Hello, my name is Justin, and I’m excited to be TENNIS.com’s new Gear Editor. (Richard Pagliaro, come next year, will return to writing about his first love: the pro game.) I grew up in a tennis family—my father is a career tennis professional—and studied English at Swarthmore College, a small school in the suburbs of Philadelphia. I also played tennis there on the college team.
So, as fitting for an introduction, how about a story?
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I was in high school when I first experienced pro tennis in-person. One Friday in March, my Dad and I packed sandwiches, a couple extra shirts, and proceeded to drive 600 miles to Miami for a day and change at what was then known as the NASDAQ-100 Open. It was 2005—the year Roger Federer trailed Rafael Nadal by two sets in the final and, teetering on the edge of defeat, clawed his way back for the victory.
But that wouldn’t be until the following Sunday. The morning we arrived at Crandon Park—only 10 a.m. but already in the throes of dazed perspiration—the tournament was still buzzing with early-round frenzy. Those first hours passed by in a blur: reddened, middle-aged men with exotic headgear and sweat towels; bevisored women in skittle-colored outfits; bands of wide-eyed 12-year-olds, felt pens and tennis balls in hand, on the prowl for autographs; Nadal and entourage driving phalanx-like through the jostling throng; Tim Henman skittering deftly to the net; Gael Monfils limping melodramatically to the line and then cracking an ace; that sense of “being there.” So much to see, too little time, etc.
Yet memory sharpens when I recollect that afternoon’s marquee match: Federer vs. Olivier Rochus. Up in the nose-bleeds initially, we soon snuck down and claimed some decent seats in the mezzanine, ending up about yay close. The match was powerful to behold, but not because of any competitive suspense. No, this contest was but a formality, its outcome never in doubt. So I’m overstating a bit. Still, this was 2005, amid the zenithal years of Federer’s supremacy. His few losses in the mid-aughties were aberrations—even Federer’s first defeat to Nadal at a major, an ominous one indeed, in the semis at Roland Garros ‘05.
Maybe this wasn’t the case for older generations of fans who’d watched earlier champions rise (and fall), but it certainly was for my adolescent tennis friends and me. We were animated by a narcotizing, pro-Federer energy. It ran rampant through the junior ranks, inspiring some games but ruining most others. I saw the best players of the local pond slow their irregular but quick footwork (in self-delusional fluidity) and exchange their consistent two-handed backhands for erratic one-handers (under the pretense that it “gave you more reach”).
The Fed emitted an invulnerable glow; this was the context. And so, I didn’t find it odd at all when Rochus began the first rally of the match, rather desperately, with a rushed and poorly-executed drop shot. It was in keeping with the spectatorial thinking of the time, the throw-the-kitchen-sink-at-Fed strategy—of course still hopeless, but better, we all thought, than rallying with him and getting drummed.
Federer started with an easy hold and, as the match progressed, I got lost in the focused intensity that attends radical interest. Little thinking or internal dialogue, just staring, numb, at Federer’s play: his effortlessly light footwork; his eyes mesmerized by the ball’s flight; the titillating, liquid flourishes of his form. Then suddenly, Federer hit one of those wicked, left-to-right backhand passes. It all happened so fast: Rochus approaching the net, Fed running to his left, an emphatic flick of the arm, the ball practically turning over sideways as it passed over the net, Rochus stumbling into the ground as it whirled ridiculously out of reach, the stadium crowd erupting—gatdamn!
After that spectacular moment and throughout the rest of the match, I remember being struck, one after the other, by two feelings.
The first came on abruptly, a giddy sense of joy and excitement. There I was, watching a body move with hitherto unseen power and grace. (Federer didn’t look like this on TV.) There was a sense of untapped human potential—of unforeseen gifts that I could perhaps access. If only I could somehow plumb the depths of my own intrinsic abilities, I thought, perhaps I could move and play with power and grace, too. Federer’s play was instructive. It gave hope for personal improvement.
But as that initial pleasure subsided, a second insidious feeling crept up inside me: an intensely sad conviction that I’d never be able to play like that. Of all of us who love playing this game, surely I’m not the only one who’s felt this? In this sense, Federer’s play was not so much self-edifying as psychically destructive—a potent dose of inadequacy. He was gifted, and I was not. I could only resign myself to praise and deify him.
I continue to vacillate back and forth through these antithetical states when I reflect upon Federer’s and my own game, and have yet to figure a solution. I suspect, though, that we can reach some satisfaction by working toward and building upon our own small on-court achievements, those short moments of personal improvement and repose.
It’s in this spirit that I hope to serve as your Gear Editor—by making aware to you the equipment, techniques, and tools which can, in however small a way, help us release those self-imposed limits on our own potential, whatever they (and it) may be.
Happy holidays. Let’s try to surprise ourselves this New Year.
TENNIS.com Gear Editor Justin diFeliciantonio and his technical advisers answer your equipment questions every Monday in the Mailbag. Click here to send in a question of your own.
I live up north and love to play year-round, but unfortunately I don’t have access to indoor facilities. So during the winter, my buddies and I throw on coats and gloves and head out to the courts at the local park. It feels fine playing on more temperate days, but when the temperature drops below about 50°, it feels like I’m hitting a rock. What can I do to feel the ball in cold weather?—Andrew
It’s true, Andrew, that as temperatures approach freezing, frames and strings stiffen, and balls lose their pliancy and bounce. All together, this can make for a pretty harsh, “rock-like” feel upon contact. While changes to equipment cannot make your racquet and ball—as well as your arm—feel and play like it will on a balmy spring day, there are a few remedies that may help soften the blow.
First and foremost, make sure you’re using a top-of-the-line, regular-duty felt tennis ball—like the Wilson US Open or the USPTA ProPenn. Albeit more expensive, high-quality balls are manufactured more carefully and with higher quality materials; as a result, they produce a livelier, more responsive bounce, and will play better than a “bargain ball” in colder weather.
In terms of string, switch to a more pliable, thinner-gauged natural gut or synthetic multifilament string—like Babolat VSTeam or Head FiberGel. And consider stringing it at the lower end of your racquet’s recommended tension range. As racquet guru John Swetka of Swetka’s Tennis Shop in Mountain View, CA explains, “This will allow the strings to deform more and return more energy back into the ball,” creating a more pliant feel in frigid conditions.
And if you’re really willing to experiment, you could try playing with a more flexible racquet. This, too, should help produce a softer feel at impact. Note, however, that racquets with softer beams are typically engineered for more advanced players with longer swings.
Finally, work with a qualified tennis professional or racquet technician. They can be an invaluable asset as you search for the racquet and string combination that’s best for you, your game, and the conditions in which you play.
I’m a beginner 3.0 player. I want to improve my strokes, but I can’t afford lessons with a pro right now. What are some simple, down-to-earth tools I can use to get better?—Anonymous
How about trying a mirror?
As vain as it may sound, swinging in front of a pane of glass can be an innovative—and cost-effective—way to increase awareness of how your body moves when you swing, allowing you to improve your form by feel.
Consider the following story about how Jack improved his self-described “terrible” backhand, from Timothy Gallwey’s classic book The Inner Game of Tennis:
“I asked Jack to take a few swings on the patio where we were standing. His backswing started back very low, but then, sure enough, just before swinging forward it lifted to the level of his shoulder and swung down into the imagined ball…‘Your backhand is all right,’ I said reassuringly. ‘It’s just going through some changes. Why don’t you take a closer look at it.’ We walked over to a large windowpane and there I asked him to swing again while watching his reflection. He did so, again taking his characteristic hitch at the back of his swing, but this time he was astounded. ‘Hey, I really do take my racquet back high! It goes up above my shoulder!’ … After lunch I threw Jack a few balls and he was able to remember how the stroke felt and to repeat the action. This time he just felt where his racket was going, letting his sense of feel replace the visual image offered by the mirror. It was a new experience for him. Soon he was consistently hitting topspin backhands into the court with an effortlessness that made it appear this was his natural swing.”
And of course, there’s no more reliable a partner than the wall:
