Not Quite 30-Love

#TeamMeeting, #LinzCrisis

#TeamMeeting, #LinzCrisis

At any tournament, the lead person on site from the WTA is the tour manager or supervisor. It is his or her role to liaise with the tournament on match schedules, player requirements and to help with any issues that other WTA staff or players may have. They cop all the s**t from every direction. The three I’ve met have been women and very calm professionals with soothing personalities. My initial meeting with Birgit Akerman on the walk around yesterday gave me no reason to suspect she was an exception. Blonde (aren’t all the Swedes?) and in her late 30s, she seemed competent and smiley. I wondered if she could handle the s**t-storm I’ve created.

At 9a.m. the entire WTA team were in her tiny office. Sixteen of us. Six physios and massage therapists, three media staff, two player liaisons, one assistant supervisor, three WTA umpires and Birgit. Most of team had takeaway coffee cups in their hands. Caffeine might not be the ideal lubricant given the scenario. A hip flask on the other hand…

‘Quiet please, everyone take a seat. I know it’s crowded in here and we all have very busy days scheduled, but we need to make sure that the team is across what has happened overnight and the official message that has been scripted,’ said Birgit.

‘Can I just add,’ said Brenda, interrupting, ‘the media team has never made a mistake of this nature. We don’t usually give new staff the opportunity to create so much drama.’

Brenda, along with the entire room, turned to face me.

‘Thank you, Brenda,’ said Birgit. ‘Can we please focus on the issue and the solution.’

Birgit explained what had happened with the mistaken post. She outlined the timeline of events and read the press release that Jane had sent out a few hours ago, while we were all sleeping. She never took her eyes off me as she explained. ‘We are looking at one minute of silence before the first match today. Our number one seed Ulli Fischer is going to make a very short statement beforehand. Then she and the two players from the first match – Lemonjian and Bartens – and all the officials will stand with their heads bowed for one minute. Video of this will be uploaded by the media team, it will be on TV and a press release explaining that the WTA is committed to supporting safe environments world-wide for our youth, will be distributed through our global network. Any questions?’

Thirteen hands went up. Marine, Birgit and I were the only ones with both hands firmly at our sides.

Jenny the physio wanted to know, ‘What do we tell the players?’

Birgit responded. ‘We tell the players the truth. It was a mistake due to computer scheduling. A horrible mistake.’ Four hands dropped.

Margaret from player relations wondered if we should encourage players to make their own statements on social media. Brenda responded to this. ‘We think it’s best for players to remain quiet, but if they want to say something. They should come to the media team and clear it with us first.’ Good luck with that happening. Six more hands dropped.

Elke, an umpire, raised the elephant. ‘The media are now saying it was a deliberate stunt. Won’t this minute of silence be playing into their hands?’ It was a damn good question – one that had been festering in my brain since Marine translated the Good Morning Linz bombshell.

‘This has been discussed,’ said Birgit. ‘We have scripted Ulli’s statement to focus on caring about youth globally, rather than the error. It is most important that we all stick to the facts. It was a mistake and we have proof. The post went out thirty minutes before the gunman entered the school. It could not have been deliberate.’ I remembered vacillating between 3p.m. and 3.30p.m. for scheduling the post.

The team nodded unanimously, the remainder of hands dropped. Nobody wanted to work their arses off, day and night, for an organisation that would have perpetrated a stunt like the one we were being accused of.

**

We left the room in teams to walk towards our respective homes on site. The media room was a long walk down a faceless corridor towards impending doom.