For a recent book, current author and former prep tennis player, Todd Gallagher challenged America’s top tennis pro, Andy Roddick, to a match — with one caveat.

Roddick had to use a frying pan instead of a racket.

Roddick agreed but couldn’t overcome a culinary handicap that neutralized his serve and made it nearly impossible to hit backhand returns.

I read that excerpt from Gallagher’s book just hours after playing Loree and Conner Hazelrigg in a tag-team tennis match for the latest edition of “Put Me In, Coach.” Two things occurred to me after that reading: first, why didn’t I think of using some sort of handicap to level the field in what has become a weekly dose of defeat for me this summer? And second, I empathize with Roddick’s frustration.

My handicap against the Hazelriggs wasn’t a piece of non-stick steel but rather a general inability to direct the ball toward any specific part of the complex when it left my racket.

Loree played No. 1 singles and doubles as a freshman for Bishop LeBlond High School last year. Her identical twin, Conner, sat out with a knee injury, although Conner hopes to land at No. 2 or 3 singles this fall behind her sister.

My previous tennis experience amounted to occasional family trips to the local courts when I was a kid during the summer. The goal then was just to keep the ball in play. Thirteen years later my objective changed little.

By the start of the second set against the Hazelriggs, who alternated every three games, I had given up on hitting serves with any velocity or backhands at all — like Roddick. Instead, I relied on a forehand, a healthy amount of hustle and long limbs to compete against the identical twins.

Suffice to say, my best bet would’ve been to saddle the soon-to-be sophomores with a skillet.

LeBlond coach Chris Losson, likely sensing that 5 minutes of instruction would benefit this novice tennis player about as much as 50 minutes, kept my lesson brief.

He said most of tennis is footwork and simply instructed me to follow through low to high on my ground strokes. When it came to serving, he told me to hit the ball at the apex of the toss. Outside of showing me a few basic foot movements, a couple of different grips on my racket and a general position just behind the baseline, that was pretty much it from Losson.

In keeping with the brevity theme, I effectively played my part in the shortest tennis match possible in terms of games contested, losing 6-0, 6-0. I had six chances to win a game thanks in part to Conner’s gifting me points via double faults but managed to trump any mistake the Hazelriggs made with plenty of my own.

In theory, my lanky frame should help me serve with power and accuracy, but I couldn’t hit that 21-foot-by-13-foot service square with anything resembling a legitimate serve. I eventually decided I had a better chance just dinking the ball over the net and taking my chances with the volley.

But that allowed the Hazelriggs to tee off, waiting on the ball and hitting it to whatever part of the court they preferred. I tried to hide my backhand by positioning myself to the far left and hoping I could cover enough ground to compensate.

It was kind of like a 5-year-old playing hide-and-seek with his parents. Sure, they see his feet sticking out from behind the sofa, but they are kind of enough to pretend otherwise for the sake of the game.

Loree and Conner could’ve hit to my left all afternoon long but used that shot sparingly. They didn’t need it.

As I tired in the 90-degree heat, I started hitting my shots standing up, which further diminished their accuracy. Neither Hazelrigg seemed to break a sweat and admitted afterward I didn’t see their best effort. Clearly something drastic would be needed to bridge the gap in ability — a frying pan, crock pot, spatula, George Foreman grill, whatever.

I will never hesitate to use cookware for my personal gain again.