Where's John now?

Across from our house is an 11 court tennis center build years ago when Fonatur had big hopes for this area's growth. So ambitious was the project that John McEnroe lent his name to it. I can't imagine what he'd think of it now in its state of neglect and decay. He's probably just glad he got his endorsement money. The grounds must have been beautiful long ago. Palms and eucalyptus trees surround the compound which sits against the backdrop of the Sierras. Now it looks like an archeological ruin with its decaying cobblestones walks and cracked tennis courts. Throughout, there are giant Mayan-styled statues which lend an even further air of the ancient. No one seems to be running the place although it continues to be minimally groomed, hopeful for a rebirth.

Some of the courts are playable though dusty. Our green Wilson tennis balls turn gray and when you miss a shot they hit against the crumbling rock wall knocking chips of rock and cement grout onto the court. We've been trying to help Allison learn to play. She has this great opportunity to learn, but then who to play with? I toss balls at her coaching her to swing correctly, follow-through, but mostly, don't get impatient. Then we chase them down, searching for them like easter eggs hidden in the fallen leaves along the fence-line while she complains that I didn't throw them to her nice enough. She's favoring her left hand, so it confuses me how to instruct her. Never the matter, it's just fun to be out there in the warm air goofing off, the whole place to ourselves--training at the John McEnroe Tennis Stadium. Woo hoo!