Buying, Selling, & Collecting: My First Tennis Lesson Taught Me To Love Watches – Maybe Too Much
Greg Moran is the owner and director of tennis at the Four Seasons Racquet Club in Wilton, Connecticut.
I was 10 years old, standing on a clay tennis court, and struggling. It was my first lesson and solid contact between ball and racket was proving to be a rare occurrence.
In my defense, I wasn’t only new to the game, I was also having a hard time concentrating. Each time Rick (the pro) fed me a ball, instead of focusing on the shot, my eye was drawn to the sun’s glare reflecting off his watch. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a Rolex Datejust. Blue dial, Oyster bracelet.
Rick just had the look down: deep suntan, tight-white shorts, mustache, and a cool watch. This was, circa 1970, the requisite look of the country club tennis pro. You could think of it as The Uniform. An accent – English or Australian – went a long way as well.
A tennis prodigy, clearly, I was not. However, something far more important than raw talent emerged that day: a love for the game. From that moment on, tennis consumed me. Like any kid with a newfound passion, I dreamed. My mind traveled from the green lawns of England to the red clay courts of Roland Garros. A short moment after laying my head on the pillow each evening, I was between the lines.
My nights were spent on the pro circuit, my days on the court developing my game. Rod Laver’s forehand, Ken Rosewall’s backhand, Stan Smith’s serve and the cool of Arthur Ashe. Those were my idols.
They also all wore Rolex.
And what’s clear to me now, all these years later, is that my first tennis lesson also got me hooked on watches.
At local jewelry stores in Connecticut, I would press my nose against the cases and talk to other watch guys doing the same. At age 12, I made my first purchase – a Timex – with money I’d earned stringing tennis rackets for Rick.
My new watch had a blue dial and stainless-steel bracelet and became the first of many – a Citizen, several Seikos, another Timex – all kept in an old Adidas shoe box. They were the grails of my youth, companions, on court and off, and each gave me a feeling of being cool. The life goal of every teenager.
I achieved fleeting status as a high school tennis star and rode the bench at Rollins College, one of the country’s top Division II teams. All the while I had been giving tennis lessons. Eventually, it became clear to me that I would one day make teaching tennis my career.
As a graduation gift to myself, I bought a Rolex Datejust, with a blue dial (of course) and Oyster bracelet and, in June of 1981, I officially put on The Uniform.
As I gave my lessons, I became a master of the subtle “wrist check.” When one of my students had something interesting on his wrist, I’d call him to the net, under the guise of giving him a tip, so I could sneak a glance at what he had on.
My Monday 6:30 AM lesson (a brain surgeon) wore a Breitling Navitimer II, black dial. Every Wednesday at 7:00 am, I shared the court with an entertainment lawyer who carefully took off his Patek Philippe Calatrava and gently placed it in his bag before we began hitting balls. Panerai, Zenith, JLC, A. Lange & Söhne, and Omega regularly appeared on the other side of the net. I gave lessons to some very successful people and viewed their watches as symbols of the success I was chasing.
As my career grew and I had some money, I dove into the world of luxury watches. I’m not a mechanical guy, so complications didn’t interest me and sweating on a tennis court for over 60 hours a week eliminated dress watches. Sport watches became my lane and I developed a hard and fast rule that if I couldn’t wear a watch on the tennis court, I wouldn’t buy it.
Rolex, Omega, and Breitling became my brands. Never larger than 43mm, never smaller than 39.
By 1990, I had put together a collection that allowed me to wear a different watch each day of the week. Mondays, I always wore my graduation Datejust. The rest of the week went as follows:
Sunday: Omega Seamaster, black dial
Tuesday: Breitling Superocean Heritage
Wednesday: Rolex Pepsi GMT
Thursday: Omega Seamaster, blue dial
Thursday: Rolex Submariner 16610
Friday: Breitling Navitimer
Saturday: Rolex Explorer, polar dial
Each month, I’d mix it up.
During my morning Transcendental Meditation, my mind would frequently be drawn from my mantra to the watch I’d soon be putting on. My watches made me feel as if I had achieved a bit of the success I was after and, yes, they still made me feel a little bit cool.
I got married, had kids, and built my career to the point where I owned and operated a large tennis facility in Connecticut. Neither of my children had a passion for tennis but that was okay – my son, as it turned out, loved watches. Mike’s high school graduation gift was an Omega Seamaster Professional 300M, the watch Pierce Brosnan wore when he took over the role of James Bond in GoldenEye.
Life was good. But when I reached my late 50s, my relationship to watches transformed. I fell into a disturbing new habit, a vicious cycle whose stages were: 1) Admire; 2) Acquire; 3) Retire.
I became fluent with the intricate strategies involved with haggling, trading, and flipping in a watch market that was becoming hotter by the day. The phrase, “Is that the best you can do?” became part of my vernacular. As did, “Another dealer I buy from can sell it to me for X. Can you get close?”
I developed relationships with dealers all over the world and got in their faces with a stream of questions and demands. Can you find me X? How much? Can you overnight it? I need it tomorrow.
Of course, I didn’t “need it tomorrow.” I didn’t need it at all. In fact, sometimes I didn’t particularly want it, I had just become addicted to the deal.
The next transaction was always on my mind and the endorphin rush of opening a new box had faded. It didn’t feel new; it just felt next.
When I opened a package containing my most recent acquisition, I immediately repurposed that same package to ship out one I was retiring. Appreciate what I’d bought? Who has time for that? I’ve got to get this box to FedEx before it closes!
At the height of my mania, I was moving (in or out) a minimum of two watches a week and communicating with dealers several times a day. I would check my apps for new releases or stories several times an hour. And I’d developed a serious man crush on Jean-Claude Biver.
What I was doing made no sense emotionally and was insane financially. I’d often buy and sell the same watch twice – in the span of a month! In the frenzy, I also gave up pieces that would now be worth a fortune: a Rolex Submariner 1680 Red and 16710 GMT Master II. An Omega Silver Snoopy Award Moonwatch and Ed White Speedmaster also came and went. This went on for approximately three years.
I also let pieces go that held sentimental value. These included a Rolex 16710 Pepsi from a German couple who were my first official clients after stepping into The Uniform. I traded a gold Rolex Day-Date (with the days in French) that’d been left to me in the will of an old friend. I even let go of my graduation Datejust – my greatest regret.
What the hell was going on? How had something that had, throughout my life, brought me so much pleasure turned into a stressful obsession that was making me numb? Mid-life crisis? A desperate attempt to escape the stresses of owning a business? Pandemic boredom?
To this day, I still don’t know. I did know that something had to change. I needed to hit rock bottom. Which, in February 2021, is exactly what I did.
I had gotten into my car having just purchased a vintage Explorer – for the third time. As my hands went to the wheel, the glare from the sun hit the crystal and brought me a feeling of panic.
The excitement of acquiring a new watch had been replaced by the anxiety of being trapped. On the way home, all I could think of was, “How can I get out of this?” I was too embarrassed to call the dealer and tell him the truth, having driven him to his knees on the price, so I wrote the following email:
John,
You’re not going to believe this but when I got home, my wife was waiting for me with a vintage Explorer for our anniversary. Can I possibly return the one I just got from you?
Greg
Of course, it wasn’t my anniversary, and my wife wasn’t waiting for me with a vintage Explorer. John kindly let me return the watch anyway. In fact, he hadn’t yet rung up the sale – by now he knew me.
I wasn’t proud of my behavior. From the little I know about addiction, I realized that buying and flipping watches had somehow turned into an addiction, pushing me to do things I wouldn’t do in any other part of my life.
Is there a 12-step program for watchaholics? Not that I was aware of. So I had to design my own way out.
I started slowly. I began by committing to leave my wrist bare every third day and cutting my communication to dealers in half.
I deleted the watch apps from my phone and gave up membership in all of my watch forums. I also imposed a strict monthly watch budget. After three months of sticking with my plan – with the exception of a few 2 AM texts to my favorite dealers – my head began to clear and I’d curbed my mania.
But once a watch guy, always a watch guy.
To celebrate my 60th birthday, my children and their spouses met my wife and I at the Breitling boutique on Madison Avenue. We were there to pick out a birthday watch from my wife. My first since my recovery.
I chose a steel Superocean 42. White dial. A watch I’d never owned before!
As we waited to complete the transaction, the salesman, Sayeef, brought out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot – our family’s favorite champagne – and even though it was only 10 AM, we drank it all.
Instead of feeling cool or successful – instead of feeling the rush of the deal or the numbness of yet another acquisition – I felt something very different. An intense closeness of sharing the experience with the people I love.
It was then that the idea came to me. Instead of buying watches just for myself, I would also buy them to commemorate memories of connection and family.
Since my post-Breitling epiphany, I’ve begun buying watches to mark special occasions and I’ve had them engraved with that particular date. These pieces will go to loved ones when I stop ticking. So far, I have:
– A Rolex Submariner my wife gave me one Christmas. It will go to my son.
– A Rolex Pepsi GMT that I wore in my daughter’s wedding. It will go to my son-in law.
– An Omega Seamaster I wore in my son’s wedding. It will go to him.
– A Rolex Batman I bought when my grandson was born. This watch will go to Olly on his 18th birthday.
Today, when I look in my (much smaller) watch box, every pillow is home to a memory that brings an “I remember when…” smile to my face.
Rarely does a day go by when I don’t send or receive a text from my son about a new release or an email from my son-in-law (yes, my daughter married a watch guy) announcing a new episode of Talking Watches. Our watch talk brings me those special feelings of connection and closeness with my boys.
Like anyone in recovery, I have my moments of weakness. Recently, one of my dealers offered me a vintage Tudor Submariner Snowflake – a watch I’d lusted after for quite some time. The dialogue inside my head began:
I could sell Olly’s Batman to pay for it… But it’s Olly’s special Batman that you bought on his first birthday to give to him on his 18th… He’s only two. He’ll never know. I can get him something else… But I said I wasn’t going to do this anymore.
The good news is that Olly still has his Batman. At least for now.
Hodinkee
