It’s the noise the ball makes when it leaves the racket and the noise the racket makes when it’s swung through the air. The rhythm of a point and the sudden change in the pace, the sound of the footsteps, slipping on the surface, the sigh for a lost point or the confident encouragement for a winner. And knowing what’s happening on the court by keeping your eyes closed and just listening to the game. And then there’s the fist. And pointing for the towel and raising the racket to ask for balls when serving. The perfect elegant swing of a forehand, the force of a backhand, the beauty of a one-handed backhand, the velocity of a volley, the speed in the serve and the gaze at the place where the ball fell. The long rally that you have to follow because you have to see how the point ends. And you know them all cause you’ve seen them so many times yet they are never the same. And that moment when you hold your breath and the second you open your fist and see traces of nails in your palm, and the butterflies and the clapping and the beauty and the passion of the game. And the silence. And all things that can’t be put to words. That’s why I love tennis!