Loneliness in Professional Singles Tennis
Is there a lonelier sport than professional singles tennis? I mean, really, think about it.
In boxing, there are corners where fighters converse between rounds. Golfers have caddies for support. Even in gymnastics, coaches can step in and communicate during team competitions. Figure skating might seem solitary, but those moments apart don’t last long.
Traditionally, tennis players didn’t have anyone to talk to while on the court. It was expected that they would play in silence, without speaking to each other or even the referees—unless it was a serious matter. Players would endure matches lasting hours under intense sunlight or humidity, dealing with pressure and the ups and downs of Grand Slam tournaments. All of this—without a peep. Ball kids are barely noticed, and with technology like Hawkeye, even the linesmen fade into the background. It’s simply you, your opponent, and a referee who sometimes shushes the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen…please.”
That all started to change recently, with off-court coaching being approved. Remember when Serena Williams was upset about being accused of coaching during the 2018 US Open? That stirred things up, especially as it happened before Naomi Osaka’s surprising victory. Now, players can consult their coaches, who watch from the stands, and it’s pretty common to see them make gestures or say something after points. I sometimes wonder what they say. Maybe it’s something motivational like “You got this!” or “Keep going!” Though, honestly, tactical advice like “She can’t handle cross-court volleys, so up your net game” probably isn’t going to be audible for the player.
But, in reality, U.S. Open tennis isn’t nearly as isolating as it might seem. I’ve been attending tournaments since I was five, and even during the toughest matches, the players are never truly alone. The crowds at Arthur Ashe Stadium, the largest venue in tennis, are vibrant and vocal, rallying for players they may have never heard of. I recall Novak Djokovic demanding more energy from the crowd while saving three match points against Roger Federer in a semifinal I was at. He pulled through and won in spectacular fashion.
Marathon running might be the only other sport that comes close to that level of solitude. On TV, it sometimes looks like the leaders get so far ahead that there’s no one else in sight. But they still have cheering spectators lining the route. Similarly, U.S. Open fans aren’t just passive observers; they’re there to support.
Tennis is peculiar in how spectators engage. There’s this unwritten rule about being quiet during serves—no noise allowed. My feelings on this are a bit mixed. While there’s a structure that promotes crowd participation, it can lead to some breaches of etiquette. Occasionally, enthusiastic fans might yell during serves or cheer too loudly, trying to disrupt the opponent. In less regulated settings, these distractions can get quite wild.
And unless it’s an American player competing, the crowd often shifts loyalties, backing whoever seems likely to win. Sometimes the underdog surprises everyone with their tenacity. Other times, the top players dominate and decisively take control. It can really swing either way.
Yes, there are moments when tennis feels lonely, but savvy players understand that this isn’t the whole picture. They can thrive at the U.S. Open. With a Honey Deuce in hand, the New York crowd can create this oddly communal experience despite the inherent separations within the sport. Every match concludes with a handshake over the net, followed by the winner tossing an autographed ball to the fans. Who says sports are devoid of romance?
