Diablo Tennis Team Plays at Full Volume

If this column came with volume control, we’d ask you to crank it all the way up. The Mission Viejo boys’ tennis team--like the early sounds of punk--must be appreciated at full blast.

You’ve heard of winning through intimidation? During a match, this is the Diablos’ No. 1 goal. They couldn’t be any more in your face if they were puckering up for a big, fat kiss. They yell at each other. They yell at themselves. Smart opponents learn to wear earplugs.

The Diablos are like Charles Barkley with a serve and volley. Or a pit bull with a backhand. When they strut on the court, even their shoes ooze confidence. Their message--we’re here, so prepare to lose--comes in loud and clear. A sonic boom should be so subtle.

Traditionalists no doubt pale in their presence. What of tennis etiquette? What of the sport’s niceties and charm? Didn’t these guys once watch Wimbledon on TV? Tennis is for gentle people, not agro’d -out adolescents. Why don’t they stay on their skateboards where they belong?

Questions like these make Bill Casas smile. As a senior and Mission Viejo’s No. 1 singles player, Casas sets the tone for the team. He’s aggressive, tenacious and arrogant--proudly so. The Diablos, he says, never would have won this season’s South Coast League title--their first league title in the program’s 23 years--had they been concerned what others thought.

“(Opponents) don’t like us--nobody likes us,” Casas says. “I don’t care. I like walking in knowing people hate me. I like seeing the expression on people’s faces when we beat them.”

Mission Viejo Coach Bill Smith says he doesn’t share that outlook, but as long as his players abide by the team rules--no profanity, no racket abuse, no earrings--there’s little use trying to mold them into something they’re not.

“Tennis players are notorious for not being tough,” Smith says. “Most haven’t had a hard day in their life. But these kids are tough. They have a blue-collar attitude.”

Blue collar? In blissfully master-planned Mission Viejo? The only blue collars around there come stitched with Ralph Lauren labels, do they not?

Smith sighs. He has heard it all before. Truth is, this team is quite a diverse mix. None of his players were “tennis babies” when they were younger; none have been nationally or regionally ranked. And nearly all hold down part-time jobs.

Casas loads and unloads delivery trucks five days a week, from 3:55 a.m. to 8 a.m. He goes to sleep about 10 p.m., wakes up at 3 a.m., goes to work, and is in class by 9. (Not that his is a desperate situation. The $8 an hour Casas earns, he says, is spent mostly on gas money and dates).

Jason Pascua--also a league-champion wrestler at 119 pounds--works a few days a week at a discount department store, stocking shelves and assisting customers. Josh Fair has a bustling racket-stringing business, one he runs from his parents’ home. Brian Gruner teaches tennis and works the front desk at a local recreation center. Ryan Aday is a busboy at a nearby dinner playhouse.

Of course, the reason the Diablos are what they are--ranked eighth in the Southern Section Division I, and heading into a first-round playoff match Tuesday against Canyon at home--has little to do with who works where. After losing two matches in the first round of league, the players got together and decided something had to change. Poof--a new team chemistry was born.

Some say it started with, of all things, a wrestling match. The Diablos were in Ojai for a tennis tournament. The UC Santa Barbara team was staying in the motel room upstairs. The Diablos decided to put together a challenge. They offered Pascua, 125 pounds at best. Santa Barbara countered with a player 40 pounds heavier. Pascua pinned College Boy without breaking a sweat.

The Diablos have been psyched since. Sure, there are those who disagree with their style, who say they wouldn’t know humility if it stood up and screamed, who believe aggressiveness like theirs should be shoved under helmets and shoulder pads. But Mission Viejo just doesn’t see it that way.

This isn’t a golf game. This isn’t a hospital zone. Where in the rules does it call for quiet?

“I’m sure we’re obnoxious on the court, but that’s just how we play,” Pascua says. “That’s just how we get pumped up.”

It’s just what keeps them cranking.