NEW BRAUNFELS — Sports fantasy camps come in all varieties, from major-league baseball to NASCAR racing and rodeo. For a tennis buff like myself, though, it would be hard to surpass a week at John Newcombe’s Tennis Fantasies Camp, which I attended in October.

My final morning there — after four days of practice sessions, team matches, clinics, communal meals, and romps down memory lane by some of the game’s greatest living champions — went like this:

Volleying drills with Marty Riessen (two Grand Slam doubles titles). Return-of-service clinic with Newcombe (seven Grand Slam singles titles, International Tennis Hall of Fame). Backhand instruction from Roy Emerson (28 Grand Slams, ITHOF). Volleying technique with Brian Gottfried (three Grand Slams). Serving tips from Owen Davidson (10 Grand Slams, ITHOF).

Playing for my camp team, The Wankers, I’d also gotten courtside coaching from Dick Stockton (five US Davis Cup teams) and Luke Jensen (’93 French Open doubles champ), who ran out and high-fived me after I won a crucial point. My partner in a fantasy doubles match? Fred Stolle, whose Hall of Fame credentials include 19 Grand Slam titles and three Australian Davis Cup team trophies.

If this sounds like pinch-me-I-must-be-dreaming material for a player of my vintage – I grew up during the heyday of Rod Laver, Newk, Emmo, and other Aussie greats of the 1960s and ’70s — it should. Tennis fantasies do not get much dreamier than this.

Did someone mention Laver? Over a beer the night before camp broke, “Rocket’’ Rod and I swapped yarns about Bud Collins, the late Globe tennis scribe and broadcaster. At 78, Laver remains as humble as he is charismatic, an all-time great who wears his crown lightly.

This past fall marked the 29th installment of Newcombe’s camp, held at his sprawling tennis ranch 20 miles outside San Antonio. Ninety-two campers aged 40ish to 80-something showed up to play and party with the aptly named Legends. Many were returning for their 10th time or more. I went at the urging of my older brother Terry, who’d been to three previous camps himself. He and I have been playing tennis with or against one another for nearly 60 years. Joining him on a bucket-list trip like this one seemed the brotherly thing to do.

“Some of these Legends are getting up there in age,’’ Terry had advised me. “You should do this while they’re still around.’’ When we both got drafted onto Emerson’s team — Emmo turned 80 this fall — it was the icing on a very sweet cake.

Newcombe’s Legends camp takes place once a year, in mid-October, and is limited to men only. (He hosts a similar camp for men and women in March.) Typically, 70 percent to 80 percent of the campers are returnees. While not inexpensive — fees run north of $4,600 — camp charges are all-inclusive, and virtually no need goes unmet. The 250-acre ranch boasts 28 hard courts, four clay and four indoor courts, a main lodge, eight condo buildings, several standalone cottages, a swimming pool and hot tub, and more cold beer within reach than Budweiser has bottle caps.

Two principles rule. One, match play is legitimately, even fiercely competitive; players and coaches truly care which team prevails at week’s end. Two, campers enjoy nearly 24/7 access to the Legends themselves, who fly in from all over the world to participate. For retired pros like Riessen, who confessed that he rarely picks up a racquet these days other than his week in Texas, Newk’s retreat has become a fraternal reunion unlike any they get to experience the rest of the year.

Our group arrived on Sunday afternoon to register, pick up our swag bags (T-shirts, pullovers), check into rooms (Terry and I shared a spacious two-bedroom condo with a living room and courtside deck), and practice under the coaches’ watchful eyes. That night, we were drafted onto one of four teams — Wankers, Muscle Men, Dunnies, and Mongrel Kangaroos — that would play each other, round-robin style, over the next few days.

Who came? During the week I met doctors, lawyers, academics, financial advisers, tech execs, television producers, and assorted retirees. Some were extremely strong players with college team experience on their resumes. Others (like me) brought more modest games along, if not every bit as much experience and enthusiasm as the A-players. Many, myself included, opted to play doubles only, a wise move considering temperatures reached the low 90s every afternoon. Fortunately, the camp facility was amply stocked with cold drinks, towels, and a trainers’ area offering every therapeutic amenity from massage tables to strap-on ice packs.

The daily schedule was jam-packed: breakfast at 7 a.m.; at 8 o’clock, a Legends Clinic (e.g. brothers Luke and Murphy Jensen demonstrating their pre-match warmup routine); stretching and calisthenics; match play from 9 to noon; lunch, then 60-90 minutes’ rest time; team matches from 2 to 4:30 pm; and, from 4:30 to 6, another clinic or fantasy doubles match pitting one camper and Legend against a rival camper-Legend team. (Each camper got to play one such match during the week.)

Evening festivities began with a 6:30 happy hour, followed by a themed buffet dinner (Italian, Mexican, barbecue, etc.) and talk by one or more Legends. One night, Davidson and Stolle joined Newcombe and Emerson to reminisce about the golden days of Aussie tennis, a conversation liberally sprinkled with colorful anecdotes and F-bombs. On another night, Newk interviewed Laver about the latter’s Grand Slam sweep in 1969 — Laver is the only player to win two calendar Grand Slams, twice capturing the Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon, and US Open titles in the same year — and the key points and matches that propelled him to victory. It was highly entertaining stuff.

I would like to report that the Wankers, behind the clutch play of the Kahn brothers, took home this year’s team trophy. Unfortunately, close losses to the Kangaroos and Muscle Men left our team to slug it out with, and eventually tie, the third-place Dunnies.

Paired with three different partners, I personally managed a 3-3 match record for the week. No shame there. On the final day of competition, Emmo teamed Terry and myself, another bucket-list checkoff. Alas, my brother was fighting off a flu bug. We posted a 6-1, 6-4 win in the morning but by mid-afternoon, Terry was struggling physically. We lost convincingly, if not ignobly, to a much stronger duo in our second match. No shame there, either.

We departed Friday with great memories to share and stories to tell packed inside our tennis bags. These Legends may not be around to do this forever, but — g’day, mate — they still put on a camp for the ages.

For more information go to www.tennisfantasies.net. Joseph P. Kahn can be reached at josephpkahn@gmail.com.