Balls UP!!!

Thoughts From A Retiring Tennis Professional

Career Day, fourth grade. Mrs Wellington's class. Little Johnny wants to be an astronaut; Billy Bighead intends to be a fireman. Katie Kissass, kissing ass again, tells the teacher she wants to be just like her, a teacher. The class circles to young me. Hot off my first junior tennis tourney win, there's only one correct answer. When I grow up, I want to spend my life teaching endless tennis clinics.

Yeah, that didn't happen, but it kinda did. I've taught a few clinics in my days—forty years of them. But as of Wednesday, April 30th, 2025, at 7 P.M., I put the baskets and hoppers away one last time, retiring from the only job I've ever known. Tennis instructor

Of course, teaching tennis for 40 years was never the plan. Are any of our lives?

Tennis professionalism. It’s an odd industry. There's an assumption that our abundance of skills translates into an ability to teach our most complex game. And I give that a big maybe. Certainly better to have skills than not; hard to teach something you can't do yourself. But teaching and playing are very different animals. Being self-taught (I could count on one hand how many lessons I took), I knew little about tennis mechanics when I became a tennis professional. I did it all on instinct. And I never considered myself anything special. If I could do it, I figured you should be able to too.

Yeah, no.

So, I had a lot to learn about the teaching side of tennis. Interestingly, as the skills diminished and my play worsened over time, the better teacher I became. So Darwinian. I had to learn to coach myself, and in the process, I learned how to coach you, too.

Tennis teaching was always temporary. I'll do it until I figure out what I want to do with my life.

Who knew I was figuring it out all the time...

I had an early midlife crisis some years back. (It's not uncommon among us tennis types.) I was a big brain, obscenely over-educated, voracious reader guy seeking knowledge and experience at every turn. My zest for life was incalculable. Somehow, helping Mrs Jones, a 3.0 on a good day, with her block lob doubles return didn't seem the best use of my peak productive years. Having kids come up to me asking me what my real job was didn't help either.

And my industry. Oy. I loved Tennis, but I couldn't stand my fellow tennis pros. Egomaniacs with inferiority complexes, arrogant immoral bores, rarely right, but never in doubt, always trying to steal your clients or sleep with theirs. Cliches in the flesh, collars up, sunglasses down, giving my "profession" a bad name. I made a personal vow to do everything in my power not to be like them. And for the most part, I'm proud to say I succeeded, though I did move in with a few in my younger years.

Unstimulated, I began to get resentful of the whole dynamic. An endless assembly line of players in disarray, same time next week? And yes, I have a pen, Buss is spelled with 2 S's. My whole headspace was what am I getting out of this? And whatever that was, it wasn't enough. There's an income ceiling to this tennis stuff, a quite low one frankly, no one is getting rich out there. Then the shift occurred. I was having a grumpy stretch at work when a wise friend made a suggestion that would change my life.

Instead of obsessing about what you're getting out of this, focus on what you can give to it.

Become a giver, not a taker. And it was quite the epiphany. At the end of the day, we're all just salespeople selling ourselves. Instead of focusing on income, focus on the outcome. I wasn't in the tennis business, I was in the people business. Make your work matter.

And it worked—these eclectic students of mine. I began to see the dynamic differently. Of all the millions of options young, healthy people of means have in the modern world, these people chose to spend their money and time with me, on opposite sides of a tennis court, hoping that I could teach them our maddening sport. However jaded my relationship with tennis was, it didn't matter. These people were serious. They loved Tennis. We’re huge fans, determined to work hard and do what it takes to improve. Meet them where they are. Match their energy. And in the process, I fell back in love with our sport. It had given me so much. Now it was my time to give back to all who took my court.

My work soon morphed. It was no longer about forehands and backhands. It became tennis therapy. I had a rich experience of my own to draw from. Tennis is hard, the journey is long, the environment is stressful, and nobody gets too far alone. Be their guide, be their mentor, become the voice they need to hear. Nurture wisdom, calm, and reflectiveness—stress perspective over perfection. You don't have to do this; you get to do this. We'll still work hard and push you, but more importantly, I will teach you to push yourself to be the best you can be. And for better or worse, it worked out pretty well over the past 40 years for all parties.

These clients, my students, became my best friends. We became important parts of each other's lives, the best parts.

Nothing changed except my perspective. I get to play Tennis with my dear friends for a living. What a gift to be able to spend my days so.

And what a journey it’s been. I've taught Saudi princes, future queens, senators, CEOs, heiresses, and future world number 1s. Mobster Norby Walters, Post publisher Ben Bradlee, Paramount head Sherry Lansing, and The Gambler himself, Kenny Rogers. I recall my last lesson some summers ago in the Hamptons with billionaire financier George Soros. Rushing from the court to cover from a sudden thunderstorm, he lost his wallet along the way. He asked if he could catch me next time. I asked if he was good for it. But that next time never came. George Soros still owes me 60 dollars to this day.

I've had a few nicknames over the years. Magic. The Doctor, my favorite, is Coach Socks. Thanks to my fashionista wife, I have a strong sock game going these days. Teaching my little kids clinics, they would enter the court, running a beeline to me, waiting for me to roll up my pants. Mr Potato Head one day, Cool Grandpa the next.

Whatever it takes to get kids excited to be on a tennis court.

And all the fun. Jungle ball, 101, Olympics, Jump Balls, crazy rules, The bad call brick, net cords pay double, Penalty point for particularly Ugly shots, The Penalty Box for poor sportsmanship (can't leave the alley), and of course, The Hand

The Hand. The stuff of legend. No matter where I am feeding on the court, I'm always in play. You spray one my way, I might save you. You angle a winner off my direction, and The Hand is there with the dig: the Hand giveth, the Hand taketh. Never question the Hand. It's become an official part of all the Tennis played on my court. Hell, one of my kids even made me a shirt.

I'll miss a lot: the laughter, the camaraderie, the growth, the improvement, the big wins, the making of teams, and the excited, appreciative texts of a proud parent.

To affect the quality of another's life, it is the highest of arts... And one I consider life's great gifts.

Will I ever teach again? Sure. Still have my favorite student project.

But the day-to-day hustle and grind. My mind and heart still love it, but my joints have had enough.

Fittingly, on my final day, my last final clinic, as the clock approached the top of the hour, my normal elation at quitting time was tempered a bit. A bittersweet reflective wave swept over me. I looked out at my work: two courts, 16 kids all running and hitting and hooting and hollering, everyone smiling and laughing, engaged and engaging. No tears, no behavior. Another successful clinic in the books.

And time stood still for a moment. I looked out upon my group. Our demanding sport, Tennis, a mood-altering experience for the best of us, not all of them empowering. But for once, the mood was pure joy.

And I fed the last ball. MATCH POINT!!! The point ends, I put my racket down, barking out my signature coda.

Balls UP!!!

And in unison, they all exclaimed. One More !! One More!! We can't end on that!!!

And I obliged. Kids who don't want to stop, kids having a ball, kids who want to play more. And a deep sense of gratitude spread over me… Tennis coaching can be a tricky business, but for at least this moment in time, we were doing alright.

As we wrapped up, the kids and parents all smiling and joyful…and in unison they said Thanks, Coach; that was fun!

Looking back at all their smiling faces, all I could say was...

No, Thank You...