While in Missouri, I tried to toss a serve on one of my dad’s old wood racquets, and well, I failed miserably. Eventually, as I got the hang of it, I noticed as the ball would hit the racquet, the sensation was completely foreign. When I brought this up to a friend who plays a lot of tennis, he directed me to this article.
I have one in Brooklyn. When it gets warmer, I’ll try to convince someone to pick one up as well. I love the idea of playing a purer, cleaner, perhaps more physically challenging game of tennis.
And as a style item, one need look no further than Diannie Keaton Hall, Woody Allen, and Jack Lemmon.