Themed Cardio Tennis Clinics in the Fort Lauderdale Area
Thirty litres: two racquets padded in a berth of their own, two mains, two flank stashes, an accessory pouch, a laptop slot, and a pale lining so items stay findable. Lusaka is the route, and yes, I have brought water for everybody.
Babolat Court Hero Tennis Bag: I set the bag by the bronze man snapping the chains at his wrists, then immediately checked whether I had backup grips, backup water, and backup backups. Freedom is inspiring, but so is knowing I packed enough snacks for a small doubles tournament.
Babolat Court Hero Tennis Bag: The Lusaka National Museum has a wall of contemporary Zambian painting, which made me worry I should have brought a separate compartment just for cultural sensitivity and emergency granola. Luckily, this bag looks calmer than I feel.
Babolat Court Hero Tennis Bag: At Kabwata Cultural Village, carvers work malachite and hardwood in the open air, so naturally I wondered if I had packed enough hand wipes, spare socks, and respectful distance. Would anyone like a snack while I inventory the side pocket?
Babolat Court Hero Tennis Bag: The Cathedral of the Holy Cross has that long copper roof turned green above Cairo Road, and I instantly regretted not packing a tiny weather station. If the roof is prepared for oxidation, I can at least be prepared with three towels and trail mix.
Right — before anything else, capacity, because that is what everyone gets wrong. Thirty litres. Two racquets, protected, in their own compartment on one side. Two main compartments on the other. Two side pockets. One zippered accessory pocket. And a dedicated laptop compartment. I have counted them twice and I will count them again for you at the car.
The body is 100% recycled polyester, and the exterior, the canvas and the lining are all recycled through — which matters here for a boring reason: recycled polyester is what gives it the scuff resistance to survive being put down on wet concrete, which is the actual life of a tennis bag. It measures 9.5 by 11.5 by 19.7 inches.
One grab handle, two shoulder straps, so it carries as a backpack and not as a problem. The lining is pale rather than black, and I want to make a case for that: a dark lining is where a car key goes to disappear at 7am, and you will not find it, and you will miss the start.
One of the main compartments is where the shoes live — keep them separate from everything, always, no exceptions, I do not want to argue about this. It comes in Navy Blue, in Burgundy with Black, or in plain Black.
The Freedom Statue on Independence Avenue first: a bronze man snapping the chains at his wrists, modelled on a photograph from a real protest — one man, one moment, cast in metal. The Lusaka National Museum next, and go upstairs for the wall of contemporary Zambian painting, which is what people remember and never expect.
Lusaka, then, and I have brought water for everyone.
Kabwata Cultural Village after that, rondavels where carvers work malachite and hardwood out in the open air, and I always bring a spare bag for what I inevitably buy there. Then the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, its long copper roof gone green above Cairo Road, which is the easiest landmark in the city to find and therefore the one I use when somebody wanders off.
“Take the spare bag to Kabwata. You will not listen, and then you will need it.”
Thirty litres. Two racquets. A laptop. Snacks. You are covered.
