These days, American college tennis is barely that: American

Frenchman Arthur Fils—the charisma bomb—is back and looking better than ever.

There’s something wonderful about seeing “closed for the season” on a hotel’s website. They’re just four words, but they say so much: we don’t wring every penny from this property; this location has a “season;” this hotel values your experience far too much to stay open during sub-par weather. “Closed for the season” has a lot of sexy indifference to it; it makes you want to visit even more.

Racquet’s See You In Court is a regular column in which Melissa Kenny, a famously mediocre lifelong player, opines on pro tennis. She also writes Hard Hitting, a Substack about the thrills and frustrations of recreational tennis.

The soundtrack at a modern club has changed from a single note to a full symphony. You still hear the familiar ping of the strings on a tennis ball, but now it's mixed with the rhythmic thwack of pickleball and the bouncy thud of padel on the glass walls. This didn't happen because someone influential decided it should; it happened organically, driven by a new breed of athlete who refuses to be fenced in by tradition.

We contemplate an ATP tour without Stan Wawrinka, who lifted trophies and bared it all in a memorable Body Issue spread: In a room full of Pat Rafters, our See You in Court columnist Mel Kenny would still stan Stan.

Our Managing Editor Wendy Laird is on the grounds and has Dispatches from the Desert coming in on a regular basis: Today the BNP Paribas Open is over. Long live the BNP Paribas Open.

By the end of the week, it was hard to tell what felt more fragile: the schedule, the draw, the final, or the belief that sport can stay separate from the world around it.