So, about this Hong Chung tennis thing. It’s funny, you know, how you stumble into stuff. I’d been playing at the local club for ages, thinking I was pretty decent. Turns out, “decent” just meant I could hit the ball over the net, most of the time. Against the real regulars? I was just free points for them.
My Old Game Was a Mess
Honestly, I tried everything. New rackets, online courses, even those fancy sensor things that tell you how bad your swing is. Nothing clicked. My backhand was a joke, my serve was more of a polite suggestion, and my net game? Let’s just say I was great at ducking. I was getting so frustrated, almost ready to trade my racket for golf clubs, and believe me, that’s saying something.
- I watched hours of pro matches.
- I bought all the “improve your tennis in 7 days” books.
- I even tried visualizing myself as Federer. Spoiler: didn’t work.
It was just… a grind. And not the good kind. Every Saturday morning, I’d show up, get thrashed, and go home feeling like I’d wasted my time. My wife even started asking if I was actually enjoying myself. Tough question, that one.
Then I Heard About Hong Chung
One day, old mate Dave, who usually wipes the floor with me, mentioned this guy, Hong Chung. Apparently, he wasn’t your typical coach. No fancy club, no pristine courts. Just this old fella who taught in a rundown park with nets that had seen better decades. Dave said, “He’s a bit… different. But he gets results.” I was skeptical, naturally. Sounded like some tennis mystic from a movie.
But what did I have to lose, right? My game was already rock bottom. So, I got Hong Chung’s number – scrawled on a napkin, no less – and gave him a call. His English wasn’t the best, and my attempts at his language were probably worse, but we managed to set up a time.
The First “Session”
When I got there, it was… an experience. Hong Chung looked like he’d been coaching since before tennis balls were yellow. He didn’t ask me to hit a single ball for the first twenty minutes. Seriously. We just walked. Around the court. He’d point at stuff. A tree. A crack in the pavement. Muttering things. I thought, “Okay, this is where I politely make my excuses and leave.”
Then, he hands me this ancient wooden racket. Felt like a plank. And he starts showing me these… movements. Not swings. More like tai chi with a racket. Slow, deliberate. He kept tapping my elbow, my hip, saying “No, no… here. Feel.” It was all about balance and using my whole body, not just arm-wrestling the ball. He made me do these weird footwork drills, shuffling back and forth like a crab. I felt like a complete idiot.
- He didn’t care about power.
- He obsessed over my breathing.
- He made me hit the ball softly. Like, ridiculously softly.
For weeks, it was like this. Barely any actual hitting. Mostly just these strange exercises and him making tiny adjustments. My regular playing partners at the club were starting to ask if I’d given up. I was almost too embarrassed to tell them what I was doing. “Yeah, just busy,” I’d mumble.
The Breakthrough (Sort Of)
Then, one session, something just… clicked. It wasn’t a lightning bolt moment. More like a gentle nudge. I was doing one of his slow-motion forehands, and for the first time, I actually felt what he was talking about. The energy transfer from my legs, through my core, to the racket. It was effortless. The ball just… went. Cleanly. With a nice bit of spin I didn’t even try for.
Hong Chung just nodded. That was it. No big celebration. He just said, “Good. Now again. Slower.”
It’s not like I suddenly became a pro. Far from it. But my game started to change. I was more consistent. My shots had a bit more purpose. I wasn’t just flailing anymore. I actually started winning a few games against people I used to lose to 6-0. They were confused. I was confused. But it was working.
The thing with Hong Chung’s method, I reckon, is that it’s not about quick fixes. It’s about unlearning all the bad habits and building a foundation. It’s slow, sometimes frustrating, and definitely not for everyone. If you want to be smashing serves like a maniac on day one, he’s not your guy. But if you’re willing to trust the process, and look a bit silly doing crab walks, there’s something there. It’s more a philosophy of movement than just tennis coaching. Still got a long way to go, but at least I’m not thinking about those golf clubs anymore. And that, my friends, is a win in my book.
