I looked out at the courts, and what did I see but 30 kids, under the age of ten, dressed in tennis gear, sitting in a circle, legs crossed, eyes closed, meditating. 

Upsets, triumphs, sartorial hits and misses—and a bonus little coaches corner. What ELSE can you possibly ask for from this, our first show grappling with Roland Garros (as Charles Barkley refuses to call it). Buckle up, helmets on, let's get into it.

Photographer Nikolaj Møller was in two of the right places (the Italian Open and St. Peter's Square) at exactly the right time, and described the scenes for Racquet.

Welcome to Racquet’s inaugural dispatch of See You In Court, a regular column in which I, Mel Kenny, a famously mediocre lifelong player, heed reader questions about tennis.

In art and tennis, rivalries can be a useful outlet for inner turmoil.

In his Essay on David Foster Wallace, John Jeremiah Sullivan flirts with a distortion of category

Taffy Brodesser-Akner had resisted tennis her whole life and had finally found a way into it, found a way to be her own scrappy self among its inherent elitism

The ladies playing at the highest levels of the “vintage” circuit are not to be trifled with.