Product Description

All I knew about Moldova were the names of eleven men printed on the inside back pages of my newspaper. None of them sounded to me like they were any good at tennis ...An eccentric wager finds Tony Hawks, a man who loves an unusual challenge, bound for the little-known Eastern European state of Moldova. His mission: to track down members of the country's football team and persuade them to play him at tennis. The bizarre quest ultimately has little to do with tennis or football, but instead turns into an extraordinary journey involving the Moldovan underworld, gypsies, chronic power shortages, near kidnap, and a surprisingly tender relationship with his host family. Follow the fortunes of Tony in this hilarious and often moving adventure as it takes him from Moldova, onwards to Northern Ireland, leading to an exciting denouement in Nazareth - and the naked truth of the bet's final outcome...

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #31349 in Books
• Published on: 2007-07-05
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 272 pages

Sarah Champion

Tony Hawks' debut book, The Round Ireland with a Fridge, was an irreverent satire. The topic of the sequel is even more absurd. Like Round Ireland, it supposedly originates from an obscure bet. This time, Hawks bets he can't track-down the Moldovan football team and beat them all at tennis. The loser must perform the Moldovan national anthem naked on Balham High Road. However, knowledge of tennis and/or football isn't required to enjoy the book.

Hawks' Irish trip was characterised by willing accomplices who joined in the fun. In Moldova, Hawks also expects a good laugh. Despite the rarity of visitors, he receives an apathetic welcome as his mission provokes little more than weak smiles. Tracking down the footballers and persuading them to play turns becomes almost impossible.

The book treads a fine line between brilliant and juvenile, between Jeremy Beadle and the genuinely witty. Hawks' sixth-form joke of presenting a round table to Moldova's new King Arthur is especially cringe-worthy. His experience as a second-division stand-up leads to innumerable trite quips. Still, overall Playing The Moldovans At Tennis is an entertaining, easy read that will make you chuckle. It provides an interesting view of Eastern Europe's post-Communist life, while keeping you in suspense: Will he? Won't he? Suffice to say that, yes, at the end of the book someone does end up naked and singing outside a South London Woolworths. --Sarah Champion --

About the Author
Tony Hawks lives in London. He leads a diverse life and has various 'jobs', such as performing stand up comedy, appearing as a panellist on TV and radio (Have I Got News For You, Just A Minute, I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue), acting, writing, playing tennis, and making music.

Excerpted from Playing the Moldovans at Tennis by Tony Hawks. Copyright © 2001. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved
The round table fitted quite neatly under the back seat of the dilapidated bus. My carrying it on board had not caused much interest among the rest of the passengers, my guess being that in this country it wasn't unusual to be travelling with something unusual. However, when I began speaking English with Iulian, heads turned to stare. A foreigner. Moldovans didn't see many of them, especially travelling on their buses. Most Westerners avoided the discomfort and spent twenty dollars on the hire of a car and a driver. Since I was planning on staying over in Soroca it hadn't really been an option. No, the passengers would have to endure our English for the three and half hours it would take us to reach our destination.

Well, they would have done if the driver hadn't turned the radio on. Loud. God no! Truly excruciating Russian pop. Now there are some things the Russians do very well, (nurture young gymnasts, produce hirsute and scarcely female shot-putters, and encourage visits to Siberia with compulsory labour and comfortless accommodation thrown in) but in the sphere of pop music they do not excel. Their pop songs are catchy, but much in the same way as infectious diseases. Their songwriters understand the need to provide a melodious hook, but its endless repetition means that by the end of the song it is a hook you feel like hanging yourself from. Russian pop music does for the soul what ._._. no, let's just leave it there - Russian pop music does for the soul. No wonder the bloke in front of me looked like he wanted to kill himself. Three and a half hours of this and he'd want to kill everyone around him too. (I figured I'd be in no danger provided he did the suicide part of things first.)

Soroca, the mountain village where King Arthur resided, sounded good to me. Apparently it possessed an ancient fortress built by Stefan cel Mare. Stefan cel Mare (Stephen the Great) was the big Moldovan hero. He'd been King of the Moldovans in the fifteenth century and scored significant victories (though short-lived) over his assailants the Slavs and the Ottomans. After independence from the Soviet Union in 1991 all the statues of Lenin had been removed and replaced by this chap, and now the main streets in all the towns were named after him instead of Communism's great architect. It was just as well that Leningrad wasn't in Moldova. Stefancelmaregrad would be as easy on the ear as a Russian pop song.

The journey was hardly through breathtaking scenery. There were occasional gentle rolling hills which were pleasant enough but mostly it was flat expanses of dull brown farmland. Villages were set back from the road, their names emblazoned in garish blue and yellow on large columns by the roadside. From time to time the bus would pull out to overtake a farmer riding in a horse and cart, untouched by any of this century's technology. Then we would splutter to a halt at a bus-stop to exchange one set of life-weary passengers for another. No-one needed to tell you that village life was hard. The faces said it all. No plumbing, no hot water and in many cases no electricity. Bearable in the summer maybe, but during the Moldovan winter? No thanks.

'They are worse off now than they were under communism,' said Iulian.

'In what way?'

'Well, under the old system everyone could afford a family holiday by the Black Sea, and if you saved hard you could buy a car after ten years. There was not much choice of goods though. Under the new system, everything is available but no-one can afford it.'

'So they regret the change then?'

'Some do. The old ones. But at least they can move about freely now.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, under the Soviets they had to carry internal passports and they could not leave the village without a reason which had to be approved by a party official.'

My God. They couldn't even move about their own country without creeping to some sycophantic bureaucrat. I realised how I had taken freedom for granted. I looked out of the window, and as the trees and houses sped past me as if on rewind, I let my mind spool back to my childhood in England, and the number of times I'd said, 'I can do that, this is a free country.' I'd used those words without any comprehension of what not being in a free country meant.

The conversation with Iulian brought other explanations as to why the average Moldovan face when in relaxed mode looked sullen. His grandparents had saved hard all their lives and finally had enough money to buy a small house of their own when independence came and private ownership was permitted. Then the Moldovan currency collapsed overnight and in the morning their savings were enough to buy them a joint of meat.

'My God. They must have felt terrible,' I said, rather regretting the crass obviousness of the comment.

'It killed them. Within two years they were both dead.'

It was another ten miles before I could resume any conversation.

I was the last one off the bus when we reached Soroca, struggling with my royal gift.

'I suppose we should head for the centre now,' I said, looking at the deserted streets around me.

'This is the centre,' said Iulian.

'Are you sure? You said you hadn't been here before.'

'I'm ninety-five per cent sure. This is the main street.'

'But there's nothing here.'

'I know. Chisinau is dull but it is nothing compared to the rest of Moldova.'

Customer Reviews

An "off the wall" classic
How to come up with a novel concept!!!! While watching the England football team's opponents a minor celebrity friend challenges the author to play & beat each of them at tennis!!! The book takes you on the authors round the world (or is it twist)journey which becomes strangely compelling and will undoubtedly have you willing on our hero. Against the odds - game set and match Tony Hawks!!

No fridge, less humour, but more interesting in some ways
After going round Ireland with a Fridge, Tony Hawks' next bet was to beat the entire Moldovan Football Team at Tennis.

Heading off to Moldova with a round plastic table, Hawks found less to be humourous about, but instead has managed to paint a picture of life in a former Soviet State that is at times disturbing and at others heartwarming. His encounter with a local mobster, and the descriptions of the state of the medical system (his Doctor host at one point is paid with a freshly-caught fish) help you understand how different - and often difficult - life is over there. The fact that Hawks has since started a Charity to take medical supplies over there speaks volumes - and that comes across in the book too.

The twist that happens in Israel helps set the book up for a rousing climax that would see a man standing trouserless in a London Street trying to sing the Moldovan National Anthem: but it's the descriptions of life in Chisnau that will stay with you the longest.

If you're expecting a no-holds barred funny account of another drunken bet - this is not for you. If however you appreciate some well-written travelogue with a twist, I recommend this highly.

The Man is back without the Fridge!!!
Well, if you thought the whole fridge think was mad - Tonys next bet is to play the Moldovan football team at tennis! Not daft in the slightest.

He certainly takes his bets to heart does the guy and never shirks from his (drunken!!) promises. But how the heck do you go about arranging something like that? Read this book and find out - Funny, interesting and completely readable.

You will be perched on the end of your seat as you find out whether or not he reaches his goal and win the bet (much more exciting than many a thriller read) - another absolute must read book.

What is his next bet? ....... I am afraid I can only guess, but it will probably include alcohol somewhere along the line!!! and possibly a bathroom appliance - the mind boggles!!!!!!!!