Has the men’s game, after a long, slow climb out of the muck and mire of the McEnroe-Connors era, reached a new summit of sportsmanship? The clay season, with its typically civilized discussions of ball marks, always highlights this for me. There will continue to be jerks, tools, tricksters, tension between players, reckless fist-pumping, stall tactics, and random acts of rage on court, such as David Ferrer nearly braining someone with his racquet in Monte Carlo. But despite those facts of life and sport, the tennis world now finds itself in what could be called the Era of the Apology.
Did you know that the men haven’t always raised their racquets in atonement after a lucky net cord fell their way? In the most famous match ever, the 1980 Wimbledon final between Borg and McEnroe, McEnroe saved a match point in the fourth-set tiebreaker with a ball that struck the loose Wimbledon net and dribbled over. Neither player did anything but put their head down and walk back to the baseline. No apology offered; none expected. (You can see it in the clip above at the 5:05 mark; commentator John Barrett, with his customary understated way of summing things up, says, “Well, surely now, there’s nothing left to happen in this tiebreaker. Everything has”—this time, for once, he was wrong.) The same was true of another legendary moment nine years later—Michael Chang’s underhand serve against Ivan Lendl at the French Open (watch it here). Lendl returned it and followed the ball to the net. Chang’s passing shot clipped the tape and popped over Lendl’s racquet. Not only did Chang not apologize, he went into a kind of raging trance, pumping his fists and walking toward his opponent. (Incidentally, speaking of sportsmanship, I’ve always been struck by the way Lendl shakes Chang’s hand after having to face his borderline-ethical antics for five sets that afternoon. Lendl looks right at him, nods, and seems to say something like, “Good match.” That could not have been easy.)
In the ensuing years it has become customary, when you hit a net-cord winner, to show that you recognize that you got a lucky break. To not do so now is almost a declaration of on-court war, that you’re willing to forego the niceties of the game. Whether this is logical is another story. In my high school days, I once screamed about how the tape kept robbing me by making my shots bounce back onto my side. My opponent shouted across the net, “It’s a big court!” His point was, I hit the ball to that spot, not the tape, and I obviously could control the situation by making sure the ball cleared the net. Granted, when you hit a winner on a net cord, it’s not something that you meant to do—it would be called “slop” in pool and you’d lose your turn. So an apology seems appropriate. But I don’t know about you, but when I hit a ball that clips the line for a winner, it’s not because I meant it to land in that exact spot. No one in their right mind aims for the line; but no one apologizes when they hit it, either.
I’m not arguing against the net-cord apology, or any sporting apology. I’m just curious to see how far it will go. It’s becoming more common for the pros to apologize after hitting a net cord in the middle of a point that they eventually win some other way. The implication is that this somehow distracted or hindered their opponent. I’d say this is going too far; the net is there, it’s part of the court and part of the point, and every pro has spent half his life dealing with balls that clip the tape and change trajectories. (I don’t think the women players have gotten to this point. They’re a less remorseful bunch in general—which is one reason why their fans love them.)
The mishit has also become a cause for apology. For example, in Monte Carlo, Rafael Nadal framed a forehand that floated toward the sky and landed just inside the opposite baseline. His opponent, Roger Federer, moved back as far as he could, slipped on something, and shanked his shot into the net. Nadal raised his racquet in apology. While on the surface I would say this is unnecessary, I must have internalized the same ritual over the years. Now whenever I hit a frame-shot winner in squash, I automatically raise my racquet and give my opponent a quick, “Sorry.” Many of them, after I’ve done this a couple of times, stop and say in irritation, “What are you sorry for?” I have to explain tennis’ mishit-apology concept. They just shake their heads, even more irritated by the stupidity of the idea. And it’s not like squash is a dirty game; it may be even more gentlemanly than tennis. You’re expected to call all of your out balls, double-hits, and not-ups on yourself. But I continue to make my apologies. You know why? It feels good. Not only do you win the point, you get to feel just a tiny bit righteous afterward.
The era of the apology was best exemplified to me this week in Hamburg, when Janko Tipsarevic played James Blake. In the first set, despite the fact that he was losing, Tipsarevic never failed to throw both his arms in the air after winning a lucky point: “Sorry, sorry!” was the idea. Blake did the same back, even as he was losing the second set. (I didn't see the third, but I'm assuming they didn't come to blows.) One of them, I forget which, even apologized for hitting a ball that skidded off the baseline. Is that the next frontier of atonement? If so, it also seems a step too far. I’ll refer again to tennis’ sister sport, squash. There, if you hit a ball that lands at the junction of the floor and the back wall, it often dies completely and wins you the point outright. The first time I did this, I held up my racquet. My opponent, who knew I was a novice, said, “Never apologize for perfect length.” But, being a tennis player at heart, I still do.
