1983. Tournament tennis. A racquet stringer turned small-time drug dealer gets in over his head transporting a gym bag of cocaine across Europe. Carrying a half-million in narcotics puts him on the radar of every dangerous man on the continent. Whoops.
Patrick Kindlon seems to have become the go-to guy for unlikeable characters the reader doesn't give a shit about. Drop that character (who is also gratingly unfunny) into a soup of a story, the kind where you're wondering why you should care about whatever is happening, and you have a book like this. To top it all off, the art is forgettable.
Really freaking cool concept. It's just not really done that well once you get into it
The dialogue just loses you. It's not flowing together. The characters aren't strong enough. That's just how I feel. If you enjoyed it, that's totally fun. I was just so happy when I finished.
As in a person who strings tennis rackets, and in this case one who also deals drugs to players and audiences on a 1983 tour, before ending up in too deep with the other sort of players, with increasingly gory and chaotic results. I grabbed the ARC of this from Edelweiss without even checking the blurb, just because I enjoyed Kindlon's offbeat superhero book Frontiersman, and I am generally less into crime comics, but the elements of black farce here (like when our luckless protagonist has a good feeling about number 32 at the roulette table), and Paul Tucker's clever page layouts and comic timing, meant I had a pretty good time all the same.
Well I had fun, not as much fun as when the cocaine was flowing like a broken water main in the early 80's where this story is set.
Cocaine and Tennis, the ATP is the backdrop while Tim a professional tennis racquet stringer makes several key stops in Europe he soon finds himself in possession of a million dollars worth of bricked up product and has to evade authorities and gangsters along the way.
I enjoyed the overall tone and humour in this one.
Great characters and I'll be honest the art kind of grows on you after a while. On top of that I've always liked a hand lettered comic.
Pat, Paul, and Wallace snapped on this one. Just a truly high level of craftsmanship through out. I especially enjoy Paul Tucker’s layout and paneling. Tucker also provides some of the best spreads of the year perfectly capturing the kinetic force of professional sports in a way that brings to mind Taiyo Matsumoto’s Ping Pong. A comic very worth your time.
I accessed a digital review copy of this book from the publisher. The story follows the protagonist as he tries to get himself out of trouble from one drug-induced mishap to another. Everything about this felt disjointed and dated, from the drawings to the color palette. One interesting element was the use of framing and paneling, but it was not enough to save the story or draw me in. Normally I would be able to finish a short comic like this in an hour or two, but this one took me a few days because there was just nothing to draw me in. If you are a fan of crime and tennis, then this might be for you, but I would not suggest it.
A Stringer is a guy who laces tennis rackets for a pro. No, I have no idea how that becomes a job. It's 1983 and a stringer on tour in Europe makes ends meet by selling a little bit of coke on the side. Enter some drug dealer who forces him to take a bag full of cocaine on tour and deliver it to him in Las Vegas in three weeks and he's way over his head.
I was like the guy in the story because I had no idea what was happening half the time in this story. The storytelling is obtuse. There's a lot of terminology we don't use in the U.S. and some things aren't translated to English. Not at all what I'd expect from an Image comic. I honestly thought this was an old European comic with translation issues for a large portion of the book. The art and coloring was muddy making it hard at times to tell who was who. And I still couldn't tell you what happened at the end. It was all told visually but not well. Just not good at all IMO.
There was one fun string of pages that dealt with a big view, into that same view but hallucinatory, that same view but now you see where exactly the key characters in the scene are in the crowd, and then back to normal. That was cool. The rest was ridiculous enough that I couldn't suspend my disbelief enough to enjoy. Creative paneling does not poor plot excuse... but it is appreciated. At least it was short.
Something I just didn't take to - the genre, the period-setting, the drugs, the potentially edgy crime subject... That's not to say others won't find this a marvel, but I certainly didn't get far at all.
I was into it. I liked the specific weirdness of the imagined life of an 80's ATP Stringer. I thought the characters were pretty well sketched out. It was a fun read.
I have no idea how authentic and believable this graphic novel is - a Crime story about drug-dealing going on within pro tennis touring - and that's a good thing. If I were to get into this book, and feel like I could identify with everything that was going on, and was reminded of old friends and their little idiosyncrasies, I would want another life.
For the longest time, my favourite tennis player was Simona Halep. Maybe she will be again, one of these days. Possibly not. Currently, I am a big fan of Leylah Fernandez, Sorana Cirstea, Coco, Ons, Garcia. I would like to see Teichmann do better, maybe Stearns feature in the future. Over on the men's side - Alcaraz.
None of these people feature in Stringer - because it's fiction, and also, it is set in the 1980s. It is also mostly a behind-the-scenes look, very behind the scenes, and the crux of the story has to do with a racquet stringer who fancies himself a low-level drug dealer suddenly playing for his life, but not tennis. When no one has a million bucks in cocaine, he suddenly does. He is to get it through several European Customs stops, before getting anywhere near its final destination in Vegas. Many things go wrong; the quick-cures for extreme jail-worthy wrongness tend to go more wrong. Through it all, sweaty, lucky-depending-on-how-you-define-luck Tim carries a dubious and huge sports bag around long enough to know: (a) which friend or friends will be there until the end, (b) which former friend turned enemy will pick one or the other in a worst case scenario, (c) which scary mystery man will keep showing up, (d) how many of (C) there actually are, and (e) how depleted a drug stash can get before no one will be happy upon opening it...
The art helps me rate higher than lower - but I did also enjoy the story. Again, I have no idea if this is ripped from the pages of anyone's hidden biography their poor mother never knew about...and I barely watched the news for the past 40 years, so tennis/cocaine bust/scandal/"the stringer, for f#%k sakes??!!?!" Top stories have eluded me. I simply laughed at the dark humor, enjoyed the mounting desperation, watched to see if any impending betrayals and self-preserving acts of cowardice played out as they looked like they might, and then came here and to report how entertaining and alien the whole thing is. Besides that, I'm sure nothing like this infects pro sports.