Are you ready for our list of Tennis Puns? The ball is in your court!

Tennis Puns

It feels great to hit the ball again. It spin a long time.
Most of your players never make it out of the lower-level tournaments. I highly doubt their Futures as a professional.
The injured player wanted to congratulate the winner, but he couldn’t walkover to the other side of the court.
The classiest indoor tennis facilities serve bubble tea.
Jack has a large neck so he decided to wear a bowtie to his wedding. Otherwise, he’d end up with a tiebreak.
Two racquets started dating. Unfortunately, one was stringing the other along without any intention of tying the knot.
If you want to impress the crowd, hit overheads. Every point will be a smash hit.
I am disappointed that you are taking such a closed-stance on my footwork advice.
Ana hits a lot of floating shots that her opponents destroy for winners. We need to sitter down and have a talk.
Is it ad-out again? I’m going to hit my breaking point.
They call me Ace, because you just got served.
I got so mad at my partner hitting moonballs, I had to pusher off the court.
I like my matches like my tennis balls: Pressureless.
A man named Martin Draw was campaigning for the Senate. He printed up shirts saying “I’m with Draw” to support his campaign. The next day, he wore the shirt to a tennis tournament. When he walked up to the tournament desk, the director handed him his money back and asked him why he couldn’t play.
A hippie when his opponent disputes his calls: That’s pretty far-out, man!
I’m a baseliner and I don’t know how to volley: my game would disappear if I went to no-man’s land.
The last thing I can remember was the yellow ball speeding toward me. I swung the racquet, and then things got fuzzy.
I used to hate tennis, but ever since I’ve started winning 6-0, I love it now.
I want to play my match outdoors so I can hit the ball higher in the air. I’m not good at persuading people, so I’m going to hire a lob-byist.
What time should I book the court? Let’s shoot for around tennish.
My friend Elmer’s has gotten really good at tennis ever since he stuck to a healthier diet and went glue-ten free.
Mary didn’t miss a first serve the entire match. It was not her fault she lost.
I’d like to throw away my old can, but my pusher friend here says he loves junk balls.
I want to practice my forehand outside, but it will be wet in the morning and nice later on. So here’s the plan for today: inside-out.
The density of this concrete leads me to believe one thing: it is a hard court.
I really hate these strings. I can feel it in my gut.
I like my breakfast like my tennis grip: Continental.
Why can’t I ever win a game returning serve? Give me a break.
I tried to hit the picture cleanly over the fence, but it was framed.
I wish they’d change the scoring system, but tennis is set in its ways and doesn’t see the point.