 Welcome to our first TennisAsia Monthly Newsletter ~ Sep 2026 ~ Why Matches Matter 
CHAPTER 1 : THE COURT IS
HUGE
A story about a boy, his first tennis lesson, one ball over the net and the small moment that made him want to come back. (5 MIN READ)
My mum said it is just a tennis lesson. Just a try.
She said there would be other kids and small rackets and soft balls, and I would probably like it because I run around a lot anyway.
I didn't say anything in the car because sometimes when grown-ups say, “You'll like it,” it makes me feel like I have to.
When we got there, the courts were much bigger than I expected. Even the small one didn't look small to me. It had white lines everywhere, like a puzzle I didn't know how to do yet. There were balls in baskets and cones on the ground and other children already hitting, or trying to.
Some of them looked like they knew what was happening.
I stayed close to Mum at first.
A coach in a cap smiled at me and said,
“You must be Leo.”
I liked that he knew my name.
He gave me a racket. It felt lighter than I thought it would be but still important, like holding something I wasn't supposed to drop. I swung it once before we started and nearly hit my own leg.
No one saw. Or maybe they did.
The balls were soft red ones. They didn’t sound like proper tennis balls on the ground. More like little thuds.
The coach called them apples, which made everybody laugh.
We had to dribble them on our rackets and then stop them and then run to cones and back again. One boy was very fast. One girl could already hit the ball over the net. I didn’t know if that was normal or if they were tennis geniuses.
At first I mostly watched to see when it was my turn and what everybody else did. I held the racket too tight. I missed the ball when the coach dropped it to me. Then I missed it again, even though it was falling slowly and everyone could see.
That part made my face feel hot.
I looked at Mum. She gave me a thumbs-up.
I looked away.
Then the coach said,
“That's alright, Leo. Keep your eye on it. Let it bounce. Then swing.”
He said it like missing wasn't a strange thing to do.
So I tried again.
BOUNCE.
SWING.
MISS.
The boy behind me hit his shot. Then the girl. Then me again.
BOUNCE.
SWING.
THIS TIME I HIT IT.
Not properly, I don't think. It sort of flew sideways and low and not where it was meant to go. But it came off my racket and over the little net and for one second it felt like I had done magic with my own hand.
The coach pointed at me and smiled.
“There it is,” he said.
It was only one ball.
But after that I wanted another one.
We played a game where if you hit the ball into a space marked with cones, you won your team a point. I did not win many points. I might have won zero. But I did make one ball land inside the square by accident, and everyone on my team shouted like I had done something amazing.
That felt nice.
Better than nice, actually.
It felt like when you get the answer right in class without putting your hand up first.
By the end, my hand was sweaty on the racket handle and my legs felt tired in a good way. The coach said, “Great effort today,” and tapped my racket with his.
I liked that too.
In the car, Mum asked, “So, what did you think?”
I looked out the window for a bit because I wanted to answer properly.
I thought about the big court.
The red balls.
The kids who looked like they already knew how to do things.
The part where I missed.
The part where I hit one.
The sound my team made when the ball landed in the square.
The coach saying my name.
Then I said,
“I think I want to go again.”
And I did.
Because it wasn't just that tennis was fun.
It was that for one second, standing on that small court with my too-big T-shirt and my sweaty hand and my not-very-good swing, it felt like maybe one day I could be good at it.
And that made me want to go back and try again.