Wendy Laird

I’ve been to Wisconsin exactly two times. The first visit was during graduate school, when a fellow journalism student who, like me, was missing skiing something fierce, planned a trip for the two of us up to Wisconsin. There’s good skiing up there, we were told by Chicagoans who didn’t know any better. So we of the Cascades and the Rockies drove two hours north from Evanston, IL to ski a “mountain” with a 200-foot elevation.

Is one of SoCal’s many attempts to gamify a thing that’s already a game a gateway to tennis paradise?

During Our Plague Year, the Sport Has Been Released From the Bonds of Performance