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Under bruised prairie skies in Urbana, top-tier collegiate athletes race against impending rain, slicing serves and trading volleys with a national championship on the line.
Fifteen dollars and two cents buys a half tank of gas. With that modest investment, I point my car toward the Atkins Tennis Center in Urbana, where the top-seeded North Carolina Tar Heels are slated to clash with the fourth-seeded Texas Longhorns in the semifinals of the 2022 NCAA Division I Women’s Tennis Championships.
Parking is free, but general admission carries a fee. Just as I reach into my pocket to pull out my Smile Politely press credentials, the attendant at the front gate smiles and hands me a crisp, unused ticket donated by an earlier spectator. I glance down at the printed price: fifteen dollars flat.
Love-love, I think to myself. The universe just balanced the gas ledger.
The weather forecast claims it is in the mid-sixties, but the air tells a different story. A steady 12 mph breeze cuts across South Goodwin Avenue, making short sleeves an immediate mistake. Rain has threatened central Illinois all afternoon, and the twilight sky looks swollen, gray, and heavy with water.
Given the soggy conditions, I assumed the action would be tucked safely inside the indoor facility. Walking up to the outdoor complex, I’m thrilled to find the courts alive. Balls are exploding off composite racquets, shoes are squeaking against asphalt, and the stadium floodlights cut sharply against the encroaching prairie gloom.
Unlike basketball or football, where a spectator’s attention is funneled onto a single rectangle, collegiate tennis is an exercise in panoramic awareness. Six courts stretch out along the south bank, with courts one, three, and five locked in simultaneous doubles combat.
It takes less than five minutes to realize the Longhorns brought the louder contingent. Their sideline chants are sharp and rhythmic, easily drowning out the Carolina supporters. A retiree named Greg, who traveled in from Tucson, chuckles when I point out the vocal gap. He is in town for a reunion with three former coworkers and lifelong hitting partners.
“It’s the first time I’ve been to a collegiate event, and it’s much louder than I expected,” Greg tells me between points. “The fans go crazy, but that’s the beauty of it. You’ve got families here watching their kids’ dreams unfold on the court. And the tennis is just exceptional. Truly world-class.”
Just beyond the fences, the historic University of Illinois round barns loom quietly off St. Mary’s Road, standing as silent Midwestern sentinels while two elite athletic programs trade ferocious groundstrokes. Perhaps the players sense the storm brewing on the horizon; their pace of play is relentless.
Soon, the damp chill fades into the background as the kinetic rhythm of the matches takes over. Sliced backhands skate low over the tape. Heavy topspin forehands paint the baselines. Balls that seem destined for the net miraculously clip the cord and tumble over—a physics-defying trick that never fails to mesmerize. Sharp grunts punctuate each follow-through, echoing into the dusk before a sudden roar erupts from an adjacent court where another critical break point has just been converted.
To the north, auxiliary courts host warm-up sessions. Men and women from visiting tournament teams trade casual, metronomic volleys—staying loose, killing time, and keeping their hands warm while awaiting their turn under the lights.
An hour in, doubles wrap and the competition expands across all six courts for singles play. On court four, North Carolina standout Fiona Crawley blitzes through her opening set with a commanding 6-0 sweep, pumping her fist and shouting, “Here we go, Heels!”
Her opponent, Texas’s Charlotte Chavatipon, digs in for the second set, turning the contest into a grinding baseline duel. Just as the momentum begins to tilt toward a deciding third frame, the sky opens up.
Heavy drops hit the tarmac, bringing an immediate halt to outdoor play. Opening my umbrella, I watch the mass migration unfold: players scoop up their bags, officials hustle with clipboards, and the crowd streams indoors toward the covered courts to catch the conclusion. Crawley ultimately closes out her match 6-0, 6-4—capping a remarkable run that saw her lead all of Division I with 43 singles victories on the season. Yet Texas captures the broader war, pulling off a gritty 4-2 team upset to punch their ticket to the national final.
The University of Illinois last hosted this championship back in 2013. Watching national-caliber athletes trade blows under a threatening May sky at Atkins is a potent reminder of the world-class sporting events that quietly cycle through Champaign-Urbana. Here’s hoping the NCAA tournament makes a swift return. As Greg rightly noted, it is simply magnificent tennis.
Photos by Sal Nudo.