Transcript of This Was Goth Tennis: Confessions of a Teenage Champion (PTFO Vault)

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Okay, so hello. It is me, Pablo, entering invading even your ears because I have done something I have not done before, which is take the advice of someone who once told me that if people wish to support you financially, if they wish to support your journalism, your very strange future of journalism, meaning your newsroom, your ambitions, your desire to investigate things people don't want you to investigate, you should let them. And so I am. On Substack, my newsletter at www. Pablo. Show. We'll put a link in the show notes of this episode. I have turned on paid subscriptions. And if you didn't know I have a sub stack, guess what? It's free, and that's still there for you, and it's worth it. But the paid subscribers who support this show and us will get legitimately cool, personalized benefits to come. We will make it worth your while. Pablo. Show is where you sign up. Click the link in the show notes. Help support us, please. Thank you, thank We thank you on that front. And this, this episode today is a handpicked episode from deep inside the PTFO vault that we sincerely hope you enjoy.

Welcome to Pablo Torre Finds Out. I am Pablo Torre, and today we're going to find out what this sound is.

I wanted my opponents to be so demoralized by my playing style that they'd utterly unravel in front of me.

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At an event, at the beginning of something, you do the bro clap. Oh, yeah. And depending on the quality and the purity of the bro clap, that gives you an indication of how well things are going to go. Want to try?

You want to dap me up before this specific episode?

I mean, I think it would be fun.

I'm going to have to lean over these pumpkin.

Okay, come on. Pumpkin dap here. That wasn't great.

All right, so that is the sound of my good friend and PTFO correspondent, Mickey Dujet, an award-winning illustrator and animator and filmmaker and fellow dad, basically a guy that I have known for years now, or at least I thought I did, until I read something that Mickey just published online today for Racket magazine, a story that I immediately wanted to adapt and expand pretty much as soon as I read it.

It's a story that I have never told publicly. It's something that I've carried with me for 27 years. So it's a real coming out party for me in a lot of ways.

The last time Mickey was in studio with us we had sent him out into the field to investigate NBA superstar Nikola Jokuj's obsession with horses and harness racing, which was a truly delightful assignment. But this story, the one we are bringing you right now, ahead of Halloween weekend, is different, as this excerpt may suggest.

To the ominous howl of wind gusting through chain link fences, the two teams lined up under a gray overcast sky and waited for their names to be called. The coaches announced the matchups two by two, prompting a quick handshake between opponents a quick handshake between opponents and the distribution of a fresh can of balls. My high school tennis matches were macabre performance art, where after extending a vainy, skeletal arm for my opponent to shake, I'd slowly turn and drift to our assigned court. Clad in chains while carrying no bag, no water bottle, and no towel, I was a hard court Jacob Marley and would milk the pained shuffle for maximal effect. Ambling to the net post, I'd begin a ceremony to remove my jewelry piece by piece, softly resting each ring and chain down on the ground. The performance would end with a white headband stretching over the crown of my skull, tightly binding a cascade of shoulder-length hair, dyeed the color of a raven's wing. The match would begin and dark clouds would gather. As if possessed by an unseen force, I'd jerk around the court, flashing my long limbs to return balls hit to my side of the net.

In a twisted pageant of endurance, each point would be a battle lasting dozens of shots, virtually always ending with my opponent making a mistake. During changeovers, I'd stand motionless and stare with bloodshot eyes glaring from sunken sockets. Before they could even start to figure out what was wrong with me, my adversary would be back on court, struggling to survive a brand of tennis they had no interest in playing. With their hopes of winning, slipping away, the opponent would then notice a group of darkly-clad spectators gathering like crows on the bleachers. Little did they know that this group convened to witness a ceremonial kill, hastened by the ever more impenetrable web I was weaving over the court. By the time the hearse pulled up, they were more than ready for their body bag. Mickey, what are we going to call today's episode, do you think? There's really only one answer to that, Pablo. This was Goth Tennis. Mickey, I want to set the scene for those who are maybe just listening to this Theater of the Mind performance that we're engaging here today because the studio is now decorated. It feels appropriately spooky. I feel right at home.

Yeah, this has never been done. We've never celebrated Halloween in studio this way. What is your relationship with Halloween as a concept, as a holiday?

I love Halloween. At various points in my life, I felt like I maybe was celebrating Halloween every day of the year. This is me dressed as Dracula as a young man. I was a little bit of an odd kid. I don't want to say I was weird and super dark, but I was imaginative and maybe a little bit different.

And in that photo, completely unsmiling.

Well, come on. If you're going to go, go all the way. I don't know if Dracula was really-I was a care bear.

We have that photo.

Spooky We're in a different way.

Even more disturbing, in retrospect, actually.

I grew up in suburban Detroit, in a northern suburb called Warren. We're talking mid-late '90s now, when I was in high school. As it's known now through films like 8 Mile or people knowing about the origin story of Insane Clown Pussy and the Juggalos. Oh, yeah. Detroit could be a very cold and almost Gothic place. And I mean Gothic almost in the tradition of Southern Gothic novels. I'm thinking Flannery O'Connor type of thing. I would say much like Detroit is known for this overcast, just perpetual cloud layer that hangs over the city for half the year. That's really how my childhood felt as well.

Something that made me feel like a bad friend is truly the depth to which I knew nothing about what you're here to tell us about. I do want to introduce with some visual aids here what you looked like in high school. How would you describe yourself?

I was very tall. I was emaciated thin. I didn't really talk much. I had almost like a translucent skin. Gaunt is a word that comes to mind as I see this photo of you, and I believe your sister My older sister. Yeah, that's me and my older sister. People described me as looking like the main character in Dazed and Confused if that character were starving to death.

Yes, Mitch. Mitch. Mitch, just really needing a meal.

The reason I existed in this almost cartoonishly, skeletal, withdrawn way was because I was dealing with a lot of stuff inside my house as well. My dad was very wild and very abusive. Being the person that I was, I didn't look like other kids. Maybe I didn't act like other kids. I'm not sure exactly the type of person that my dad wanted me to be, but I wasn't that person. It seemed like every quality that I had was repulsive to him, and he took it out on me. There was a lot of physical abuse. By the time I was 15, I felt like I really had to fend for myself. Everything that I was I went into was really, I know this is starting to sound a little therapy-esque, but it was trying to escape this reality that I was having a very hard time coping with.

You will be unsurprised to learn if you have ever seen Mickey's work in the present tense, which does include, by the way, the original illustrations that were weaving into the TV version of this episode over on YouTube in the DraftKings Network, that he was an incredibly skilled artist as teenager. He was an illustrator of repute even back then. But one of the other things that I didn't realize at all about Mickey, beyond the horrors of his home life, is that he was also a varsity athlete. As a sophomore at Warren Mott High School, he was a varsity tennis player, a truly promising one, in fact, with documented real potential, which meant that the other tension that he was stuck navigating was between the world of sports on the one hand, and this considerably darker world that I needed more help understanding. Because I'm a city kid, because I don't think I knew any Goths in high school, not true Goths, maybe some Goth-adjacent characters. If I were to swing the door open to your art room in high school, what would I see?

I got in with the Goths because the The toughest kids at my high school actually were the gay Goths who I met in my high school art room. The leader of the gay Goths was a guy named Dale. He was a senior. He had long, black hair. He was the lead singer of a Goth band. What's the name of the band? They were called Seraphin.

Perfect.

They were great.

I believe this is-Yeah, that's their album. An album cover.

Yeah, that's Dale right in the front with his long, black hair.

Yes. Half in Shadow is Dale's face, black and white, pink text, Seraphin, new, asterisk, for some reason, born. Copyright 1997.

The lyrics of his songs were so awesome. If You See Me Bleeding, It's just my heart trying to cry. Wearing the night just like skin. I was the shadow's phantom.

So good. That's pretty Pretty badass.

Yeah. Oh, my God. Dale is incredible.

How are you updating yourself as your initiation into this tribe becomes that much more complete?

I decide to dye my hair black. My eyes were suddenly opened to a whole universe of Goths that I hadn't noticed that were lurking through the school. Some of that is by design. The Goth esthetic and ethos is not to really be front and center, but it is to lurk through corners and shadows.

All of this is foreign to me.

Let's start with describing what Dale and their closest friends were. They regarded themselves as military goths. They're wearing combat boots, they wear a lot of shiny buckles, but a lot of plain shirts, some mesh, but not a lot of mesh.

I was going to ask, how much mesh is there?

A little bit of mesh. Okay. I would say the style icon for military Goths is probably post-Misfits, Glendanzic. Mother, Dale was really channeling that. The most visible of the Goths were the Victorian Goths. Much more sartorial in their dress. Classy. They're wearing the satin, the velvet, the cordyroy ruffles. We're talking some artistic flourishes, like a top hat.

Yeah, like people who maybe would like to be considered a count of some sort.

Absolutely. I think the style icon that I would say for the Victorian Goths, Gary Oldman in Bram Stoker's Dracula. Yes. The cane, the shades.

A high class goth.

Oh, yeah. Then after the military Goths and the Victorian goths, was a little group near the jewelry making station called the Faerie Goths. The Faerie Goths were much more fantasy inclined. Dark fairies, maybe into Lord of the Rings. A lot of them were wearing prosthetic ears.

Elven. Elven. Elven. Elven. Elven. Elven.

Elven. Absolutely. Wearing fake wings.

Gossamer Goth wings.

Totally. But some wings in prosthesis.

A slightly more whimsicle Goth.

Definitely. Could still be Really effed up and dark, but a little bit more whimsicle.

How were your folks feeling as they're observing young Mickey Under 100 pounds, now covered in various bits of arcane jewelry, hair jet black? What did they think of this?

They weren't excited about any of the changes that they saw, whether it was me me dying my hair, me only dressing in black. They were especially not excited that I turned my bedroom into a dungeon of darkness, where I got rid of anything that was light-colored. There were a lot of those drip candles that I positioned next to some plastic skulls that I got.

Check.

My mom, I remember her looking at what was formerly a fish tank stand that I turned into my candle altar. She called it my Satanic altar, which she was not really thrilled about.

I mean, at this point, hard to blame her for presuming that maybe you were worshiping the devil.

Yeah.

Were you worshiping the devil?

I was not. I just want to say that this is a big misconception about Goths. If I could be so bold and speak on behalf of the Goth community.

Are you going to cancel me for assuming that you were worshiping Satan?

No. In my experience, all of the Goths, this wide taxonomy that I described to you, we were all really sensitive people, artistic people, who loved paintings and poetry and sharing things with one another. Most Goths had an incredible sense of humor, which is humor is not exactly associated with the Gothic way. But it's true. It was a real love loving subculture of people that looked out for one another. But no, we weren't doing any other Satanic rituals.

Yes, yes, yes. #notallgoths. The juxtaposition of that is such a part of your life. Also, come springtime, Mickey, it's time for you to take the court like tennis. I'm presuming now that your dad was not super involved in your athletic career.

No. Safe to, Sam. Yeah.

Who was?

I should say that the tennis courts, much like the art room, was this haven for Lost Soul. The tennis court at my school, which was Warren Mott, a giant suburban high school. The tennis coach, his name was Larry Hart. Probably the most bizarre character that I've ever met. Larry was about 6'2, rail-thin. Back in the day, there were these sport glasses that were called Rexpecs, which were very, very thick and durable. He was wearing something adjacent to those that were somehow even bigger and uglier than Rexpecs specs. Somewhere along the way, way before we met him, he had busted out his two front teeth, and so he had cheaply gotten fake teeth, but they were the size of chiclets, overly huge for his head.

He had gotten the rec specs of teeth.

That's right. He had long, curly hair that was always unwashed, uncamped. His head was perpetually topped with a foam trucker hat, which if he ever took it off, like when we were saying the pledge of allegiance or anything, it would reveal a completely bald head that was super pale, which stood in contrast to the rest of his skin, which was super tan because all he did was play tennis.

Yes, we're seeing on this photograph, you can see on YouTube or the DraftKings Network, the aforementioned Larry, cap upon head, rec specs on, teeth glistening, skin tan, windbreaker, dawned.

This guy had not a lot of clothes, but what he had were about 10 different tracksuits that he would cycle through. They all also seemed unwashed and reeking of sweat.

To what extent did he connect with the art room kids? To what extent did he connect with Goths in that way?

Larry had this great quality to him, where he was very much like a camp counselor in that he accepted anyone who wanted to come and play tennis. People who were just exploring different parts of their identities, sexualities, a lot of nerdy kids, a lot of really religious kids, other kids that were dealing with a lot of stuff at home. It was a motley crew of people that would hang around the tennis courts. I like that, so I fit right in.

Did you ever get a sense in your conversations with Larry? Did you ever get a sense of what his previous life had been before he was this character that was known around town and around your school?

One of the things that makes Larry so compelling as a character, but also as a human being, is that he's very mysterious. He would never really talk about his personal life or his private life.

And this is where I should make clear that what made Larry Hart such an emergent father figure to Mickey, was it simply the way that he treated people, which did stand in extremely stark contrast to Mickey's actual father and the abuse that he was suffering at home. It was also the fact that Larry had become genuinely invested in developing Mickey, a skeletal teenager who was obviously searching for a community, and specifically, developing Mickey into a better tennis player. Because Larry, for all of his mysterious quirks, took his current life, his calling, extremely seriously. He had high standards. He had rules. He had a philosophy, and he was widely respected, it turns out, throughout not just Detroit, but the entire state of Michigan as a coach.

I can't tell you there was a moment, though. I got a glimpse into some potential former life of his, which was after practice one day, Larry came to me and we were just chatting, and he asked how my winter went. Told him a little bit about the art room. He could see that I had a new look going on. He could see that I'm wearing all types of rings and chains and bracelets and everything. I don't know what compelled me to tell him this, but I was telling him about some of the new music that I was being introduced to. And my favorite in that moment was this new band that I had discovered through my friends called the Sisters of Mercy. One of the great '70s goth bands from England. I listened to this album, First and Last and Always, Black Planet, Amphetamine Logic, really dark, twisted, great stuff. I don't know why, but I just said, Oh, yeah, I've been listening to Sisters of Mercy. Larry's eyes lit up, and he looked over me, and he said, Oh, yeah, man, they're great. I love the Sisters of Mercy. He rattled off a name of a couple of albums, and he said, I actually used to follow them when they were out on the road.

I used to go to a lot of their shows. He was such a mystery, but this was really out of left field. There was a look on his face that he almost realized that he disclosed close something that he didn't actually want to say. I never forgot that moment. It was really odd.

Hey, everyone. I'm Robert Mays, host of The Athletic Football Show, and I'm excited to welcome you to the 2025 season and everything new we've got going at TAFS. First and foremost, get ready for a whole new look. We're coming from The Athletic Football Show studio in Chicago. Get the full experience by checking us out on our YouTube channel. Second, whether you watch on YouTube or listen to us on your podcast platform of choice, you'll hear a new voice. Dave Hellman joins Derek Klasson and myself as the third host on the show bringing a different perspective to the conversation. Finally, Dane Brügler is back with year-round NFL draft coverage with Building the Beast. No matter what type of NFL fan you are, there's something for you on the Athletic Football Show. Join us Monday through Friday on YouTube Apple, Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

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The best reality show on TV has come to Ireland. The Trader's Island is now on RTE, but the real The Scandal is right here on Shrine. Subscribe and listen as we dissect every twist and turn and bring you the wild theories you won't get anywhere else. Expect bitter backstabbing, swishing of cloaks, and cries of murder. And that's just between us three.

Watch all the drama, then listen to more of it on Shrine.

Subscribe now and stay faithful to Shrine.

Acast is home to the world's best podcasts, including The Simpler Life with James and William, Owning It, The Anxiety podcast on the one you're listening to right now.

And so you as his athlete, as his student. Give me the scouting report. What's Mickey like?

I'm pretty athletic.

Got good reach. Good reach. Wingspan.

Lanky. Pretty quick and good coordination, but still pretty raw. High upside prospect. But by my second year, I feel like I had put a couple more things together. I have to say that after this strange episode with Larry, with the Sisters of Mercy connection, one night I was looking through, and Larry was big on giving handouts of Xeroxed articles, strategy articles. And one night when I was home, I had been smoking some weed. I was looking at these articles And I had this moment that was almost out of body, where I saw the strategy of these articles almost come together, where I saw this conjured dark power or coming from this new strategy. And I went to Larry the next day at practice, and I said, I want to rebuild my entire game. He was like, If you put in the work, let's do this. And so that began my transformation. Through the Midwestern Spring's Wind and Rain, Larry taught me how to keep points alive. Step one, develop an ability hit 100 balls in a single rally. Step two, evaluate the risks associated with each of my shots, favoring ones I hit at the highest percentages.

Step three, learn to neutralize my opponent's biggest weapons against me. We started with a technique to diagnose an opponent's strengths and weaknesses during warmups, after which I'd relentlessly hit balls at their weaknesses. In the event they didn't have a conspicuous weakness, I was taught to keep the ball deep in the middle of the court to make it more difficult for opponents hit severe angles against me. In moments when opponents would move into the net, I was taught to either hit a heavy top spin shot to their feet or to softly lob a ball over their heads, forcing them to retreat and restart the rally. My lung capacity increased week to week, and despite the fact I was still skeletal, my rallies with Larry could now extend to 200 shots. As my legs churned and lungs ached, a long repressed rage burned through my insides, drowning all my emotional pain, my parents, the disgusting body I saw in the mirror, leaving me only with the capacity to focus on the neon ball in front of me. The longer the points lasted, the deeper the burn penetrated, and in moments when I'd noticed Larry weakening, a predatory extra gear would kick in to extend the rally in our shared misery.

We'd continue these sessions well after sundown, reacting mostly to the sound of the ball off one another's strings. And while spinning the ball back again and again, I'd catch myself smiling in the dark. Tolerating pain had become my superpower. By the time the season started in April, I was ready to fuck some kids up. I didn't just want to win. The perverse score line I dreamt of was to lose zero games, commit zero errors, and hit zero winners. I wanted my opponents to be so demoralized by my playing style that they'd utterly unravel in front of me. I wanted them to know and be haunted by the knowledge that they'd actually played and lost a match against themselves.

Can I just jump in here to observe that it sounds unbelievably awful to play tennis against you?

I should say that the persona that I would take on courts was that I was really like an angel of death. I get that vibe. And that we could do this the easy way or we could do this the hard way. But I'm walking out of here with the dub.

I think I had underestimated how self-loathing was an ingredient underneath all of this, the idea that you didn't like yourself, your skin, even as much as you were now embracing your new appearance. It was compensating or seeking to remedy a pain that then became instrumental to your strategy of how to actually beat kids at tennis.

I think that I can connect to other people who felt or feel, even listeners of this show who might feel this, like disaffected, angry, and that society had rejected them. That burns inside. And I think what I've come to understand for me personally is that for a lot of years, the anger that I was feeling on the surface was really masking a really low self-esteem and a low self-worth. It feels like cartoonish to say today, but when I was a kid and getting beaten up by my dad, he would say to me, You're not a real man. He would say that to me as he was beating me up. And that's like, of course, I'm like a kid.

I'm a literal child. Yeah.

But I think the effect of that over time was that I actually didn't love myself. I thought I was unworthy of love. And that can be really insidious. So in this new tennis strategy, I found this nuclear reactor inside of me that was fueled both by this anger and this self-loathing. And the fact that I could now use this as some twisted weapon to take my revenge on the world, I found that twisted and delightful.

Yeah. To be clear, you were beating kids and then drawing tombstones in your notebook.

Absolutely. Part of my passive aggressiveness, I'm not proud of all this, but part of my passive aggressiveness in that time was that I wanted from the very lineup of our teams for the opponent to think that I was a total joke, that I didn't look like a tennis player at all, that I was gaunt thin. I didn't even have a water bottle or a towel. And I I mean, aside from being fueled by all this other stuff, I was fueled by the sideways looks and the snickering that they would do when they would underestimate me.

So when your opponent snaps, what does that sound like?

So there was one time where a guy was so angry playing against me. I remember for four and a half games, he didn't even score a point on me. He was like losing his goddamn mind. That he went to the back fence to pick up the ball, and he punched the fence and gouged his hand open on a bur that was sticking out of the fence. So blood is gushing down his arm. And I remember just standing there at the net and saying, Do you want to stop? And the guy was so furious that he said, F you. Let's keep going.

This does sound like a lyrics in a seraphant song.

Yeah. And I remember that day We kept playing. He keeps bleeding. His blood actually got all over the balls that we were using. I remember thinking that was really cool.

I also have to imagine that your hair is dyeed, right? Again, as you say, there is a ceremony of deringing yourself, all of this. When you are exerting yourself, because also this is sports and it is hard and you are trying really hard, What does that look like?

Well, to the ceremonial side of things, I'll just say that if I could have actually emerged from a coffin next to the core, I would have done that. So much of this, get the dry ice, get the whole the whole thing going. So I was really milking the performance for all it was worth. I will say that taking the all the metal off before playing was pretty smart just because, you know, sweaty metal, that gets a little tiring.

Yeah, it sounds like it get hot.

Yeah. But I also noticed Just periodically, that as I was really sweating, because I was having to redye my hair. So occasionally, there would be fresh dye. And when you're out, you know, sweating in the afternoon sun, the dye could drip off, almost like a Giuliani moment.

Like I was going to say, like Rudy Giuliani. Like noted vampire Rudy Giuliani.

Yeah, that was the original Giuliani, which I think that it only added to the disturbing pageantry of my performances.

You go all the way to the regional tournament, is my understanding here, and What is that moment like? I imagine in any good sports movie, States is on the line.

Yeah.

At regionals, with that hanging in the balance, how does it go?

We'd had a really good season, but Warren Mott had never made it to States because every regional was won by the perennial powerhouse of Gross Point North, which is the fanciest, richest, whitest suburb outside Detroit. So they were in our regional, and we thought, despite having a good season, that it was all going to end that day. So the tournament starts. It's a three-round tournament. The first round, I beat a guy that I had already beaten during the season pretty easily. And then the second round, I got through pretty easily as well, setting up this epic finale between none other than Grosspoint North.

Grosspoint North, depicted in that movie, Grosspoint Blank, John Cusack, that '90s movie. So I get the sense of like, Goth versus Prep.

I took a narrow 5-4 lead, but Nosferatu was fading in the sun. I knew I didn't have anything left for a third set. So using the last of my energy, I forced myself into the net again and again, desperate to finish. At 40: 30, I hit a hard approach shot and watched him throw a high lob up into the sun. As I craned my neck to find it, pupil shrinking in vision, flooding white, I jumped back, stretched my limbs as long as my tendons could bear, and swung on instinct. I felt the ball catch just inside the frame and watched it land cleanly into the open court. It was all over, and I was a wreck.

So you won?

I won.

But you were a wreck.

I'll tell you why I felt that way. It was because this season, just like the previous season, was going to end with us losing to some dicks who were going to rub our nose in it. What I found in that match is that the player that I beat, his name is Andrew. This guy showed the greatest sportsmanship of really anyone that I had played against that season. He did not sneer at me. He did not take the bait of any of my microaggressions. And the shame that I felt and the wreck that I felt at the end of that match really came from how I realized that so much of this twisted strategy that I was using was about how I was provoking other people to judge me, while at the time, all I was really doing was judging and projecting onto the type of person that he was, which in was not true at all.

He wasn't playing up to central casting in this case.

That's right. Even though I won this tournament, and I have to say, our team also collectively won the tournament, and we all got to states in that moment of what should have been such celebration. I felt really ashamed of the way I was operating.

Let's Larry, as the coach here, as, again, this leader of this band of underdogs that had made it to States, how does your dynamic at States unfold, given that, well, now it's time to actually win this thing.

So Larry was so excited because he had never taken a team to States before. We really leaned into the fact... I mean, our team was called the Marauders. We leaned into the fact that we were these underdog pirates taking this state tournament by storm. But I should say that it was clear to all of us, including to Larry, about 10 or 15 minutes after we got to the tournament, we started to see the quality play. That though we may have come out on top in the regional tournament, States was a whole other beast, and we were pretty solidly outclassed. So I took it upon myself to try to foster closer connections with my teammates. And in the ways that I had maybe perfected or I've exercised in my winter with the Goths, I thought nothing would be better than after we all got ceremonially slaughtered at States to throw a great hotel party.

A hotel party thrown by Mickey in this phase of your life, how stone did you guys get?

Brought the weed, brought some, I think, either Swisher Sweets or sweets or black and milds or something. There might have been a clove cigarette in there. I remember Larry, he went off to a local sports bar to watch the Red Wings. They were in the playoffs that year. We did the usual washcloth over the smoke detector, towel under the door, and we lit up. It was going great until Larry came back early and busted all of us.

Disappointing your coach/father figure who had just invested this trust in you guys had helped you become the best version of yourself as a tennis player. That sounds like a different wrinkle in your emotional memory here.

It felt like a real betrayal of his trust in us. Larry is someone who always preached living by a code. The code was sportsmanship relationship, but the code was also how you conduct yourself. The word came down to all of our hotel rooms about an hour after he came back from the bar that because we had betrayed him and the code, that we were all kicked off the team, and that none of us were going to be able to take the team bus the hour and a half drive back to where we lived. We all needed to call our parents to pick us up. I remember just sitting on the bed in my hotel room feeling like I ruined everything.

It is one thing to fuck up, and it is another thing to genuinely disappoint someone that you wanted to be proud of you.

Yeah. And that was a new feeling for me because I had felt, prior to that, I had felt so on my own, and unwilling or afraid to trust in a father figure. Man, it's hard to even talk about it now. Because I felt I'd been burned so many times. And now here was someone who had really invested in me and seen the best in me. And I was the one that it up. So that was the end of the season. We lose at States. We all get kicked off the team, and it's the end of the school year. So we got back to Warren and didn't see Larry for a bit. We were finishing our school years. I I remember spending a lot of time in the art room. Everyone's cleaning up and taking their art projects home. Dale is going off to pursue stardom. He's graduating. And as much as I had let my new friends in on what was happening with me in tennis, how things ended with Larry was something that I feel like I couldn't communicate with them or that there was no charm in sharing that with them. And I remember seeing my teammates in the hallways, my tennis teammates, and a lot of them were saying, Screw Larry.

Who needs to be on the tennis team? He overreacted. And that didn't feel better for me either. So one day after school, I remember looking out the back of the school, and there was a big parking lot, and behind it was where the tennis courts were, and he was packing up the team stuff for the season. It was summertime. So I walked over, and what I said to him was that, I'm not here to be stated to the team, but I wanted to tell you that you deserved better than what we all did and what I specifically did at States. What you and what your code brought to my life was something that I really did not want to betray.

What did Larry say?

Not the greatest eye contact guy. He was just looking at all of the gear, and he was probably thinking about the year as well. But I saw softness then come over his face. He cracked a smile, and he just looked over at me and he said, So are we going to hit balls or what?

I want to do the thing that happens near the end of any good movie about high school. I do want to page through your yearbook, knowing how bleak that it otherwise might be, and just follow up on some of the key characters here.

Where are they now?

Where is Dale? When's the last time you saw Dale?

Dale fell off the radar. Just quickly, the last time I saw him was in a very strange place, which was at a shopping mall of all places a couple of years after he graduated. He was still doing the music thing, I think, on the side, but his day job was working at one of these bulk candy stores. When I saw him, I had to go. It was a very brief interaction.

Were you going for some bulk candy yourself? You wanted to just put a- I may have.

I can't remember.

A scoop of Sour Patch Kids into a plastic bag.

Maybe jelly beans, black jelly beans. But he said, Oh, before you go, I want to show you something. And he pulled up his shirt to show his back, and his entire your back is covered in a tattoo of a drawing that I did for him in high school. It's not my greatest drawing. What did you draw? It's all these lizards on a twisted branch. I was into that, I guess, in the '90s. But he got it. It was up on his neck, too, and all the way back. And I was like, oh, my God. And I tried to find him as part of this story. I know that he's changed his name, and he lives in the LA area, but I'm still looking for him. Dale hit me up.

Yeah, Dale, if you're out there, if any of the members of Seraphin, honestly, are out there, we are interested in reuniting the band.

Let's have a show.

And as for Larry, when was the last time you saw him? When was the last time you guys got to connect?

I would see Larry whenever I would come into town. I lived in New York for 24 years, so I would only see him when I would come into Detroit to visit my parents for holidays. Really, the last time that I saw him, though, was at an engagement party when my wife and I were going to get married. Now, it's quite a number of years ago or 15 years ago.

I didn't know. So this photo is the last time you saw him?

This was the last time we got together. Yeah. And just for people who are tracking your evolution, You are not a Goth in this photo, Mickey. No. I should say that right after that season, after I put that chapter behind me, I cut my hair, retired my jewelry, and continued my high school career. I'm happy to say I was reinstated to the team. I played for Larry for two more years and had great seasons. We went to States another time.

Where are you in the record books? What's the part of your high school lore that you are most proud of?

Well, I should say that Larry was known to keep meticulous records. So I do know exactly where I place in the record books. I would say I'm not at the top for total wins. I would say maybe top 20 for total wins. But there's one record that Larry said it, and I believe it, that will never, ever be broken, which is that I hold the single season double bagel record. And that is for the 1997, '98 goth tennis season, where I won 11 matches, 6-0, 6-0.

Man. Like, watching you actively become this person in this photograph, given where we started this story is now a palpably remarkable thing to me, your friend, who knew none of this shit.

I want to read something to you that Larry gave me When I graduated. It has the header Reflection of Success. A coach can never make a great player of a youngster who isn't potentially great, but a coach can make a great competitor out of any child. And miraculously, coaches can make adults out of children. For a coach, the final score doesn't read so many points for my team, so many for theirs. Instead, it reads so many men and women out of so many boys and girls. And this is the score that is never published. And this is the score that coaches read to themselves and in which they find their real joy when the last game is over.

Where is Larry now, Mickey?

Larry passed away a couple of years ago. Being the private person that he was, he didn't tell anyone that he was battling cancer. And he suffered without the support of the community and players that he had invested so much in. I never got a chance to say goodbye when he was alive. Many of us convened at his funeral and spoke about our experiences with him. And he was buried in a Warren Mott tennis sweatshirt with his tennis racket. You know, these days, I am a dad of two little boys who are 12 and nine years old. Yes. Those boys are as odd and precocious and- As lanky? Definitely as lanky as their dad was. I like to think that as a dad, I allow them to be the people that they are, rather than trying to mold them or scold them into something that they are. And so much of that attitude, that ethos, comes from Larry. And the code, the coaching philosophy and the level of attention and care and tolerance that he showed all of us as a coach. So in that way, Larry Hart lives on. Yeah.

Mickey Dujet, a great dad and a real man and a former goth. Happy Halloween.

Same to you, Pablo. Fade to black.

This has been Pablo Torre Finds Metalark Media production. I'll talk to you next time.