When I first set out to hit against Boomer on Robert Allen Gibson's court, I thought it would go one of two ways: Boomer would be a letdown, a little too much like the stiff, predictable ball machines of my youth. Or I would stink up the court in my post-partum, full-of-C-section-excuses glory, and I would cry all the way home.

I'm happy to report I was wrong on both fronts. But I'm now a little afraid that the robots really are going to take over if we're not careful.

Gibson's court, tucked neatly in his wooded backyard, has the slightly tacky feeling of a recently surfaced court.

And it still has that pleasant, post-construction aroma that few tennis players will experience since it often takes eons for public facilities to be spiffed up.

Up until my pregnancy last year, I had not gone more than a few weeks without hitting since I was little.

I started playing tennis when I could grip a racquet, played in college and then worked as a teaching pro before coming to journalism. But I've been a bit out of practice.

So I decided to start at half-court - Boomer obliged.

As I warmed up my mini groundstrokes and found a rhythm, my husband looked on, and my 7-month-old son sang to himself in his stroller on the shaded patio next to the court.

Gibson started me on a warm-up mode that eased me into returning harder, deeper shots with heavier spin. Boomer also fed me a series of vollies and overheads. By the end, the shots Boomer fed were difficult to stay behind - and quite impressive.

Gibson toted the wireless remote as he scooped up tennis balls to put back into Boomer's belly, and was able (at times, to my dismay) to pay full attention to what I was doing.

When I asked too many questions to stay focused, he paused Boomer so I wouldn't need to multi-task too much in my efforts to not embarrass myself.

I eventually played Boomer in a tie-break, set at the 4.0 level.

I got down a few points early on but was thrilled when I was able to pull it out.

Redemption was mine, and I'll hold onto that tie-break as proof that I'm not too much worse for the wear from my pregnancy hiatus.

Gibson's focus on the statistical nature of the game - tennis is quite cerebral, as well as intensely physical - is something that makes sense to me.

That said, it would be strange to only train against technology.

Having Gibson on court, even hearing the squeals of my son, balanced the surreal experience of playing points out against a piece of metal and plastic.

Even though Boomer announced the score, called balls in or out, fed me the correct number of balls when it was my serve, and told me what he thought about my shots as we went - "good," "great," and the antagonistic "you can do better," " ewwww" - I still knew it was me against a machine.

Boomer sometimes struggled with the shadows on the court since he is designed for indoor play.

He also occasionally made a wrong call, or was distracted by movements from Gibson and my husband, who decided to commemorate my comeback. But Gibson was able to reset the point when errors were made.

We can't let the robots win. But we can let them help our tennis games.