by Abigail Bures
On a sunny November morning at Nielsen Tennis Stadium, the sound hits first: the sharp pop of a clean forehand, the quick squeak of shoes on a freshly swept court, the breathy chorus of ‘Let’s go!’ echoing off the rafters. It’s the third weekend in November, the start of the Badger Classic; a tournament that is one of only two each semester. For many athletes, it unlocks the competitive spark they’ve tucked away during long stretches of optional practices.
Near court seven, Jonathan Kim stands with his racket tucked under one arm, surveying the scene. A third-season player studying computer and data sciences, he has become a quiet anchor on the team, someone who understands both the thrill and the cost of competition. Today, he looks relaxed, the way someone looks when they enjoy playing.
“This is the most fun I’ve had playing tennis because it’s a good mix of that team-friendly environment, but also there is still a competitive aspect to it,” Kim said.
Kim’s journey with tennis began when he was just four years old. His father played, and Kim followed with the earnestness of a kid who wanted to be part of something familiar. At first, the sport was simple; just movement, sunlight and the satisfying thwack of a ball hitting strings. But, sports have a way of escalating quickly.
By middle school, he was traveling around Wisconsin for tournaments, often playing singles matches that increased the weight of expectation.
“That’s the most intense I took tennis, I would say,” Kim recalls, “It was also the period of my life where I started to not like tennis cause I was getting super burnt out.”
Singles, in particular, sharpened the isolation. Without a partner to talk to in between points, Kim felt the emotional swings more intensely. He remembers the heaviness of losses long after the matches ended.
“The feeling that I got from winning a match did not outweigh the feeling I got from losing a match,” Kim said.
Katherine Wahr, a teammate of Kim’s, had a similar experience with singles.
“If you’re playing doubles, you get more team energy,” Wahr said, “(For singles) It’s just you.”
High school softened things. A chance to play doubles created an entirely different relationship with tennis — lightness, shared responsibility and a sense of bonding Kim hadn’t felt before. Practicing on a team, traveling with friends and joking around on the baseline between drills were pieces that made the sport feel communal instead of lonely.
These connections followed him into his college decision. Kim thought briefly about playing varsity tennis, but he quickly realized that the schools recruiting him didn’t align with the academic path he wanted. He chose UW–Madison instead, knowing the University’s Club Tennis Team existed but unsure how he’d fit.
Kim explained that the high school coaches understood. They knew how important balance was for him, how burnt out he had been during his most competitive years and how much he valued the idea of a traditional college experience. Club tennis seemed like the right middle ground, competitive enough to stay sharp but flexible enough to be enjoyable.
Still, arriving on campus brought a different kind of challenge. During his first semester, Kim attended practices sporadically. The team was large, and everyone already seemed to know one another.
“I wasn’t used to club tennis, and I didn’t know where I fit it,” Kim said.
Optional practices twice a week meant that attendance varied, and newer players sometimes slipped through the cracks. While Kim liked the idea of the team, he just hadn’t found his place yet.
That changed during a tournament trip to Boulder, Colorado; a turning point Kim still talks about years later.
On that trip, he felt the team’s culture in full force; late nights playing Mafia in cramped hotel rooms, laughing until the early hours and learning everyone’s quirks and senses of humor. The shift was immediate and dramatic.
Before the trip, he barely knew the names of most players. Afterward, he felt woven into the group. This mattered more than any win or loss that weekend.
“I always look forward to playing competitions, because it’s not as frequent,” Kim said. Boulder showed him that tournaments weren’t just competitive outlets, they were social ones too. They were where the team came together.
Three years and six tournaments later, Kim has grown into one of the most steadying presences on the roster. New players today don’t see the hesitant freshman who used to slip out of practices unnoticed. They see someone who understands the challenges of joining a large, competitive club and who actively works to ease the transition.
Now, when Kim notices freshmen standing along by the bleachers or hovering near the courts without a partner, he steps in without hesitation.
“Forming that group of people that are all going through this change at the same time is crucial,” Kim said. He introduces new players to one another first, letting them build early bonds, and then gradually brings them into the larger group of returning members.
Bit by bit, he helps them find the footing that took him a semester to discover.
Club tennis, unlike varsity, gives players permission to scale their commitment up or down depending on the week, the workload or the emotional bandwidth they have available. The flexibility is built into its DNA. Some players attend every practice and travel to every tournament, and others show up when they can and still feel welcome.
“You can tell that he cares about the team and the tournaments,” Wahr said.
For Kim, that range is precisely what keeps him grounded. The spacing between tournaments helps keep the sport from overwhelming him the way it once did. Optional practices ensure Kim and other players remain engaged without slipping into burnout.
Club tennis gave Kim something he didn’t know he needed: the permission to enjoy the game on his own terms.
What matters most to Kim now isn’t just the tennis itself, it’s the community. The late-night conversations in hotel hallways, the inside jokes during warmups and the way players shout encouragement from the balcony during tight matches.
From all of this, Kim wants to pass down one key thing: the understanding that club sports are a choose-your-own-adventure. Players can be laid back or fiercely competitive, or a mix of both. They can build the experience they want — one not dictated by rankings, scholarships or performance pressure.
“Overall, it’s a super fun environment,” Kim said, “Strongly recommend.”
On tournament days like the Badger Classic, when teammates circle the courts in red and white, and the air buzzes with equal parts nerves and excitement, Kim moves easily among them, laughing, cheering, encouraging. He looks nothing like a kid who drove home from tournaments weighed down by the sting of a loss.
Kim looks like a player who rediscovered the joy in a sport he once feared he’d lost, and he’s doing his best to share that joy with others.
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