It’s Never Just About Tennis

When I started teaching tennis in my early twenties, I thought my job was simple: helping people improve their forehands, strengthen their serves and win more matches.

I remember attending my first national convention and feeling as though I wasn’t a good enough professional. Every presentation seemed focused on developing high-performance juniors, while I was coaching kids who would be fortunate to make their varsity teams. I immersed myself in better teaching techniques because I believed my success would be measured by how much my players improved. It didn’t take long for me to realize that instruction was only one part of what we do each day. The longer I have been in this profession, the more I have realized that coaching, entertaining and listening all have one thing in common: they begin with caring.

Every day, we serve as one, two or all three of the following roles for our members: coach, entertainer and trusted listener.

We are coaches at our core. We are employed to make people better players, but the best professionals do more than teach technique. They know when tennis is the lesson and when it isn’t.

When I started coaching high school tennis, I realized that hitting more forehands wasn’t always the best way to reach my players or help our team perform. Listening to their concerns, keeping them motivated and building their confidence were just as important as teaching the proper grip or stance. That approach helped build trust, and our teams began to feel more like families. I still wanted my players to improve, but I learned that they responded more to someone they trusted than to someone who knew more about tennis.

We also become entertainers because we care about the member experience. People choose to spend their free time with us. They deserve energy, enthusiasm and an environment where learning is enjoyable. Great lessons are remembered not only because players improved, but because they had fun while doing it.

Entertaining does not mean performing a stand-up routine. It means getting to know your students. It means asking questions, learning what interests them and using that information to connect. It can mean referencing another sport they play, naming your games, celebrating milestones, bringing energy and smiling while you do it.

An incredible mentor of mine always said, “If we keep the courts clean and greet everyone with a smile, we are better than 70% of the clubs out there.” His point was that creating a great experience does not need to be complicated. It requires consistency and intention.

I once hit twice a week with a woman who was approaching her 100th birthday. My job was to return every ball while she was allowed to hit anywhere on the court. I chased every shot I could so that each rally could continue just a little longer.

As we played, she told me stories about her younger days and what kept her going. She loved tennis, collected fossils, liked her bacon extra crispy and always looked forward to coming to the club. She lived to be 105, and tennis was an important part of her longevity.

My goal wasn’t to improve her strokes. My goal was to make sure she enjoyed every day she spent at the club.

Experiences like that remind me that our role often extends beyond instruction. When I say we sometimes serve as trusted listeners, I do not mean in a clinical sense. I do not have a degree in psychology, but I have learned to read people, ask the right questions and listen carefully.

Members share victories and disappointments, family news, health concerns, career changes and everyday challenges. Sometimes the greatest value we provide is not technical advice. It is simply being present.

An older gentleman once reached out to me because he wanted to begin playing tennis again. He was a cancer survivor, and he and his wife had played together frequently before she lost her battle with cancer. After her passing, he needed tennis to help keep himself going.

Hitting balls allowed him to reconnect with the memories they had created together. We shared stories, laughed, told jokes and sometimes cried. I treasured my time on court with him because I understood how important it was.

More recently, a high school player I work with has been struggling as her parents go through a divorce. I told her that my parents divorced during the summer before my senior year and that I understood some of the emotions she was experiencing. Sports helped me through that period because I had teammates to rely on. They became my second family. Sharing that part of my life is not easy, but I hope it reassures her that she is not alone and that life will not always feel as difficult as it does today. Members rarely remember the exact drill we ran three years ago. They probably do not remember how many forehands they hit on a random Tuesday morning. But they remember the coach who celebrated their first league win, remembered their birthday or noticed they had not been around for a few weeks. They remember the professional who asked about their daughter leaving for college. They remember the laughter during a cardio class after a difficult week at work. Those are the moments that build loyalty. Those are the moments that build community.

When I mentor young professionals today, I do not spend all my time discussing lesson plans. I remind them that every member who walks onto the court is carrying something we cannot see. Our job is not to fix all of it. Our job is to recognize that sometimes what they need from us has very little to do with tennis. Throughout my career, I have asked my staff to describe our brand. Every club has a brand, and I believe every racquet sports department should have one as well. Great instruction is expected. Great service is remembered.

I want our departments to be known for service, for going the extra mile and for creating welcoming environments that feel like home. One of the nicest compliments I have ever received came from a member who said they enjoyed coming to the club because it felt like one big family.

Of all the compliments I have received over the years, that one meant the most. Every member who walks onto the court is carrying something we cannot see. Some days, they need a coach. Some days, they need someone who can make them laugh. Some days, they simply need someone willing to listen.

The challenge is not deciding which role we want to play. It is recognizing what the person standing across the net needs from us that day.

We spend countless hours teaching grips, footwork, tactics and technique. Those things matter and helping people improve will always be an important part of what we do. But if all our members remember is that their forehand got better, we’ve probably missed our greatest opportunity.

Over the years, I have come to realize that our greatest impact often happens when the basket of balls is sitting untouched.

Because in the end, it’s never just about tennis.