Two New Books by Juan Garcia

Writing The Modern Tennis Coach and The Courts challenged me in ways that no certification course, leadership role, or on-court pressure ever has. I have jumped out of planes in the middle of the night. I have pushed my body through grueling physical challenges. I have built programs, led teams, and sat in boardrooms making difficult decisions. But writing these two books forced me to sit alone with my thoughts and organize decades of experience into something clear, honest, and useful. That was a different kind of discomfort.

The Modern Tennis Coach

This book came from a realization that technical knowledge alone does not build sustainable success in our profession. I entered coaching believing that if I mastered grips, swing paths, footwork patterns, and tactics, I would become a great coach. For a while, that belief carried me. But over time, I began to see the gaps.

Players didn’t just need better mechanics. They needed belief.
Parents didn’t just need information. They needed leadership.
Staff didn’t just need schedules. They needed culture and clarity.
Clubs didn’t just need programming. They needed vision.

Writing The Modern Tennis Coach forced me to articulate something I had been living but hadn’t fully defined: coaching excellence must evolve into leadership excellence. I wanted the book to serve as a guide for coaches who feel the transition happening in their careers: from technician to mentor, from instructor to leader, from employee to visionary.

The hardest part was not explaining forehands or development models. It was writing about failure. Writing about moments where I misjudged people, mishandled pressure, or had to grow up professionally. It required vulnerability. And vulnerability on paper feels permanent.

But that permanence is what makes it powerful.

The Courts

If The Modern Tennis Coach was about leadership and professional evolution, The Courts was about context, about understanding the ecosystem that shapes racquet sports in America and around the world.

Tennis, pickleball, and padel are more than games. They are social systems. They are business models. They are cultural movements. Writing The Courts required research, reflection, and honest analysis about how these sports grew, why some thrived, and where others stalled.

As someone who has worked inside clubs for decades, I’ve seen the shifts firsthand. I’ve seen tennis boom, plateau, and reinvent itself. I’ve watched pickleball lower the barrier of entry and create immediate community. I’ve studied how padel has exploded internationally through accessibility and design.

This book pushed me intellectually. I had to zoom out. Instead of focusing on one lesson or one player, I had to think about participation trends, programming philosophy, facility design, generational behavior, and industry leadership. I had to ask bigger questions:

● How do we make racquet sports more inclusive?

● How do we modernize without losing tradition?

● How do we build sustainable growth instead of short-term spikes?

Writing this book sharpened my strategic thinking. It forced me to step outside daily operations and examine the long-term health of the industry I care so deeply about.

The Common Thread

Both books share one common theme: growth through discomfort.

Writing exposed my blind spots. It made me refine my language. It made me commit to positions publicly. When you put your ideas into a book, you can’t hide behind ambiguity. You must define your standards. You must stand by your philosophy.

That process changed me.

It made me more intentional on court.
More precise in leadership.
More aware of the responsibility we carry as coaches.

It also deepened my appreciation for education. The same way continuing education credits and professional certifications stretched me over the years, writing stretched my intellectual endurance. It was like training for a marathon, except the race was clarity.

Today, when I walk into a boardroom, lead a staff meeting, mentor a young coach, or step onto the court with a player, I feel a stronger sense of alignment. The books forced me to define who I am as a professional and what I stand for.

And perhaps the most rewarding part?

Hearing from coaches who say, “I’ve felt this, but I didn’t know how to say it.”

That’s why I wrote them.

Not to showcase experience.
Not to claim authority.

But to contribute to the conversation, and to challenge coaches to evolve, just as the game continues to evolve around us.

Writing The Modern Tennis Coach and The Courts may have been the most intellectually demanding work I’ve ever done.

And without question, it has made me a better coach because of it.