I had a bunch of different colored hats I wore. When I started wearing a pink one, we won five or six tournaments in a row, so I stuck with it. It started as superstition and now it's tradition—my hideous trademark that I always wear.

My dad was a really intense competitor and that rubbed off on me. He was loud and vocal on the court, so I let him do all the talking. But I developed a kind of quiet intensity that I knew I had to have to improve and compete with grown men. It took every ounce of focus.

I thank my dad for my mental longevity and for the fact we played against better competition.

Physically I'm not as strong as I was, but I try to make up for it mentally. It's a big challenge, and I relish it, competing with guys half my age.

Playing against better competition makes you better and more focused, so you can do what you have to, to win.

In high school, some of the guys were really into music. When I first joined the team as a sophomore, I was blown away when we came out for our first home match—I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it. The seniors would bring their whole stereo system. We started by yelling and stuff inside this little room just off the gym; then the coaches said, "Ready. Go!" We threw open the door and came running out. Even when I hear the songs now I get all jacked up.

Most people put a hat and glasses on to go incognito. I take them off.