
Frosty: The Official Mascot of the Tennis Tactician
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- May 20, 2026
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- May 22, 2026
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ABOUT THE SERIES
I never thought I’d be an AI guy. The only Iverson I knew was Allen. When I started The Tennis Tactician, I assumed I’d be the one researching every theme, writing every article, building every playlist by hand. I figured I’d give myself a hundred hours per clinic and I’d ship maybe two a month if I was lucky. Then I stumbled into the rest of what artificial intelligence has become — by accident, while trying to build this company — and the project changed shape entirely.

As of this writing, The Tennis Tactician has 1,628 distinct themed clinics. Movies. Plays. Years. Countries. Cities. Singers. Sports teams. Holidays. Wrestlers. Zodiac signs. Scratch-off lottery tickets. Children’s books. Every state in the union. Every country on earth.
I feel like I know every single one of them personally. I’ve built a full custom playlist for every single one — twenty to forty songs each, the real ones first and Suno fills only when the real-song universe is genuinely thin. I’ve spent months learning about people and places from every recorded generation. I have felt, while building these clinics, like I was right there.
Below are the twenty-five series the catalog is organized into. There is a clinic in here for anybody — your favorite musician, the country your grandparents came from, the year you were born, the decade you wish you’d lived in, the holiday you secretly love most, the sitcom you’ve rewatched too many times to admit.
The whole point of building it this way was to make sure that when you show up for a cardio tennis hour, you’re showing up to something that is about something you actually care about.
Here they are.
1
The Lights, Camera, Action Series
The biggest series in the catalog. Every clinic is a tribute to a single band, artist, singer, or rapper — their music, their style, their story, the moments that made them. From the icons to the ones who deserved more.
2
The Silver Screen Series
The story of our most memorable movies — told through their soundtracks and a tennis hour. The best songs the film gave us, the best songs that gave it back, and the story of the film woven through the playlist while you’re on the court.
3
The Around the World Series
A full clinic for every single country on earth — no exceptions. I’ve learned more about the world in three months sitting in my apartment developing TTT than in the prior 43 years.
4
The City Lights Series
Interesting cities everywhere — their music, their history, their personality. Cities I’ll never visit, but that I now feel like I’ve been to. I feel part of their history.
5
The ’Merican History Series
As a history major, the ‘Merican History Series was a natural one. Clinics for the major events from 1492 through the present — told the way you’d want to be told a story, not the way history class did it.
6
The Grudge Match Series
Two rivals, one clinic. Pepsi vs. Coke. Ali vs. Frazier. The 1960s vs. the 1980s. Jackson Phillips vs. Lauderdale Tennis Club. Each side asserts its case through the playlist and the games, and the clinic combines into something better than either side could be alone.
7
The In the Year of Our Lord Series
One year per clinic. From 3000 BC to the modern era. Every clinic is an isolated slice of time — what was happening, what the world sounded like, what mattered most that year. Building this series opened a fire-hose of information I never expected to have.
8
The Binge Watch Series
The shows you can’t put down — the ones you’ve finished three times. A lot of them don’t come with their own music, so we built it ourselves. Original Suno songs that tell the story of an iconic episode, played while you play.
9
The 50 States Series
A clinic for every state in the union. Each one rooted in what makes that state itself — the music, the food, the famous figures, the inside jokes only people who grew up there understand.
10
The Day Job Series
Every job has a story and every job has stereotypes. Teacher. Bartender. Used car salesman. Lawyer. Mortician. Each clinic leans into the stereotypes the way the people who actually do that job lean into them — affectionately, knowingly, with a tennis racket.
11
The Holiday Slam Series
I’m a holidays guy. Every holiday in the American calendar plus some borrowed from elsewhere. Christmas season is going to be a lot of fun.
12
The Sports Moments Series
It started as actual moments and morphed into something better — tribute clinics for famous teams and famous individual athletes. The careers, the rivalries, the championships, the heartbreaks, the comebacks. Told through music and footwork.
13
The Rhythm and Groove Series
Dance styles. Dancing has never been my own forte, but building this series made me see what people can paint with nothing but their bodies and a beat. Every clinic brings that energy to the court.
14
The Standing Ovation Series
Broadway. The plays everyone knows, the ones with the soundtracks people still sing in the car. I get to spend the clinic inside The Lion King or Phantom of the Opera or Hamilton — and so does everyone who comes.
15
The Laugh Track Series
The Laugh Track Series is about… about… I’m sorry what was I talking about? Something distracted me!
16
The Tribe Series
I’m not from any of them — but the clinics in this series are some of the most visually rich, musically deep, and joyful in the catalog. The most recent series I added. I almost didn’t. I’m glad I did.
17
The Storytime Series
I am a big fan of children’s stories. One day I thought, “A single famous story will make for great lyrics for a single song, and a collection of songs will make an awesome clinic!”
I showed you how to run a better club. You shook your head,
The old woman at the desk knows best, you said,
The club lost out, Frosty’s nose is big and pink.
I tried to lead the club to water but it wouldn’t drink.
18
The Mixtape Series
A slow pitch down the middle of the plate for cardio tennis. Themed mixtapes that move all over the place — and so do you. I’m not sure that made sense.
19
The Zodiac Series
One clinic per sign. I don’t know much about astrology but I love it, and building this series taught me a lot. People who love their sign are going to love these. People who don’t believe in any of it are still going to have a good time.
20
The Time Machine Series
Decades. The 1940s. The 1980s. The 2000s. Each clinic is a deep dive into the music, the vibes, the stories, and the cultural texture of one era — laid out across a tennis hour.
21
The WWE Entrance Music Series
I have always been a wrestling fan. The moment when an entrance theme hits and a wrestler walks down the aisle is one of the most spine-tingling rituals in modern entertainment. I wanted to capture that and put it on a tennis court. Goosebumps with a racket in your hand.
22
The Voice Series
I watched this one from day one. So many remarkable voices came through the spinning chairs — contestants who became stars, contestants who deserved to. Each clinic relives one season — the coaches, the contestants, the blind auditions, the battles, the careers that took off and the ones that should have. Season 1 forward.
23
The American Idol Series
The original. American Idol changed what reality competition could be. Each clinic is one season — the audition shocks, the eliminations that broke the country’s heart, the winners, and the ones who lost but won everything anyway (Jennifer Hudson, Chris Daughtry, the list goes on). Season 1 through the modern era.
24
The Jackpot Series
A creative one. I have always been a sucker for scratch-off lottery tickets — the quarter, the silver dust, the impossible promise. Every clinic in this series awards the winners with real scratch-off tickets at various denominations, on the condition that they have to scratch them off in front of everyone so we can see whether they won.
25
The Bard Series
The smallest series in the catalog, and a labor of love. Clinics paying tribute to William Shakespeare and his most beloved plays.
TWENTY-FIVE SERIES. ONE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT CLINICS.
There is a clinic in here for you. For the friend you bring with you. For the parent you grew up watching reruns with. For the country you’ve never been to and the one you’ve never left.
I built this catalog because I wanted cardio tennis to be about something other than burning calories. Every clinic has a story. Every story has a playlist. Every playlist puts you somewhere — a Vegas casino floor in the 1960s, an Asheville bayou bar, the year 1300 BC, the soundstage of American Idol, the deck of the Titanic, a Mardi Gras parade, an Alan Jackson concert, a New York fire station on September 11, a Mozart recital in Salzburg.
Show up sweaty. Leave with a story.
FROSTY’S EXPLORATIONS
Yellowknife — The City Lights Series
Frosty pulled this Northwest Territories monster through a six-inch hole using nothing but a Skitty figure-eight, three minutes of patience, and a contempt for my participation so total she didn’t even look up when I reeled in a minnow. The locals now refer to her as “the small one.” I am told this is respectful.
Yellowknife — The City Lights Series
Frosty had a special relationship with the camels at Giza. She would ride them at sunrise, ride them at sunset, ride them at noon when the sand was so hot the locals begged her to come inside — and ride them straight past the hotel window while I was retired to the room for a nap. By day three the camel handlers were no longer asking for her ticket. By day five one of them tried to leave his wife for her. I had to step in.
Tokyo — The City Lights Series
Frosty entered the Ryōgoku Kokugikan as a research observer and somehow ended up on the dohyō across from a 340-pound yokozuna who suddenly looked very uncertain about his life choices. She won in eleven seconds. The official ruling cited an “unconventional but technically legal” hatakikomi. The yokozuna has since retired and now writes poetry. He sends her a haiku every spring.
Hamlet — The Bard Series
Frosty was originally cast as the understudy, but on opening night the lead came down with what witnesses described as “a sudden and convenient illness,” and Frosty took the stage at Elsinore in a velvet doublet she had tailored herself. Her Act V “Alas, poor Yorick” reduced the front three rows to open weeping. Critics called it “the most psychologically interior Hamlet of the decade.” The skull asked to be in her next production.
Romeo and Juliet — The Bard Series
Frosty took the lead in our Verona run after the original Juliet pulled a hamstring during a balcony rehearsal. By the third act she had so fully committed to the role that Romeo — a professional actor of twenty-two years — forgot it was a play and genuinely drank the vial. He’s fine now. He has a tattoo of her paw on his collarbone and tells the story at parties. Frosty has declined all subsequent inquiries about a sequel.
Married with Children — The Laugh Track Series
Frosty spent four days on the Bundy couch researching the lifestyle and emerged a changed cat — eating bonbons she did not pay for, watching television she did not turn on, and refusing to acknowledge Al’s existence with a contempt so authentic the showrunner asked her to stay for a second arc. She declined on the grounds that the couch had not been vacuumed since 1987 and she had standards. Peggy still texts.
AHS: Coven — The Binge Watch Series
Frosty went down to New Orleans for what was supposed to be a beignet weekend and came back the Supreme. Witnesses report she identified herself in the Seven Wonders trial on the first try, levitated higher than Cordelia, and resurrected three dead birds in the parking lot purely for emphasis. Fiona attempted a coup. Frosty looked at her once. Fiona has not been seen since. The coven now meets twice a month and the litter box is enchanted.
Breaking Bad — The Binge Watch Series
Frosty showed up to the New Mexico desert ostensibly to consult on chemistry and within forty-eight hours had renegotiated the entire distribution map, replaced two members of the cartel with cousins of hers, and convinced Walter to switch to a 99.4%-pure product because anything less was “frankly disrespectful.” She goes by Heisenkitten in certain ZIP codes. The DEA has a file. It is blank because no one will type her name out loud.
Spring Break — The Holiday Slam Series
Frosty hit Ocean Drive at midnight and the entire strip parted like the Red Sea. By 2 a.m. she had been crowned Best Body on the Beach, Best DJ at LIV, and the surprise frontwoman of a Mustang owner’s wedding band — all without consenting to participate. The shirtless guy in the back is her ex. The girls in the convertible are her entourage. The confetti was her idea. She left at 4 a.m. with both sets of car keys and would not say which car was hers. I am still looking for my flip-flops.
Kenya — The Around the World Series
Frosty arrived in the Maasai Mara on a Tuesday and by Thursday the village elders had moved her into the chief’s hut, the children were calling her Mama Simba despite the obvious species discrepancy, and the bull elephant you see here had walked four days from the Serengeti specifically to introduce himself. He kneels. She nods. This is how a treaty is made. The herd now answers to her. The local government has stopped asking questions. I sleep in the tent.
East Coast vs. West Coast — The Grudge Match Series
Frosty took both sides at the same time. The bandana cat is her West Coast persona; the crown cat is her East Coast persona; the one lying between them is Frosty refereeing herself. Both personas dropped #1 albums in the same week and squashed the beef on a single track that has since been added to the Library of Congress. She is the only artist in history with two solo platinum records released the same Tuesday. Neither persona has been seen in public since 1997, by mutual agreement.
Seinfeld — The Laugh Track Series
Frosty was supposed to be on set for forty minutes to consult on a single cold open. She is still there. By the end of week one she had sat in George’s lap so long he developed a complex about it, convinced Jerry that the bit needed “more cat, less Kramer,” and personally rewrote three episodes for “tonal precision.” Larry David has not forgiven her. The remaining cast refer to her only as “the producer.” She has never said a word.
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (Carlton Dance) — The Laugh Track Series
Frosty walked into the Banks mansion looking for a quiet weekend and ended up teaching Carlton the Carlton. He thought he’d invented it. He had not. The original choreography is hers — eight bars, two snaps, and a hip switch she calls “the felonious feline” — and she licensed it to him for the cost of one bow tie and unlimited access to the piano. Tom Jones is suing. Frosty does not return calls.
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (Lady Frosty Moves In) — The Laugh Track Series
Frosty was supposed to be Will’s plus-one for one Sunday brunch. She arrived in his arms unannounced, took one look at the Banks foyer, and immediately moved in. Uncle Phil tried to set a rule. She sat on the rule. Aunt Viv tried to negotiate. She blinked once and Aunt Viv apologized. By Tuesday Geoffrey was bringing her tea on a silver tray and addressing her as “Lady Frosty.” Hilary now follows her on Instagram for fashion tips. Carlton has filed a formal complaint with the family that has gone unread.
The Declaration of Independence — The ’Merican History Series
Frosty was originally brought in to consult on the comma placement. By the third draft she had rewritten the preamble, struck out the word “subjects,” and convinced Jefferson that “pursuit of Happiness” landed harder than his original “pursuit of Property.” Adams objected. She stared at him until he sat down. The bald eagle crashing through the window is the signal the eagle and Frosty had pre-arranged for “we’re going through with it.” Franklin wept. The rest is on display in the National Archives. The quill is hers — she just lets the country borrow it.
Breakdancing — The Rhythm and Groove Series
Frosty showed up to a Bronx cypher in 1983 and held a one-paw freeze for forty-seven minutes. The crew tried to outlast her. They could not. The guy in the tie is her lawyer (he wasn’t even invited — he just couldn’t look away). The boombox is hers; she only allows it to play the B-side. The move is called the Frosty Float and it is in the breaking encyclopedia under “physically impossible — see Frosty.” The Olympics added the sport partly so she could refuse to compete.
The 1940s — The Time Machine Series
Frosty toured with the big band as the only artist in residence with two simultaneous credits — first chair Tuba Resonance Consultant (she napped in the bell to “warm the brass”) and Floor Vibrations Quality Control (the cat at the saxophonist’s feet is also her — she has been there the whole time, do not ask). The tuba player has since retired. He says he cannot play without her weight on top. The bandleader has offered her a permanent solo. She is considering it.
Babe Ruth’s Called Shot — The Sports Moments Series
Frosty was at the plate first. October 1, 1932, Wrigley Field, Game 3 of the World Series. She pointed to center field. The crowd of 49,986 went silent. Ruth was in the on-deck circle weeping. She crushed it 460 feet into the bleachers, trotted the bases on three legs, tipped her cap to Charlie Root, and let Ruth take credit for the rest of the day because, in her words, “the kid needed it.” The footage was buried. The plaque at Cooperstown has her name in invisible ink. Read it sideways.
Secretariat — The Sports Moments Series
The 1973 Belmont Stakes. Frosty entered the race as a thoroughbred under the silks #1A — the rulebook was unclear on species — and won by thirty-one lengths in a time that still stands fifty years later. The horse you see her finishing 31 lengths behind was Secretariat. He took the credit. She let him. The little cat on the rail watching is also her — she finished the race so fast she had time to get over the fence and watch herself win. Triple Crown trophy is in her litter box. She uses it as a water dish.
The Lion King — The Standing Ovation Series
Frosty was originally cast as Simba but found the part beneath her, so she invented her own role: The Cat Who Walks the Aisle During Circle of Life. The audience was told she was symbolic. She is not. She insists on a full live procession at every performance, eight shows a week, and the giraffes have learned to time their entrance to her pace, not the other way around. Julie Taymor calls her “the only collaborator I’ve ever feared.” The role has no lines. She has won three Tonys for it.
The Three Little Pigs — The Storytime Series
Frosty volunteered to play the wolf in our community theater adaptation and committed to the role with such depth that the pigs filed an actual restraining order. By the second night she had blown the straw house down in one breath, the stick house in two, and was working on the brick house when the fire marshal intervened. The pigs you see in the window are still inside. They will not come out. They have negotiated for cable. Frosty visits on Sundays.
Jack and the Beanstalk — The Storytime Series
Frosty traded the cow for the beans. Jack still does not know this. She climbed first, negotiated with the giant directly, came back with the golden harp, the goose, and a side deal on the magic axe — none of which she mentioned to Jack. He thinks he’s the protagonist. He is not. He is the cover story. The castle is still up there. She visits on weekends. The giant calls her “ma’am.”
Goldilocks and the Three Bears — The Storytime Series
Frosty broke into the cottage, ate all three bowls of porridge — not one, all three — sat in every chair until two of them collapsed, and was found in the middle bed snoring loud enough to be heard from the next county. The bears returned to find her wearing a wig she had also stolen. Papa Bear opened his mouth to roar. She did not look up. He apologized. They now bring her groceries every Sunday and she lets them keep the cottage. The blonde curls are entirely for the camera.
65,000,000 BC — The In the Year of Our Lord Series
Frosty was the only mammal on the continent the day the asteroid was scheduled to arrive. She negotiated a private extension with the cosmos and rode out the late Cretaceous on a hand-tamed sauropod she named Brian. The T. rex you see behind me was technically her bodyguard, though he mostly followed her around hoping to be petted. I came along for the ride. The asteroid arrived three days late and slightly off-course out of professional respect. Mammals inherited the earth on her say-so.
The Attitude Era — The WWE Entrance Music Series
Frosty arrived at WrestleMania unsanctioned, without a contract, and walked straight to the ring during the main event. The Rock had his back turned for one second too long. She picked up a steel chair that weighed four times what she did, raised it above her head, and froze just long enough for the camera to catch it. The referee is not signaling a DQ — he is signaling for help. The crowd chants “FROS-TY, FROS-TY” to this day. Vince offered her a title shot. She demanded creative control. He signed.
Aries — The Zodiac Series
Frosty was born in mid-April and has been impossible to argue with since. The horns are not a costume. They grew in overnight during her ascendant. The lightning is on her payroll. She summits the mountain every spring equinox to assert dominance over the other eleven signs, who have collectively agreed to let her go first in every horoscope from now until the heat death of the universe. Capricorn tried to push back once. Capricorn no longer exists in our timeline.
Lottery Heaven — The Jackpot Series
Frosty fell asleep on a pile of scratch-off tickets thirty-four wins deep and refused to wake up until the quarter had been retired with full honors. She has redeemed seventeen of them. She will not say which seventeen, or where. The remaining tickets are unscratched on principle — she says she wants to be surprised, even though she already knows.
The Cosmic Quarter — The Jackpot Series
Frosty has a quarter she does not let anyone else touch. It has lived through 412 winning tickets, three minor casino bans, and one consensual relationship with a slot machine in Reno. The 7-Eleven clerk in the background calls her “ma’am” and rings her tickets up free because, in his words, “she’s already paid.” The cosmos owes her. The cosmos knows it.