SWEATING BLOOD: MY LIFE IN SQUASH by Nick Matthew

Author:Nick Matthew [Matthew, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: internationalSPORTgroup
Published: 2014-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

The following day I flew straight home to England and then on to Mexico to meet up with some of my best friends from Sheffield – Mick, Rory, Dave, Sean and Nick – for a week’s holiday. I couldn’t believe that none of them mentioned the fact that I’d reached world No.1. Had it somehow escaped their attention?

I woke up in my hotel room in the beach resort of Cabo San Lucas, with the Pacific waves lapping outside my window. It was the first of the month, the day the monthly PSA rankings are calculated. I checked on the website to see my name right at the top of the list. That and the view from my window made me a very happy man indeed.

But how on earth had all my friends failed to spot my achievement? Surely one of them had noticed. I was mightily miffed. I thought they might at least have splashed out on a bottle of champagne to celebrate. By dinner time, still no one had mentioned it. I was starting to wonder if I’d become world No.1 at all. Maybe I’d imagined it all.

After dinner, though, I realised it was all a trick. They’d all been pretending they didn’t know. Mick and Rory didn’t join us for dinner, instead heading off to our favourite local drinking hole, the Nowhere Bar, to organise a special VIP area. That night we partied and drank champagne until the small hours. At one point the barman announced over the PA system what I’d achieved and everyone kept coming up to congratulate me. Hot girls were pulling up my shirt and writing “No.1” in marker pen on my chest. A few of them added their phone number, too. It was my first taste of celebrity status. Well, as close as you can get to it in a sport like squash. And it felt good.

Paul Walters had a special celebration planned for me, too. After the Mexican holiday, with those phone numbers just starting to fade on my chest, I flew back to England for my 30th birthday. I’d hired out Kenwood Hall Hotel in Sheffield and had invited all my friends and family for a big knees-up. Paul wanted to mark my sporting achievement as well as my 30th so he had booked a very smart restaurant – Rowley’s in the lovely village of Baslow – the evening before the main party.

It seemed everyone wanted to celebrate with me. Even the local Scout brigade had arranged to come round to my house to give me a special Scout award. Local press were in attendance and I had to pose with the Scouts in my squash kit for the cameras. I was delighted to do it but they turned up an hour late. So there I was, milling about in my squash kit with a photographer from the local newspaper, conscious that I was due to meet Paul and my parents at Rowley’s. I figured they wouldn’t mind waiting. It was the Scouts, after all.

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