The Courts of New York City

In the city that hosts the United States Open, playing the sport on a regular basis can feel like an administrative and logistical boondoggle for tennis-loving New Yorkers like myself. To paraphrase one of John McEnroe’s most famous outbursts, for recreational tennis players New York City can be the “absolute pits of the world.”

My tennis-playing friends in Los Angeles talk about leisurely games on conveniently located, freshly resurfaced public courts. Of playing year-round alongside members of the creative class, prolifically tanned tennis bums and the occasional famous person.

And when I visit relatives in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., I can always reserve a beautiful green clay court in the same park where Chris Evert got her start. Or I can book a cheap lesson in a nearby retirement community, where I had the recent pleasure of being throttled by the country’s top-ranked 45-and-older woman player.

Things are not so simple in New York, where competition for time slots is fierce, the courts are neglected and there are far too many people trying to game the New York City Department of Parks & Recreation’s idiosyncratic public court system.

There are more than 500 public tennis courts in the city, including some really nice ones. Each of them has its own story to tell. What follows are some of mine.

Washington Market Park

This little-known court in TriBeCa is my local. Tucked under the Tribeca Bridge at Chambers Street and the West Side Highway, the court is booked via a sign-up sheet that goes up in the park at a time of the morning before I am generally awake.

Competition for time slots is fierce, and certain locals always seem to be on the same schedule and one step ahead of you (I’m looking at you, Rita). The park ranger in charge of the list told me he recently had the sign-up sheet crumpled up and thrown in his face by a frustrated player. The park ranger told me he is “a black belt in verbal karate” but isn’t allowed to direct his skills toward the local tennis-playing community per the guidelines set forth during the five days of conflict resolution training he is required to take as a parks department employee.

John V. Lindsay East River Park

I’ve always had a soft spot for this park, though its 12 hard courts at the Brian Watkins Tennis Center are cracked and slippery and the nets are threadbare. The park’s tennis community is robust and some pretty good players frequent it.

A few years ago, I called the number for court conditions around 1 a.m. and a man not officially associated with the courts or the parks department answered what I believe was his home landline. He directed me to a URL that linked to a 40-odd page document, formatted like a legal brief, describing everything from hours of operation and directions to the courts to descriptions of the various tennis strokes and ancient history of the game itself. (His number has since been removed from the park’s website.)

Somehow it’s apt that the park is named for a mayor perhaps best remembered for presiding over a public transit strike. The courts are nestled under the Williamsburg Bridge, and playing there generally requires tuning out traffic on Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive, the bridge, the E and M trains on the bridge, helicopters, seaplanes and, during a recent game, a jackhammer. The cacophony and lousy courts notwithstanding, nowhere else do I feel more like I am winning my battle with the concrete jungle.

Fort Greene Park

As often as I can, I head over the Brooklyn Bridge for a game here, home to a bucolic set of six tennis courts. Like most hard courts in the city, Fort Greene’s are not in amazing shape (whole sections near the baseline of several courts have eroded) and the trees that surround them tend to rain debris behind the baselines. There’s a thriving and well-organized tennis community out there, though, with a ladder and yearly tournament that draws very good players.

On a recent morning I played a friend who wanted to prepare for the tournament. As we played, a man napped in a hammock strung from the fence at the back of our court to a nearby tree. A little boy began cheering me on, shouting “Go, white!” (I was wearing a white shirt) before realizing my partner was the better player and switched to, “Go, blue!” As our hour wound down, a player from the neighboring court walked past and said to her friend, “Even if you stink, it’s still fun,” which perfectly summed up my state of mind.

McCarren Park

I’m also a semiregular on these hard courts in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. In 2010, locals raised $40,000 to resurface the courts, though they still play a little fast for those of us who have lost a step or two because of advancing age. In the warm months, two of the courts can be pre-booked online; when it’s cold, a bubble goes up over all seven courts and the whole facility is managed by the McCarren Tennis Center.

I can’t play here without thinking of my first match on the courts a few years ago, when I played a friend for $100 after he wagered that he could beat me using any old wooden racket he purchased on the internet. I won the match, 7-6, but not before slipping a disk in my back and getting passed at the net by a between-the-legs shot off said wooden racket, to the delight of the crowd that had gathered to watch. I’d have gladly traded the win for that tweener to have sailed long.

Central Park Tennis Center

Because of still lingering effects of the aforementioned slipped disk, I prefer the forgiving nature of clay-court tennis, so I’ll occasionally play on one of these 26 Har-Tru courts. In a just world, this beautiful and historic facility would be the beating heart of tennis in Manhattan. But the courts aren’t terribly convenient to get to on foot, and same-day bookings need to be done in person, making spontaneous play difficult. Earlier this summer, however, I decided to take 90 minutes out of my working day to book a court for later that same evening.

Players are not required to adhere to standard operating procedure on clay and sweep the courts and brush the lines clean after their games, which I feel fosters a mercenary attitude among the tennis community. The courts also seem to be the turf of the elderly, who play doubles games that appear quite serene. Nobody is frustrated, nobody is cursing at themselves or their partners (during a recent game someone on an adjacent court shouted “son of a biscuit!” during my service motion). Their patty-cake rallies go on forever. When I’m in my 80s, I hope my games resemble theirs.

Cary Leeds Center

A friend of mine recently moved to the Bronx, and has been extolling the virtues of this tennis center in Crotona Park, South Bronx. I used a ride hailing app to get there, timing my trip so I would be at least 20 minutes early for a recent game. I nevertheless arrived 15 minutes late to find what is by far the most pristine tennis center I have encountered in the city.

Cary Leeds is a private facility — its list of patrons reads like a who’s-who of the worlds of tennis, politics and high finance — but since it is within a city park, you can use your tennis permit to book a court there. There is a spacious clubhouse and 22 hard courts, and its tennis director is the six-time doubles Grand Slam winner Liezel Huber, whom I watched put a preteen boy through his paces after my match. “I’m the last kid who beat you!” she shouted as she fed him balls, which he dutifully crushed. Despite my late arrival, my partner and I played for 90 minutes on one of two stadium courts, though as our tight set dragged on, I was secretly hoping we’d get bounced from the court.

Riverside Clay Tennis Association

My longstanding favorite place to play is on the beautiful red clay courts maintained by this 950-member nonprofit that has generally fostered a civic-minded tennis community. Civilians can play there with a parks department permit. The 10 courts sit at 96th Street, next to the Hudson River, which sparkles on sunny days. Moored sailboats bob nearby. Though windy, these are the most picturesque, well-kept courts in the city, though for some reason they don’t have the customary hash splitting the service line in half, which serious tennis players will find unnerving.

The courts have been named for the novelist Oscar Hijuelos, an Upper West Side resident who died of a heart attack while playing tennis elsewhere in 2013. A court-conditions hotline is sponsored by a local Indian restaurant, which is comforting in a way I can’t easily define. The words, “I Love Tennis” have been detailed in old, red clay-stained tennis balls stuffed into the chain link fence.