One year of Hard Court
Reflecting on one of the craziest and most memorable years of my life.
A year ago tomorrow, I sent out my first Hard Court post, eager to create a place for tennis conversations I wasn’t seeing elsewhere. I took it seriously from the jump, but envisioned it as more of a fun outlet than a total career pivot. It turns out that the old adage is true: a lot can change in a year.
On June 24th, 2025, I didn’t know a single soul in tennis. There were no strings readily available for me to pull, no calls a former boss or brother or second cousin once removed could make to help me out or acquaint me with “the right people.” One of the most common refrains throughout this wild year has been, “How the hell did you get all your sources?” and, the first time someone asked, it struck me that I hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that that was a feat, that I’d essentially made a quantum leap. I’ll happily celebrate the concrete things, like reaching X number of subscribers, but I’m not good at stepping back to notice the more formless, and often more meaningful, wins as they’re happening. My brain is stuck in auto this-could-be-better mode, not auto wow-this-is-great.
Someone recently asked me how I show up consistently and write, but I had an unsatisfying answer—right now, the ideas feel boundless, and the excitement to shape them almost incessant. I’m fully hooked. But I went through a fallow period in the years leading up to Hard Court, as physical circumstances left me dry of the life force that I believe is required in anyone who regularly creates something more than an email reply or tweet.
The medical system had betrayed me in various ways, with surgeries to fix minor pain begetting far worse pain—pain in my neck and both shoulders, pain in my low back, and, a true living nightmare, pain that loops down from my lower eyelid into my jaw and throat which, to this day, makes it hurt to talk. There were appearance changes, too—hard for any person, but particularly a woman, to stomach in a society that idolizes robots-with-the-Paris-filter. I lost my favorite pastime, which was not tennis (shame on me) but running—running every day as if it were a button I could press to feel alive. For a long time, I didn’t know how to face the world without that exhilarator, or how to make sense of who I was when I wasn’t pushing my body past its limits.
Of course, it was being pushed past its limits in other ways—very unpleasant ones, with no endorphins as a reward. I’ve always been stubbornly persistent, believing that I could will myself out of any tough situation, and I often did. But not this time—no matter how much I tried to be summa cum laude at fixing my body. Nerve damage, it turns out, is incredibly difficult to resolve and tough to learn your way out of. Medication options are limited if you’d like to think straight or remember your own name.
So, eventually, I gave up, letting the dark cloud that had been lurking for some time swallow me whole. I sunk into my couch and found solace in only one thing: watching tennis. I spent about three years watching more tennis than I’d ever watched in my life, going from casual fan to obsessive consumer. Finally, I was rewarded for my good studentry with endless matches to distract me from my own fate, the rhythms of the ball lulling me into the closest thing to peace I could find.
I played casually, and not very well, growing up, but now I was in love. I wrote about that shift in an old Substack:
In some ways, living for tennis has always been in my blood. My mom loves and knows more about tennis than anyone I’ve ever met. She’s an encyclopedia of information—rattling off details about matches, controversies, and personalities from decades ago as if they happened yesterday.
Because of her, tennis was the unofficial backdrop of my childhood. Even when I wasn’t looking, it was always there, on our TV, weaved into her old tennis tees, in the way she made Serena and Roger and Pete and Andy (both of them) central characters in the life of a girl who cared little for sports. Yes, she put me in lessons for a bit too, but going through the motions (badly, at that) was never going to hook me. I needed storytelling and emotion—and, perhaps, a rough life patch—to get sucked in.
I used to think my mom’s infatuation with the sport was odd, as she is the furthest thing from sporty. But I’ve learned that tennis offers something beyond the confines of athleticism—its intellectual catnip, a complex and beautiful game that’s ruled not just by physicality but mind games and intuition. As viewers, we’re not just watching athletes move their bodies in unbelievable ways but seeing them strategize (and attempt to regulate emotion) under immense pressure. We partake in their exuberance and their despair, releasing something from ourselves in the process.
Tennis woke me up from a shitty circumstances-induced sleep-walk, one that had me grappling quite regularly with being alive. Hard Court, and everything it’s brought with it, has removed that question entirely, reminding me that—despite the enduring challenges of my body—there is so much joy to be had in creating, discovering, and wandering down unexpected paths. There are so many wonderful and crazy (this is tennis, after all) people to meet, lifelong friendships to be formed even at the ripe old age of 35. It may take years, I’ve learned, but you can always find yourself again, even if the shape’s a little different than what you had envisioned.
In the past year, I’ve been lucky enough to break industry news, interview some of the best tennis players in the world, deep dive with brands and execs who rarely talk to press, and work on stories with some of the legends of the sport. Hard Court has been featured in (or on) The Athletic, The Wall Street Journal, Sports Illustrated, Business of Fashion, The Tennis Podcast, Served, Sports Business Journal, Bounces, Racquet Magazine, Tennis Channel, Second Serve, Puck’s Fashion People, and The Rennae Stubbs Tennis Podcast. I’ve written countless tennis-themed articles for Vogue, Vogue Business, and The Financial Times. I’ve befriended some of the best tennis journalists, agents, physios, and executives in the world and their support and guidance has been central to Hard Court’s success—you know who you are, and I owe so much to you.
But more than anything, I’ve brought together a community of some of the smartest people I’ve never met—those of you reading this—a group that’s endlessly hilarious, inquisitive, and sharp. You’ve all taught me so much, kept me motivated, and helped shape this newsletter into what it is today. Without any idea that you’ve done so, you’ve helped pull me out of a dark hole, and I’m something much more than grateful—a feeling that there’s not yet a word for. Thank you for reading, subscribing, engaging, and delighting me on a daily basis. Here’s to another year of going long on the sport we love.
Thanks for reading! If you have tennis news or tips to share, email jessica@hard-court.com. For regular updates, follow Hard Court on Instagram.
Congrats on a year! It’s one of my favorite newsletters. Here’s to the moms who found endless ways to weave tennis into childhood… the two are completely intertwined for me. Glad it helped you find your footing again 👏 and happy birthday!
Congratulations on multiple fronts! An inspiring (and well-written) review.