Photograph by Ethan Miller/Getty Images
I can say with particular pride that I was the first person to play tennis inside State Farm Arena.
Elton John staged a tennis benefit for his AIDS Foundation at the newly opened building, then Philips Arena, in 2000, with Andre Agassi, Pete Sampras, Billie Jean King, and other legendary players on hand. I was a tennis newbie and arranged to hit with doubles star Luke Jensen before the event for a story I was writing.
The crew had just finished setting up the court when Luke and I walked out, rackets in hand. It quickly turned into a tennis lesson, with Luke patiently teaching me how to improve my game. After a time, we were joined by 99X disc jockey Steve Barnes.
Then out walked Elton John. Luke gathered us at the net as Elton unpacked his rackets. “I promised to warm up Elton for a few minutes,” he said. “Stick around and we can hit some more afterwards.”
Barnes and I became their ball boys, chasing stray hits and feeding balls back to them between points. It was fascinating to be that close to Elton John and to observe him in a comfortable, unguarded setting. He was a quirky player, not at all athletic, but he played with a fierce intensity. (He even took a tennis pro on the road with him so he could play as he toured.)
They hit for 30 minutes; then the four of us gathered at the net. Elton and Luke shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Even though we were all standing barely a foot apart from one another, Elton never looked at me or at Barnes. He never said “thank you” or even “hello.” I’ve never felt so invisible to another human being.
It’s no coincidence that Elton brought his annual fundraiser here. Atlanta is the tennis capital of the world, and in this issue, we explore how that came to be. The evolution started in 1952 when Bitsy Grant Tennis Center was opened by the City of Atlanta. Until then, tennis was the bastion of country clubs and the elite. At Bitsy Grant, anyone could play. Public tennis centers were eventually built all over the city.
I scorned tennis for much of my life. I fully embraced the stereotype that it was a sport for spoiled, rich brats. John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors were the poster boys for everything I disliked about the game.
But my girlfriend at the time had been blunt. “You’re out of shape,” she announced one morning. “You need to exercise, so I’m going to teach you how to play tennis.” By that evening, we were standing on a neighborhood court, and she was showing me how to hit. I think I fell in love with tennis in the moment of exhilaration after I hit my first forehand winner.
She’d played doubles on her high school team and relished beating up my clumsy strokes. Then, one evening, I took a set off her. It was my first up-close experience with a tennis tantrum. I’m not sure she ever forgave me.
Tennis turned out to be her ultimate gift to me. Bitsy Grant became my second home. I hit for hours against the center’s big wall and took group lessons twice a week. I loved to sit in a rocking chair on the back porch, chatting with my tennis buds and putting together pickup doubles matches.
I developed a strong game: a heavy forehand (when I could control it), a hard first serve (when I could nail it), and quick hands at the net for volleys (when I could get the ball to clear the net). In other words, I was like most amateur players: My aspirations far exceeded my skills.
Cranky knees and ankles eventually forced me to “retire” from tennis. I still miss going out on Bitsy’s majestic clay courts and whacking a tennis ball. I miss the thrill of hitting a clean forehand winner or serving an ace into the corner. I also know that I need to find another game to get some exercise. I don’t like gyms and I can’t run. Basketball, like tennis, is no longer an option.
Plus, I need motivation. How about this? I challenge Sir Elton to a no-holds-barred three-set grudge match. Playing pickleball. See you on the court, pal.
This article appears in our April 2025 issue.
