Walk into any junior tennis program in the US, and you’ll witness the same soul-crushing spectacle: kids trapped on a hamster wheel, mindlessly cycling through drills while coaches bark generic cues like “bend your knees” and parents empty their wallets for private lessons that promise progress but deliver dependency. This isn’t player development—it’s a racket, where the only winners are the coaches.
Here’s a secret: Most programs aren’t designed to develop tennis players. They’re designed to create repeat customers.
Across the Atlantic, or in South America group training is a pressure cooker. Juniors battle in ruthless, game-driven sessions where competition sharpens instincts and mistakes are lessons, not failures. Private lessons? They’re like detailing a Jeep before taking it off-roading. Optional. Luxurious. Unnecessary. But in the U.S., most group clinics are glorified daycare. Coaches orchestrate drills with all the tactical depth of a coloring book. Players hit balls. Parents nod. No one improves. Then comes the pitch, smooth as a salesman’s grin: “Your kid needs privates.” Of course they do—because the group sessions are filler, not fire. This isn’t coaching.
You’ll know you’re in a predatory program when the drills have no connection with the messy reality of a tennis match. When “Great shot!” echoes like empty applause, devoid of why it worked or how to weaponize it under pressure. When coaches obsess over “form” but ignore the blood-and-guts truth that tennis isn’t about hitting pretty shots—it’s about winning.
Real development it’s forged in live points where every ball is a question and every mistake a lesson. It’s juniors clawing back from 0-40, reinventing strategies on the fly, their lungs burning as they solve problems no lesson plan could predict. Private lessons are the Band-Aid for a bullet wound. A coach who can’t develop players in groups won’t magically unlock greatness one-on-one—they’ll just charge you $150 an hour to tweak grips while your kid’s tactical IQ flatlines. Tennis isn’t a solo act. It’s a street fight where the best players aren’t the ones with the cleanest strokes—they’re the ones who adapt, improvise, and outthink.
The best academies don’t upsell privates because their group sessions are lethal. Feedback isn’t sugarcoated—it’s a scalpel. These coaches don’t fear independence—they cultivate it. They build warriors, not wallets.
Parents, ask yourself: Is your child being trained to need a coach—or to beat opponents? If it’s the former, you’re not funding a future champion. You’re paying for a subscription service to a hamster wheel. Coaches, if your group training can’t produce players without privates, you’re not a mentor. You’re a mercenary with a ball cart.
Stop buying the lie. Demand programs where kids don’t just hit balls. Where coaches don’t sell dependency. The game doesn’t need more pretty strokes. It needs more fighters.
