Lucky Loser: Adventures in Tennis and Comedy
By Michael Kosta
HarperCollins
Reading Michigan native and “The Daily Show” co-host Michael Kosta’s new book, Lucky Loser: Adventures in Tennis and Comedy, reminded me that my path to arts criticism was, well, circuitous.
I spent much of my first three decades dreaming of being a fiction writer. In graduate school, I took numerous workshop classes, wherein I learned (while struggling with my own short stories) how to thoughtfully, diplomatically critique my peers’ creative work. While I published a few stories in literary journals, it became clear that I was a far better critic than I was a fiction writer. So here we are.
Kosta, similarly, spent the bulk of his early life in Ann Arbor working to become a tennis pro – which he eventually did, enjoying modest success. Yet when Kosta later took a hard left turn into stand-up, he found that many of the skills he'd developed as a middle-of-the-pack pro tennis player prepared him well to not just survive, but thrive within comedy's brutal ecosystem.
Unlike most “comic books” – books published by popular comedians – Lucky Loser is not a repository of Kosta’s best bits. (No chapters with titles like “Airports” and “Fast Food” here.) Like the best entries in this genre (looking at you, “Born Standing Up” by Steve Martin), “Lucky” instead offers a thoughtful reflection on the meaningful personal experiences and influences that forged the successful comedian Kosta has become.
Admittedly, the prose isn’t always artfully executed and structured. Kosta is (shockingly? refreshingly?) honest about a couple of his sexual exploits in this “Portrait of a Tennis Player/Comedian as a Young Man.” But you can’t help but admire and appreciate Kosta’s candor, especially when he shares moments of intense vulnerability.
For instance, he describes a time when he cheated in a tennis match (and the shame he still carries). He talks about an epic last-set collapse that haunts him to this day and marked the beginning of the end of his tennis career. He recalls an evening in Japan with other young players, who drank beers and smoked with him under the streetlights while awaiting a train to Tokyo:
To be twenty-something year old, with your buddies, a little drunk, and about to head into a world-renowned city for the first time … it felt like we were about to shoot off to the moon or something. As with every night out, the beginning is always the best time. Everyone together, no one too drunk, enjoying each other’s company without muddled bar noise or the competition of chasing girls. But we didn’t know that then, then we were always in a rush to get somewhere.
Moments like this in “Lucky” came across as so heartfelt and genuine that you can’t help but feel emotionally connected to Kosta.
Yes, if you’re not a sports person, this probably isn’t the book for you, since the vast majority of “Lucky” covers Kosta’s time in the tennis world. I loved learning what it’s like to toil and strive in the un-glamorous bowels of a sport’s professional ranks. After playing tennis at the University of Illinois, Kosta solicited investors to help pay travel and equipment costs, entry fees, etc., in order to play in tournaments around the world and earn points toward his ranking (and maybe, occasionally, a modest payday). Though some trips were a complete bust, Kosta did make some headway, reaching a ranking of #864 in men’s singles, and having experiences he likely never would have otherwise had.
One experience that stands out involved a claw machine, filled with live chicks, on a street in South Korea. Though Kosta was baffled, he tried playing, lost, and tried again, despite not knowing exactly why.
I don’t even think I would be able to or would want to touch a chick. I mean what do I do then? Pet it? This device shows the weakness of being a competitive person. I was so pissed that I lost that I continued to play the game, even though in reality I did not want to win. I did not want the spoils of victory (in this case a living being that I would have to care for).
In “Lucky,” Kosta skillfully maps out how his tennis career prepared him well for a life in comedy. Passages like this also demonstrate what he had to un-learn on his way to “The Daily Show.”
Kosta’s journey began in Ann Arbor, of course, where he was the youngest of four children. Not only did the enviably functional, uber-supportive Kosta family visit the local raquet club together regularly to play tennis; Kosta’s mother would play a one-on-one conversation game that involved passing a tennis ball. (Is it any wonder Kosta developed such a positive and strong connection to tennis?)
Kosta’s mother also made a point of asking him nightly what had made him laugh that day. As tennis became more and more severed from the family that was his foundation, Kosta grew enticed by the world of comedy. As was true in the world of tennis, the early days were un-profitable, un-glamorous, and hard for Kosta. Unlike with tennis, he believed in his ability to get substantially better and build something. And he has, obviously.
Though his book’s title might suggest otherwise, luck had precious little to do with it.
