Tickets to My Downfall

title track

Lyrics ▶︎

I sold some tickets
To come see my downfall
It sold out in minutes
I saw friends in the front row
They'll leave when I'm finished
And the light in my name's gone
'Cause the ones who gas you up
Only come around when the flame's on and
(I gave you my life, oh, oh-oh)
Ayy, fuck it

(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I use a razor to take off the edge, "Jump off the ledge," they said
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
"Take the laser, aim at my head and paint the walls red," I said
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I'm crazy, I'm off the meds, I'm "better off dead," they said
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I use a razor to take off the edge, jump off the ledge

I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall

Ooh
My finger's burning from the temperatures (Temperatures)
My preacher led me off the precipice (Fuck)
If I'm a painter, I'd be a depressionist (Depressionist)
I need this time to decompress
From this ketamine, this cocaine
This medicine for my growing pain
This weed I've been smoking, I'm dying inside

(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
I use a razor to take off the edge, "Jump off the ledge," they said
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
"Take the laser, aim at my head and paint the walls red," I said
(Fuck you)
I'm crazy, I'm off the meds, I'm "better off dead," they said
(Yeah, yeah yeah)
I use a razor to take off the edge, jump off the ledge

I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall
I'm sellin' tickets to my downfall

One more time
 

​

I stood in the entry tunnel to the stadium, eyes closed and listening to the roar of the crowd inside. It had been a while since I stepped onto a tennis court, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t miss it every day. But I wasn’t a young man with a wicked serve and the energy to attack the net anymore, and a career on the ATP Tour was a decidedly different experience when you were ranked outside the Top 100. Taking time off to heal from an injury had that effect on your ranking.

Suddenly, you couldn’t afford to fly first class or stay in four-star hotels; when the prize money didn’t come as regularly, you pinched pennies where you could, flying in cramped coach seats (or driving) and staying in cheap hotels so you’d be out less in terms of travel expenses if you ended up crashing out of the tournament without any substantial prize money. Which was, unfortunately, a more and more common experience.

Not being an elite player also meant the sponsorships had long since dried up, and my savings had been depleted by trying to keep the career alive, probably a couple of years longer than I should have.

But this exhibition match was a chance to go out on a high note. As it happened, another popular player of my generation was also considering retirement and, with the eight grand slams between us and a close rivalry that had played out over the better part of a decade, fans were keen to watch us battle it out one last time, even if neither of us were necessarily at the height of our powers.

As I stepped out onto the court, I was met with a stadium full of fans cheering my name. For a moment, I felt the emotions swelling up inside me as I waved and headed toward my seat on the sidelines. I watched my opponent emerge from the tunnel a few moments later to similar cheers and for a moment, I forgot that we were two aging tennis stars past their prime, preparing for the last professional match of their careers. It felt like we were gearing up to play another grand slam final in front of a home crowd.

We finished our pre-match routines and shook hands with one another and the chair umpire before taking up our respective positions on opposite sides of the court.

The first set went about as expected, with the two of us holding serve and feeling each other out until it was five-all. My rotator cuff was actually feeling better than it had in a while, and I was swinging freely in a way that I hadn’t experienced in my last several months on the tour. My opponent, however, seemed to be feeling the twinge in his hamstring that had plagued him for most of his career. He still had a great serve and outstanding accuracy, but he couldn’t move as well as I could.

When presented with the opportunity to break his serve, I took it and went up 6-5. All I had to do was hold serve to win the first set... and I knew I could do it. In as little as four serves, I could have the first set wrapped up and head into the final set with a distinct physical and psychological advantage over my adversary.

But then I remember the arrangement I had with some gentlemen who had agreed to pay me a considerable portion of the proceeds from their sports betting revenue if I could somehow ensure that my opponent won in straight sets.

And so I double-faulted on the first point of the game.

And then smashed his return of my serve long to make it Love-30.

I hated every second of it. Everything about me as a professional athlete screamed to give it a hundred percent and dominate the match like I knew I could. But everything inside me as a poor, nearly washed-up tennis pro told me that I needed the money that I’d get by losing this match so I could set myself up well in retirement.
Being in my own head distracted me to the point where I genuinely got caught wrong-footed by a particularly well-placed return to make it Love-40 and then, with resignation, I hit my first serve into the net and set him up with a weak second serve to fire it into the corner and take the game, leveling it at six games all.

All I had to do was get through the tiebreaker by losing it, and then tank the second set while still making it look like I was giving it a reasonable effort. But, hey, an old-timer with an aging body and lacking the psychological edge he used to? Guys like that lost sets 0-6 or 1-6 or 2-6 all the time.

The harder thing was going to be finding a way to live with myself after I threw the last match of my career.

I hoped the money would be worth it.

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Word Count: 851