My son asked me: “You’ve crossed 63. You’ve retired. Why do you still go to the supermarket to buy stuff? Why not simply order online like normal people do?”
I snapped: “I’ve retired from working full-time, not living. As long as I’m fit and healthy, I will do what I enjoy in life. And yes,” I added, precluding the question his incredulous look telegraphed, “I enjoy grocery shopping.”
My bristling was justified. When reporters pestered my tennis idol Rafael Nadal about why he keeps playing tennis instead of retiring, he’d bristle too, saying he loves tennis and would play it as long as he could.
It’s not just in “playing as long as possible” that I reapply Nadal’s tennis approach, it’s in every aspect of grocery shopping.
It starts with pre-match preparation. On reaching the courtside, Nadal would carefully place his water bottles on the floor by his bench, make millimetric adjustments to get them just right; re-tie his shoelaces; and tuck two locks of hair behind the bandana. Only then would he step into court.
In much the same way, I take the list, written in my wife’s usual haphazard fashion, and rewrite it in the order of the way things are arranged in the supermarket’s aisles, so that I don’t waste time going back and forth.
Nadal never served the second serve before the first, did he?
At the supermarket, I test three trolleys before picking the smoothest, in the same way as Nadal, for each new-ball change, tests the tension of a few rackets before selecting one.
I then make my efficient way through the store, picking up items and immediately making a corresponding tick on the list.
In the middle of a long rally, when he sees his opponent pushed far behind the baseline, Nadal would suddenly execute a drop shot, not in his original plan for the rally. I display the same spontaneous creativity in the shopping aisle.
For example, on my visit on Aug 6, I was delighted to discover my favourite brand of roasted peanuts on the shelf. I unhesitatingly picked up a packet, even though it wasn’t in my list.
But to ensure everything was honourable and above board, I wrote “Roasted Peanuts” in my list and put a neat tick against it.
In this respect, I even outdo Nadal. At the end of the rally I described, I’ve not seen him take a list out of his pocket, write “drop shot” and put a tick against it.
When things don’t go their way, the professional player adapts and changes tactics… in tennis and in grocery shopping.
At the 2013 French Open semi-final, Novak Djokovic won a tense fourth set tie-break to force a decider. A mere competitor may have folded, but the warrior Nadal did not.
Adjusting his game – hitting heavier topspin, going for riskier winners – he clawed back control and triumphed 6-4, 3-6, 6-1, 6-7(3), 9-7 in a five-set epic.
I faced an almost identical situation during the Aug 6 fixture. As I reached the ice-cream freezer, I saw that there was exactly one pack of Magnum Intense Dark (70 per cent cocoa), featured prominently in my list. Congratulating myself, I took out my list, carefully ticked the item, and opened the fridge…
“Got the last tub, mom!” A thickset boy grabbed the ice cream before I could reach it.
A mere competitor might have folded and abandoned the game. Not me! Shrugging away the disappointment, I examined the options and after careful deliberation, decided on Magnum Almond.
Another sunny day would dawn, I told myself philosophically, featuring Magnum Intense Dark (70 per cent cocoa). (Note to self: make the tick after picking up the item.)
After that gruelling day at the aisles, I felt a warm glow of satisfaction, similar to what Nadal would’ve experienced after prevailing over Djokovic. And that’s the point my son and other advocates of online shopping don’t get.
Just as Nadal wouldn’t feel that glow defeating an opponent in the video game Wii Tennis, I don’t feel it when completing a shopping list online.
But suddenly a chill penetrated that warm glow as I realised the match was over, but the tournament wasn’t.
I had augmented my wife’s list with items that promised gastronomic pleasure, but I knew that she would (a) not share my joy and, instead of keeping her feelings bottled up, (b) express herself unequivocally.
It would be easy, I thought, if she weren’t at home when I entered, allowing me to store away the things quietly. Then I shook my head and berated myself for the cowardly attitude, not befitting a sportsman.
Would Nadal, after beating Djokovic, have hoped David Ferrer wouldn’t turn up for the final? No! He would look forward to the match and prevail 6-3, 6-2, 6-3, to win his eighth Roland Garros crown.
Adopting his mindset, I squared my shoulders and began to warm up mentally for the upcoming encounter.
(Paddy Rangappa, an ex-CEO, now teaches humour for leaders; happiness at work; and marketing through consumer insights.)
