Bodo: Justice has been done in Jannik Sinner's doping case

The hoo-ha over the resolution of Jannik Sinner’s doping case with a “convenient” three-month suspension—during which the current world no. 1 player will not miss a single Grand Slam event—was predictable. How could it not be, given that the negotiation was driven by the oxymoronic question: “What is the appropriate punishment for someone who has done nothing wrong?”

A skeptic will balk at that framing, as fellow ATP elite Stan Wawrinka did in an eight-word tweet heard round the tennis world: “I no longer believe in a clean sport.”

Read More:
• Jannik Sinner gets three-month ban in settlement of doping case
• A complete timeline of how Jannik Sinner's doping case unfolded, on and off the court
• Can anyone take the No. 1 ranking from Jannik Sinner while he's gone?

Nevertheless, this outcome is a fair one under the current rules and protocols governing anti-doping. For two facts have been undisputed since early in the process that began in March of 2024, when Sinner first tested positive for the banned substance, clostebol: Officials have remained steadfast in their judgement that Sinner bore “no fault or negligence” for the drug entering his system, and the amount of clostebol in his system was so minute that it provided no competitive advantage.

Journalist Jon Wertheim, a co-host on the Andy Roddick podcast, Served, described the amount of clostebol found in Sinner as comparable to “a grain of sand in a swimming pool.”

If anything, it was smaller.

Before we move on, though, here’s a caveat: Short of a proverbial smoking gun—or 24/7 surveillance of the players, an option that is as odious as it is impractical—it’s well-nigh impossible to prove that someone who tested positive intentionally cheated. The enormous gray area this creates is an inherent weakness, and it has made doping control an effort ruled by the concept of “plausible deniability.”

One of the major takeaways from this affair is that WADA may be out-kicking its coverage. It has a sophisticated, costly, science-forward approach to doping, yet the ability to make judgements about intentionality (or the lack thereof) ranges from difficult to impossible.

Lack of evidence for cheating certainly doesn’t mean there was none, and we all know that it’s impossible to prove a negative. But just as importantly, lack of evidence doesn’t imply, except to the most looney conspiracy theorist, that there’s been a successful cover-up.

It appears that everything in this case was done by the books. The WADA (World Anti-Doping Agency) and CAS (Court of Arbitration for Sport) rules and protocols have been followed. The occurrence of a violation demands that the bureaucracy act on it, following established guidelines. The resolution of Sinner’s case was the closest the bureaucrats could come to actually punting.

On his podcast, Roddick cleverly likened Sinner’s suspension, which—surprise, surprise—will end just in time for Sinner to play his native Italian Open in Rome, to a college kid getting suspended from school on the first day of spring break. Thus, Sinner will not miss a single Grand Slam tournament and could very well log a calendar-year Grand Slam. How about that?

However, the suspension also means that Sinner will miss four of the year’s nine prestigious (and remunerative) 'sub-Slam' Masters 1000 events, as well as at least two ATP 500 events. All told, his ranking will drop by 1,600 points, leaving the ATP throne up for grabs for either Carlos Alcaraz or Alexander Zverev—although both will have to play extremely well to unseat the champ.

The anti-doping effort in tennis is a complex mess.

The issue of tennis’ “two-tier” system, in which stars are clearly accorded preferential treatment and can muster greater resources to litigate or negotiate their way out of trouble is too complicated to unravel here. But I can’t help but think that, had Wawrinka run afoul of WADA while adamant about his innocence, he too would be hiring the best defense team. Wouldn’t you?

The anti-doping effort in tennis is a complex mess, not least because doping bureaucrats and self-protective tour administrators remain committed to the idea that there can be varying degrees of culpability when a violation occurs. Some would certainly favor a more Draconian approach, in which positive test results result in automatic suspensions—and a much-higher bar for having them reduced or eliminated.

The classic “hanging judge” can be an appealing figure—until you’re the one being judged.