onehandbh
G.O.A.T.
Tribute from Jeff Salzenstein:
Tennis lost a legend.
And I lost a friend.
John Yandell (JY) wasn’t just an innovator—he was a tennis genius.
A mentor.
A guy who saw things in the game (and in people) before they saw it themselves.
Back in the early 2000s, I was on tour, grinding, searching for an edge.
I wanted more out of my serve.
I studied every video, read everything I could get my hands on.
But nothing clicked—until I found John.
Before YouTube. Before high-speed video was everywhere.
John was ahead of the curve, capturing slow-motion footage of the best in the world—Sampras, Agassi, Philippoussis, Rusedski.
He broke down their techniques with surgical precision.
I reached out, hoping he’d analyze my serve.
Not only did he say yes, but he showed up.
Aptos Challenger, 2003.
John pulled out his camera, captured my serve with high-speed footage, and in minutes, he spotted what no coach had ever told me:
He saw two things in my serve to make it a bigger weapon.
Change my stance
Change my ball position
He showed me side-by-side why Pete Sampras, the greatest server of all time, had a better delivery than me.
His tweaks changed my serve forever.
That week, I won the Aptos Challenger with my new serve tips from JY.
Then I qualified for the U.S. Open the next month—where John, camera in hand, was right there to support me.
But John didn’t just make me a better server—he made me a better learner.
His influence went beyond technique.
He taught me:
Be smart about making changes. Small tweaks can have huge payoffs.
Keep an open mind. Growth starts with curiosity.
Find the right mentor. The right guide makes all the difference.
Study greatness. Watch, analyze, learn.
Get objective feedback. Video doesn’t lie.
John Yandell changed the way I looked at improvement—not just in tennis, but in life.
Without him, there’s no way to get to #100 in the world.
Tennis instruction transformed because of Johnny.
Tennis is better because of him. I’m better because of him.
Tennis will miss him. I miss my friend already. Rest easy, John. I love you,
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Tennis lost a legend.
And I lost a friend.
John Yandell (JY) wasn’t just an innovator—he was a tennis genius.
A mentor.
A guy who saw things in the game (and in people) before they saw it themselves.
Back in the early 2000s, I was on tour, grinding, searching for an edge.
I wanted more out of my serve.
I studied every video, read everything I could get my hands on.
But nothing clicked—until I found John.
Before YouTube. Before high-speed video was everywhere.
John was ahead of the curve, capturing slow-motion footage of the best in the world—Sampras, Agassi, Philippoussis, Rusedski.
He broke down their techniques with surgical precision.
I reached out, hoping he’d analyze my serve.
Not only did he say yes, but he showed up.
Aptos Challenger, 2003.
John pulled out his camera, captured my serve with high-speed footage, and in minutes, he spotted what no coach had ever told me:
He saw two things in my serve to make it a bigger weapon.


He showed me side-by-side why Pete Sampras, the greatest server of all time, had a better delivery than me.
His tweaks changed my serve forever.
That week, I won the Aptos Challenger with my new serve tips from JY.
Then I qualified for the U.S. Open the next month—where John, camera in hand, was right there to support me.
But John didn’t just make me a better server—he made me a better learner.
His influence went beyond technique.
He taught me:





John Yandell changed the way I looked at improvement—not just in tennis, but in life.
Without him, there’s no way to get to #100 in the world.
Tennis instruction transformed because of Johnny.
Tennis is better because of him. I’m better because of him.
Tennis will miss him. I miss my friend already. Rest easy, John. I love you,
Tennis lost a legend. And I lost a friend. John Yandell (JY) wasn’t… | Jeff Salzenstein | 63 comments
Tennis lost a legend. And I lost a friend. John Yandell (JY) wasn’t just an innovator—he was a tennis genius. A mentor. A guy who saw things in the game (and in people) before they saw it themselves. Back in the early 2000s, I was on tour, grinding, searching for an edge. I wanted more...
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