 Welcome to our first TennisAsia Monthly Newsletter ~ Sep 2026 ~ Why Matches Matter 
CHAPTER 1 : TUESDAY
MORNINGS
A story about a young coach who knew exactly what to correct until he realised he wasn't teaching what his players had come to learn. (5 MIN READ)
Tom came to coaching the way many former players do: with a basket under one arm, a cleanly folded plan in his head, and the quiet belief that if he could see the problem, he could probably help fix it.
He was twenty-eight, lean, organised, and reliably early. He wore the same navy quarter-zip most mornings until spring turned properly warm, and he had the habit ~ common in good club coaches ~ of making himself look busy even when he was thinking. Collecting balls with purpose. Straightening cones that did not need straightening. Nodding as though the next point had already formed itself clearly in his mind.
Coaching had. Or so it had seemed. There was comfort in its order: observe closely, diagnose quickly, explain clearly, improve steadily.
He liked being useful. He liked knowing what to say.
The ladies doubles sessions were his on Tuesday mornings, before lunch, when the courts still held a trace of damp near the fences and conversation began in little clusters before the first ball was hit.
Four women.
One court.
Two hours.
He had not chosen the slot, but after a few months it had become a regular fixture in his schedule.
Tom worked hard. Everybody could see.
He demonstrated willingly, moved well, stopped rallies to adjust grips and spoke about contact point, shape of shots. He asked for earlier preparation, firmer volleys, better use of height. When someone missed wide, he could usually tell why even before the ball went out. When another lady opened their racket face too early, he was already stepping in with the correction.
The women listened politely. They nodded. They thanked him at the end.
And yet something did not quite land.
Not everything missed. A cleaner volley here, a better backhand there.
Enough for Tom to tell himself the session had value. But not enough to change its texture. His best explanations often seemed to vanish by the next feed.
Energy drifted in the technical parts and returned, strangely, when the drill became less controlled. The women came more alive when things were more chaotic. When they were talking to each other, or solving something untidy on the move.
They were more muted when they were trying to reproduce the patterns he had prescribed.
Tom noticed this, but only dimly.
What he felt more strongly was confusion.
Tom looked up and said yes, of course.
Only later, driving home, did it occur to him that in two hours he had not mentioned that situation once.
And for the first time, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he was not quite teaching the lesson they had come to learn.
