly feisty day and got him to exclaim "Ole", you knew you were going to get your money's worth and more.

We've all been on the receiving end of these one-liners, but to me, Bobby's best quality was to put his clients at ease. I always felt better about myself on the way out of clinic than on the way in. How many people in your life have you met that you can say this about? He believed so much in us that we ended up believing more in ourselves. Even if we couldn't hit a winner all day.

He told me that on at least 100 occasions, clients have come to a lesson and ended up hitting no balls. A tennis lesson with zero hitting! They just wanted to talk. Could be about work. Or their families or a hideous match they played last night. And Bobby being Bobby, listened attentively, patted a shoulder, offered a tissue or laughed in all the right places. He said the things we all want to hear from our best friends, husbands, shrinks and tennis pros.

Like many others, I texted Bobby for advice before nearly every match. The wording changed from week to week, but the message always had one constant element -- I'm right there on your shoulder. I'm with you.

When it was clear Bobby was getting sicker, I asked him what he thought about giving me one of his old racquets as a memento. Just anything laying around was fine. The next time I saw him he handed me a ratty old, beat up, burgundy racquet with busted strings. As he handed it to me, he said, "This is the racquet I played with in college.”

I told him I can’t take that.

He said, “I want you to have it because well, you give a shit. I was worried that you might stop playing, but I'm so glad you are going to continue." He was referring to me giving up tennis altogether when it was clear he'd not be able to come back. And of all the things we'd talked about, this was a topic I'd avoided, feeling it was just too raw and painful to discuss.  But Bobby being Bobby -- so intuitive, so tuned in -- knew just where my head was. So of course I accepted that racquet because he chose it for me and well, I guess I do give a shit.

And that's his legacy. He is all the best things about tennis and being a friend. No, not everything I love about Bobby is tennis, but some of it sure is.