Last August, on a hot New York summer day, I took the 7 train out to Queens, already feeling that anticipatory electricity of another U.S. Open. As I exited the train at Mets-Willets, I strolled solo amongst the crowd making its way toward the Billie Jean King Center when I spotted a small table, with a stack of books, and a guy who's clearly no ordinary vendor.

It was Giri Nathan, hailed by many of his peers as the best writer covering tennis. Not at a bookstore event behind a podium preparing to do a reading, but literally on the boardwalk hustling his book "Changeover" like 50 Cent moving units of the “Guess Who’s Back” mixtape from the trunk of his car in 2002.

Needless to say, I copped the book on the spot, and he was gracious enough to sign it. I walked away thinking: this is the exact kind of experience I hope LOVEGAME can bring to people one day. Not an overthought corporate version of sports media, but one that embodies hustle, and an organic do-it-yourself ethos. 

Despite his access as a seasoned media professional, Nathan chose to post up on that boardwalk, in that heat. He met us where we were, understanding real connection doesn't happen through algorithms—it happens face to face, conversation by conversation, unit by unit.

So yeah, I've been wanting to read Changeover since that August day. Not just for the quality of the writing (which I knew would be impeccable) or the subject matter (which I knew would be interesting), but because the way Nathan got the book into my hands told me everything I needed to know about his approach to the game, the writing, and the culture. 

So let's talk about this book…

Giri Nathan's Changeover arrives at a perfect moment in tennis history—that bittersweet transitional period when legends fade and new champions arise. The book captures something essential about sport that transcends tennis: the inevitable, beautiful, and sometimes relentless passage of time.

Nathan, a sharp and experienced sports writer, structures his narrative around one of tennis's most fundamental concepts—the "changeover,” those brief moments between games when players sit, refuel, strategize, and prepare themselves for what comes next. It's an elegant metaphor for the book's central theme: men's tennis catching its collective breath between a faster than normal and reluctant generational shift.

For the better part of two decades, Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, and Novak Djokovic dominated men’s tennis. Their rivalries defined perhaps the sport’s greatest era and their contrasting styles and personalities gave fans respective tribes to join. Nathan captures this era with the reverence it deserves, understanding that the Big Three's greatness wasn't just about shot-making or titles, but about their ability to continually evolve and push each other to new and unprecedented heights.

However, the book's real strength lies in how Nathan navigates the arrival and impact of Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner on two generations of players. Rather than framing this as a simple replacement—he explores the psychological and cultural complexities of succession. Alcaraz, with his infectious joy and reckless shotmaking, represents the arrival of an unexpected yet thrilling champion. Sinner, more reserved but assassin-like, brings a cool efficiency that contrasts sharply with his predecessors’ intensity and Alcaraz’s capricious style.

Nathan excels at drawing out the parallels and departures between generations. Where Federer, Nadal, and Djokovic battled through an era of relative stability, Alcaraz and Sinner inherit a sport grappling with newfound conversations about the length and volume of the season, mental health awareness, and a more globally dispersed talent pool. The book doesn't shy away from examining how the new generation moves differently, trains differently, and even conceptualizes celebrity differently than their predecessors.

The tone of the book itself mirrors tennis at its best—nimble, efficient, dramatic, and complex. Nathan knows when to deploy technical analysis and when to zoom out for broader cultural commentary. He has a knack for finding the telling nuances that illuminate character and vividly paints portraits with critical match details, as he narrates the last five years of the tour.

While Alcaraz and Sinner are the main characters of the book, Nathan does a masterful job of peppering in other players who were in line to be the “next guy” until being caught up in the Alcaraz/Sinner riptide (Berrettini, Tsitsipas, Rune, Ruud, Zverev to name a few). In fact, he even dedicates an entire (and at times hilarious) chapter to Daniil Medvedev, appropriately titled “Meddy in the Middle,” which I can only hope is a reference to the classic hip hop track “Monie in the Middle.” 

“Look at a similarly timed freeze-frame of Rafael Nadal and you see a form that might have been sculpted in antiquity. Look at the one of Medvedev and you see a software engineer encouraged by his wife to pick up a hobby.”
(Quote from Changeover, Meddy in the Middle)

Medvedev, despite having had shots at Nadal and Sinner on two occasions in Melbourne, and winning the U.S. Open in 2021, hadn’t won a tournament in over two years until recently. Perhaps no one was more impacted by the arrival of Alcaraz and Sinner. 

The only real injustice for tennis fans (to no fault of Nathan’s) is timing. The Alcaraz/Sinner story is still unfolding, and we miss out on Nathan’s thoughts on what was one helluva 2025 for this rivalry (Rome, Roland Garros, Wimbledon, U.S. Open specifically). However, Changeover is a wonderful first act of what is guaranteed to be a long saga. And that's appropriate for a book about changeovers—those in-between moments that are less about endings or beginnings, but that bridge the moments in between. 

Ten to fifteen years from now, when we look back at this important transition period in men’s tennis, Changeover will be required reading. A concrete documentary, wrapped in thoughtful storytelling that provides a comprehensive review up to this moment in the game. With it, Nathan has written a history lesson — one that accepts change not as loss, but as proof that the game keeps finding new ways to begin again. 

Equally important, on that boardwalk on a hot August day in Queens, Giri Nathan wasn’t just courageously offering up his art; he was making a statement. That tennis — and by extension, tennis journalism — doesn’t have to be gatekept and doesn’t always require corporate co-signs to be marketed. It can exist removed from those barriers and presented directly to the people who love the game from the outside, over a handshake. 

Giri Nathan signed my book, “Wendell, great meeting you. Hope you dig it.” I did dig it. And if you love tennis, you’ll dig it too.

Changeover is available here.