Welcome to Racquet’s inaugural dispatch of See You In Court, a regular column in which I, Melissa Kenny, a famously mediocre lifelong player, heed reader questions about tennis, be they desperate (Help! I’ve won a few matches moonballing and now I can’t stop!), desperate in a different way (Where are the hot young tennis players in my area?) or life-threatening (Is it just me or are all tennis shoes fugly?). What I’m trying to say is, AMA! Look out for prompts on Racquet’s Instagram, or make yourself known in my DMs.
First things first, though: a fodder-free tête-à-tête with myself on the topic of etiquette. Consider it some level-setting in the spirit of new beginnings. Etiquette is a good topic for narcs, you might be thinking. Not no, reader. Rule-following isn’t all that compelling. Wimbledon’s preservation of pomp and circumstance—a tightly wound hullabaloo of the whitest kind—is the least electrifying part of tennis. Until, of course, it’s met with defiance.