The Brief

If you feel like everyone is talking about tennis, you're definitely not alone.

The sport has surged in popularity since the COVID-19 pandemic, when millions flocked to their local courts for some socially distanced activity.

And for many, it wasn't just a phase: According to the latest research shared by the United States Tennis Association, 1 in 12 Americans played tennis as of 2024, the highest share on record.

Even if you haven't picked up a racket, maybe you've seen — or heard the buzz about — the 2024 tennis film Challengers, or noticed an upswing in preppy "tenniscore" apparel on store shelves and social media.

Or perhaps you're watching Wimbledon, the sport's oldest and most prestigious Grand Slam. This year's tournament — which ends Sunday — has been packed with drama, from a record number of top-seed early eliminations to historic tech upgrades.

While Wimbledon's pristine grass courts, all-white competitor dress code, royal patronage and customary strawberries-and-cream snack may look much the same as they did when the tournament began back in 1877, a lot about tennis has changed along the way.

"It's a super-old, historical sport," says freelance writer and editor Julie Kliegman, who is working on a book about transgender tennis player Renée Richards. "Making sure that the modern-day game is as rich as its history and even more exciting and compelling, I think the better it is for spectators, the better it is for pros … everyone wins."

This week's installment of Word of the Week looks at the evolution of tennis — both the word and the sport.

Where did tennis come from?

An engraving of a tennis match from 1659.

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The most widely accepted theory is that the sport originated in France sometime around the 12th century and got its name from the word that players would yell before serving: "tenez," meaning to take or receive.

"The argument goes that … tenez functioned as a sort of verbal ritual, a fair warning called out by servers to their opponents before starting a point," explains Tennis.com. "By and by, English speakers picked up the game and, presumably, the utterance."

The earliest version of tennis was called jeu de paume, or "game of the palm," because no rackets were involved until the 16th century (and that was only after players tried out gloves, wooden bats, paddles with handles and so on).

The handball-esque sport was initially favored by medieval monks and knights but quickly became popular among French royalty — which is why it was typically played indoors, like in palaces.

"By the 1500s, there were apparently more than a thousand tennis courts in France already," says Kliegman. "It was meant for royalty all along, but commoners did enjoy the game as well."

That original version of tennis is still played — on indoor, asymmetrical courts (think squash) — in some parts of the world, including the U.S., where it is known as "court tennis" or "real tennis." The modern game you're probably picturing, with its grass, clay or hard courts, has a different set of rules and name altogether: "lawn tennis."

Lawn tennis arose in 18th-century Britain, where aristocrats preferred to entertain in their own backyards rather than travel to indoor courts, according to the International Tennis Federation.

"As a result, lawn tennis soon became the chosen sport of the privileged classes and immense importance was placed on proper etiquette and controlled behaviour," it explains.

Welsh inventor Walter Clopton Wingfield, then a retired British Army officer, is credited with pioneering the sport around 1873. He designed, patented and manufactured tennis equipment like nets, rackets and rubber balls. He named the sport "sphairistike," from the Greek word for "sphere," but it didn't exactly roll off the tongue.

Lawn tennis, as it quickly became known, reached the U.S. in 1874 and continued to spread around the world. But the era of tennis as we know it today wouldn't start for another century.

How has tennis changed over the years?

Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs in three straight sets in the "Battle of the Sexes" in September 1973.

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Tennis historian Joel Drucker says the single biggest change since the dawn of lawn tennis was the professionalization of the sport, which happened in 1968.

"1968 is kind of the B.C./A.D. year in the history of tennis," he explains.

Before that, only amateurs were allowed to play in prestigious tournaments like Wimbledon, and they couldn't make any money doing so — at least not legally. Professional players did exist but could compete only in separate, invitation-only events and tours.

A confluence of factors — including the rise of color TV, the climate of social change in the 1960s and decisions by governing groups like the British Lawn Tennis Association — helped usher in the "Open Era" and, importantly, the influx of prize money and corporate sponsorships.

"It changed tennis from this feudalistic environment of amateurs and clubs," Drucker says. "Now, tennis is in the marketplace. … All sorts of things changed, because then comes money."

Money, he said, allowed players to both play and take better care of themselves year-round, hiring teams of experts in areas like sports science and nutrition. It led to the creation of better facilities — for training and spectating — as well as better rackets, courts and more.

This was also a time when the sport opened up to people of different backgrounds, like women and racial minorities.

In 1968, Arthur Ashe became the first Black American man to win a U.S. Open singles title. The 1970s saw the formation of the Virginia Slims tour (which later became the Women's Tennis Association tour) and the fight for equal pay, encapsulated by Billie Jean King's victory in the "Battle of the Sexes."

All four Grand Slams have required equal prize money for men and women since 2007. And Black women like Venus and Serena Williams are credited with helping inspire a new generation of players. All kinds of people can take up and excel in tennis now, Kliegman says — a far cry from the sport's origins.

"It's seen as an inaccessible kind of country club-y sport, but I think over time it has become at least relatively more accessible," they say. "You don't actually need to be a member of a country club or royalty or anything to enjoy it anymore."

Why does tennis matter today? 

Coco Gauff of the U.S. kisses her trophy after winning the women's singles at the 2025 French Open in June.

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That doesn't mean there isn't room for improvement in tennis and its culture.

These days, many big questions tend to revolve around topics like technology — this is the first time Wimbledon is using electronic line calling instead of human judges, not without controversy — and mental health, with Japan's Naomi Osaka becoming one of the most prominent advocates not only in tennis but in all of sports.

Kliegman says it's exciting and encouraging that such conversations are happening in tennis, because it will hopefully make young people — from kids to college athletes — feel even more accepted in the sport.

"I think the more people who are interested in it, the better," they add. "And the [more] we can get those pipelines to the pros more active and more robust, the better the end product is going to be for everyone."

Just this month, Wimbledon saw a historic number of upsets in both singles draws — the first time in the Open Era that eight top 10 players went down in the opening round of a Grand Slam.

Drucker points out that it's an unusually interesting moment in pro tennis, between the retirements of legends like Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal and the emergence of new stars and potential rivalries, such as between Spain's Carlos Alcaraz and Italy's Jannik Sinner.

It's an especially exciting time to be a U.S. fan: The first two Grand Slam women's singles titles of 2025 both went to Americans, Madison Keys and Coco Gauff. And while there are a number of top-seeded American men, one hasn't won a Grand Slam singles title since 2003.

Many of the biggest names on the tennis circuit will soon bring their talents stateside. The Mubadala Citi DC Open comes to the nation's capital in late July, and the U.S. Open — the last Grand Slam of the year — arrives in New York in late August.

Santa Ana’s Ayuda Sin Fronteras — a fund to support immigrant families affected by ICE sweeps — could more than double with an additional $150,000 influx of city dollars if approved by the City Council Tuesday night.

The federal immigration sweeps have increased fear among immigrant families, prompting some to avoid workplaces and other public areas. The fund goes toward helping those families pay for up to one month’s worth of housing expenses, including past due rent and utility bills.

The program was created in July following heavy immigration enforcement that rattled many communities in Southern California, including Orange County’s only sanctuary city — Santa Ana.

When it launched, the city approved an initial $100,000 for housing assistance. In October, the City Council directed the city manager to seek additional funding for approval. Those funds were pulled from several city department employee vacancies, including the city attorney’s office, the Santa Ana Police Department and others.

Ayuda Sin Fronteras has supported 232 residents as of Oct. 21, according to city officials.

Mayor Valerie Amezcua said she will revisit the fund as much as possible to make sure the city is doing all it can to support community members affected by immigration enforcement.

“We need to make sure that we take good care of our community because there is a need,” Amezcua told LAist. “There's a need for rental assistance, for food, for utilities. As the mayor and council, we're committed to helping out our community.”

Who qualifies? 

The funds are reserved for Santa Ana families with members who have been detained, deported or financially hurt by immigration enforcement. Families will need to provide proof of immigration enforcement activity or a signed third-party verification form.

The program requires identification of all household members, but the city says it does not require proof of citizenship.

Applicants need to be renters at or below moderate income. A family of five, for example, needs to make no more than $177,000 a year. The city’s income chart can be found here.

Other help is available 

In Orange County, Supervisor Vicente Sarmiento created the Orange County Liberty Fund in partnership with community organizations, bringing together $1.5 million to support immigrant families in navigating the legal system.

In September, the Costa Mesa City Council launched a $200,000 immigrant legal defense fund to help those detained by ICE within the city.

Outside Orange County, the cities of Los Angeles and Long Beach, along with L.A. County, have asked for support from local philanthropists to donate to immigrant support funds.

After Los Angeles moved to significantly lower yearly increases in most of the city’s apartments, some City Council members now want to change the rules again. This time, they’re hoping to give small landlords the ability to raise rents more than their corporate counterparts.

On Tuesday, the council is scheduled to vote on a proposal that would let small landlords — those who own 10 units or fewer — raise rents by an additional 1% each year. The idea was put forward by Councilmembers John Lee and Monica Rodriguez.

“This modest adjustment recognizes the difference between a family that owns a few units and a large corporate operator,” Lee said in a statement to LAist. “Our goal is to keep small landlords in the system and prevent the loss of rent-controlled homes.”

While the idea is gaining support from landlord groups, tenant advocates say the proposal would create a cumbersome and unfair, two-tier system in which some renters have to pay more than others.

The changes coming for LA rent control 

In a culmination of years of debate, the City Council voted last month to lower the maximum allowable rent increase in the city’s rent-controlled housing to 4% per year. That’s down from the previous maximum of 10%.

Lee, whose district includes the northwest San Fernando Valley, voted against the changes after expressing concern about how the lower increases would affect the bottom line of small rental property owners. Rodriguez, whose district includes the northeast San Fernando Valley, supported the changes, but said more should be done to keep “mom-and-pop” landlords afloat.

“The motion proposes a modest adjustment to help ensure these small landlords remain viable, rather than being pushed out and accelerating the further corporatization of housing in Los Angeles,” Rodriguez said in a statement to LAist.

Landlord groups said the proposed 1% increase could help at the margins, but small landlords would still have to contend with insurance premiums and maintenance costs that have been rising faster than overall economic inflation.

“Throwing a bone in the form of an additional 1% to smaller owners is necessary but will be insufficient to keep many owners in the housing business,” Daniel Yukelson, executive director of the Apartment Association of Greater Los Angeles, said in an email. “More and more, owners are being forced to look for the exit ramp in the city of Los Angeles.”

Do small landlords really have it harder?

But researchers paid to investigate the issue have not found evidence that small landlords face stronger headwinds than corporate owners. A city-commissioned report by the Economic Roundtable, an independent research nonprofit, found no significant differences between the financial health of small and large landlord operations in L.A.

“The study found that, in general, small landlords are not suffering greater distress,” Anna Ortega, who is with the city’s Housing Department, said during a recent City Council meeting.

Tenant advocates with the group Keep L.A. Housed opposed the 1% bump for small landlords, saying it would be unfair to charge some tenants more every year simply because they’re renting from a non-corporate owner. The coalition also said enforcing the rules would be difficult.

“Allowing small landlords to self-certify creates the opportunity for abuse, as some will fraudulently claim the status and charge incorrect (and potentially illegal) rent increases to already rent-burdened tenants,” said Pablo Estupiñan, a Keep L.A. Housed member and an organizer with the nonprofit Strategic Actions for a Just Economy.

The rules in LA and beyond

The city’s rent control rules generally apply to rental units built before October 1978, though some newly built apartments are covered as well. About 70% of the city’s apartments are subject to the rent hike caps.

Some other Southern California jurisdictions with rent control allow small landlords to increase rents more than larger owners.

L.A. County allows small landlords in unincorporated areas to increase rents an extra 1%. The city of Inglewood allows owners of buildings with four apartments or fewer to increase rents by an extra 5% compared with owners of buildings with five or more units.

Los Angeles’ regional homelessness agency is working to find ways to keep thousands of people in their homes, while complying with new federal funding restrictions on permanent housing.

The governing board for the L.A. Homeless Services Authority voted Monday to start the process of reallocating about $130 million in federal funding currently being spent on permanent housing to other projects meant to serve unhoused Angelenos.

Because of new funding restrictions from the U.S. Office of Housing and Urban Development, known as HUD, about 5,000 households in the county will lose their rental subsidies, according to several LAHSA officials who spoke at a commission meeting Monday.

Those changes, along with state and county funding shortfalls for homeless services, threaten to drastically worsen the region’s homelessness crisis, they said.

"The fact of the matter is there’s going to be a tremendous and terrible impact on people, on agencies, on landlords,” said Nathaniel VerGow, LAHSA’s chief program officer.

Officials said they’re scrambling to maximize federal funding under the new guidelines while also advocating against the new HUD policy.

“It is a cliff and it feels catastrophic, but I think it forces us as a region to figure out how to save ourselves,” LAHSA Commission Chair Amber Sheikh said.

The funding challenge

Most federal homelessness dollars flow into the L.A. region through the Continuum of Care program, managed by HUD.

The Los Angeles region is eligible for more than $260 million in federal funding under that program in the coming fiscal year, including $217 million for existing projects.

But no more than 30% of those funds can go toward permanent housing projects, according to a “notice of funding opportunity” HUD issued last month.

That’s a challenge for L.A. County, because 90% of regional HUD funds currently cover people’s rent, according to LASHA officials.

Instead, L.A. and other cities and counties must spend the bulk of their federal funds on other interventions, including transitional housing and street outreach.

HUD officials have said the policy is meant to encourage self-sufficiency.

At Monday’s meeting, Commissioner Justin Szlasa urged his colleagues to consider larger funding trends.

“ There's actually a 23% increase in available funding from HUD, the federal government,” he said. “It just doesn't work with the way that we normally have done things here.”

“We need to find, in this crisis, a way to be constructive about this,” Szlasa added.

HUD policy changes

HUD released its new notice of funding opportunity last month and rescinded a previous two-year funding agreement.

Opponents have concerns with the federal housing department’s move away from “housing first” approaches. They also said HUD rolled out the changes without providing enough time to prepare service providers and clients for disruptions.

Last week, 21 states, including California, sued HUD, claiming the new federal policies “essentially guarantee that tens of thousands of formerly homeless individuals and families will be evicted back into homelessness.”

This week, a group of cities and homelessness organizations also sued over the changes. Plaintiffs include the city and county of San Francisco. The Continuum of Care for San Francisco was awarded $56 million in federal funding for Fiscal Year 2024.

Approximately 91% of that funding supports permanent housing projects, according to the complaint.

What’s next?

The LAHSA Commission voted Monday to approve its request for applications for existing and new projects.

Providers must submit applications to LAHSA over the next two weeks, and LAHSA has until Jan. 14 to craft and submit a new application to HUD.

The agency is now talking with 130 contractors about the transition.

LAHSA is also working with some permanent supportive housing providers to convert their programs to transitional housing instead, officials said.

People who were in permanent housing projects aren’t eligible for transitional housing under HUD’s guidelines because they're not considered unhoused, VerGow said.

The commission also reviewed a policy for ranking project applications and prioritizing them for federal funding. Officials said that policy has to be approved at a LAHSA Commission subcommittee on Dec. 10.

Funds are expected to be awarded in May 2026.

LOS ANGELES — As the season of Advent begins, many Christians turn toward quiet reflection and preparation for Christmas. But in several Southern California congregations with large immigrant communities, that sacred anticipation is shadowed by a looming sense of fear.

For worshippers like Mike, an Iranian asylum-seeker who attends a West Los Angeles church, the weeks leading up to Christmas feel less like a spiritual refuge and more like a time of apprehension. He asked that only the anglicized version of his Farsi name be used because he fears speaking publicly could affect his immigration case. He fled Iran after converting to Christianity.

"I kept this secret, my faith as a secret, for like 12 years," he said.

Mike arrived in Los Angeles 18 months ago and says he has tried to build a life rooted in community and respect for his new home. But a series of immigration enforcement actions in the region — including the June arrests of two men outside a nearby church with a large Iranian membership — has shaken him.

"Even church is not safe because it's a public place," he said. "They can get there and catch you."

The Department of Homeland Security says enforcement actions at churches require secondary approval and are expected to be rare. Still, the concern is real inside Mike's congregation, where church leaders asked that the name of the church not be published.

A significant number of Iranian parishioners worship there, and the pastor often invites them to pray in Farsi during services. Lately, fewer take her up on the offer.

"It's part of the heartbreak of these days," the pastor said. "They feel like they have to be apprehensive about it — not even wanting to speak in their own language here."

She said the fear is especially painful during Advent, a season she describes as a time to prepare to "give thanks for this God we have who wants to be with us."

Room at the inn, despite fears

East of Los Angeles, at Baldwin Park United Methodist Church, Pastor Toña Rios unzips a red tent pitched in the middle of the sanctuary. For years, the church took in newly arrived immigrants, providing a place to sleep while they looked for work and housing.

The tent remains as a reminder of that welcome — and of the fears many congregants now carry. Rios estimates that about 80% of her church members are immigrants and says many don't have legal status.

"A lot of them say, 'Don't open the door. Just close the door,'" she said.

Rios urges a different posture, especially during Advent. She uses the tent to help her congregation imagine being the ones who offer shelter, not shut others out.

"It is very hard," she said. "But Jesus is going to be born in our heart. That's why we need to be prepared."

For longtime church member Royi Lopez, the sense of vulnerability goes beyond immigration status. Lopez is a U.S. citizen but says she often feels targeted because she is Latina. Many of her relatives are undocumented, and she worries constantly about them.

"What if on my way to church, they catch us?" she said. "On a daily basis, we're scared of going to the school, to work, to church, to even the grocery store."

Lopez says that during Advent, these fears remind her of the Christmas story itself — of Mary and Joseph searching for somewhere to stay, turned away again and again until somebody finally took them in.

"Even though so many doors were closed, somebody opened a door," she said.

That theme of welcome runs through the hymn chosen for every Sunday of Advent at Baldwin Park United Methodist Church, "All Earth is Hopeful." Its lyrics speak of a world longing for liberation, where people labor to "see how God's truth and justice set everybody free."
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