Taylor Fritz Sees the Game Differently
Bigger, Stronger, Faster
Bigger, Stronger, Faster
Taylor Fritz sees the game differently.
Taylor Fritz sees the game differently.
By Giri Nathan
January 16, 2026
Taylor Fritz at the Japan Open, 2025. // David Bartholow
Taylor Fritz at the Japan Open, 2025. // David Bartholow
It’s the central question of the ATP season: Can any player end the Sincaraz dominance at the Slams? I don’t expect to see it happen, and if it is coming, I can’t see it happening at the Australian Open. But I do think there are a handful of players capable of playing some interesting matches along the way. One such player is Taylor Fritz, who enters as the No. 9 seed in the draw and took Alcaraz to an extremely competitive four-setter at Wimbledon last year. (He also beat Carlitos at Laver Cup, for whatever that’s worth.) On Thursday, the 28-year-old spoke to me over the phone for roughly the duration of a changeover, and since he’s one of the best commentators on the nuts and bolts of tennis, I asked him a few questions that were on my mind.
It’s hard to believe, but you’ve been a pro for a decade now. So looking at the tour in general, what have been the big technical and tactical shifts in the ATP from 2016 to 2026? What feels most different? What do you find yourself thinking about or talking about your coach with that you weren’t thinking back then?
I mean, a lot. I think I see the game a lot differently now than I did back then. I think a lot of that is just, you know, the understanding of having played for so long. I think about a lot of stuff nowadays that I didn’t think about back then, and that’s really standard stuff, like how the balls are affecting how you play, how the court speeds are different. I wasn’t thinking about that as much when I was 18, 19 years old; I would just show up and just play. And I’ve become so much more—like I just notice all those little variables and changes so much more now.
But if we’re talking specifics, really, about the game of tennis, one thing I talk about a lot nowadays is I think people’s second serves have changed so much from when I started playing. I think people used to just kick in their second serve all the time when I was younger. And I think people have gotten so much better at taking that kick serve early on the backhand, even people that have bad backhands. I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at being able to take that return early and attack it. And I think nowadays, if people don’t, if you’re not playing someone who has a massive kick serve, most people just kind of slide it into the body and keep it lower. I really think the second serve has changed a lot.
This is a personal theory, as a viewer of tennis. Over the past, you know, 15 years, I feel like the footwork has changed dramatically. And I see a lot of sliding on surfaces beyond clay, and I’m wondering if that resonates with you as well. If so, do you think there were certain players who are influential in bringing that about?
To be honest, I don’t actually know when it started. If we go back quite a while ago, sliding on hard court wasn’t a thing always, and now it is. So I can’t speak to exactly who started it and when it started, but I’d say it’s a huge part of the game nowadays. If you can’t—I think if you’re like 6’5″ or smaller, and you can’t slide on a hard court, I think you’re putting yourself at a massive disadvantage just moving-wise. You’re just so much quicker to be able to recover after that ball when you slide into it; it makes such a massive difference. And you know, I’m extremely jealous of the people that can open-stance slide on their left foot to the backhand. That’s something that I just am not able to do—a lot of players aren’t able to do it, but I’m not able to do it. And it, yeah, it’s something I’m really jealous of.
When you think about where the game is right now, where do you see things going over the next five to 10 years, over the latter half of your career?
I’d say a lot of sports are kind of moving in the direction of: bigger, stronger, faster. I think most of the time, players were more like, you have one thing but don’t have another thing. If you’re really tall, you maybe can hit the ball big and you serve big, but you’re not as fast. And nowadays it’s just like, everyone can do everything. I think there’s more complete players, people that are tall and fast and powerful, and people that are smaller can still pop a serve and crush the ball. And I think that’s kind of just the direction that it’s moving: People can kind of do everything. I think there’s a lot less holes in people’s games.
To touch on the exo that you guys are playing in Vegas, when you play a match like this, do you ever think, “Hey, I’m going to use this to work on some specific aspect of my game”? Or are you more just trying to have fun and put on a good show?
No, I mean, I’m definitely just going out there and trying to win. Especially when there’s a prize pool like there is in the Vegas event, I’m 100% going out there and trying to compete, competing and trying really hard. And that’s going to put on a good show in itself, for the crowd, which I’m excited for. And yeah, I’m, I’m there to win. I want to play it like it’s any other event.
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The Price is Tight
The Price is Tight
The Price is Tight
Where its three Slam brethren overcharge, the Australian Open gets it (somewhat) right.
Where its three Slam brethren overcharge, the Australian Open gets it (somewhat) right.
By Simon Cambers
January 15, 2026
You can't beat that Melbourne light. // Getty
You can't beat that Melbourne light. // Getty
Australian Open organizers made big noise last week when they announced that this year’s event will boast record prize money, up 16 percent from last year at a total of AUD $111.5 million ($74.5 million). That puts it second only to the US Open among the majors. Ten years ago, total prize money in Melbourne was AUD $44 million ($29.5 million).
If you have been lucky enough to visit Melbourne Park in recent years, it won’t have escaped your attention that the once poor relation of the four Slams has become a behemoth. Grow any bigger and it will soon be starting at Federation Square, right in the city.
But while the US Open peddles signature cocktails for $23 apiece, with sales of the (admittedly tasty) Honey Deuce drink alone totaling almost $17 million in 2025, the Australian Open retains a certain charm that’s unmatched in Grand Slam circles.
Prices are not cheap here, either—a beer is around AUD $16 ($11), but that’s still decent compared with the US Open, where a domestic beer in 2025 was $15 and Heineken a dollar more. Or at Wimbledon, where a Pimm’s was £12.25 ($17) last summer. But the chances are that when you enter the grounds here, you will be given sun cream and water for free, a big smile, and a tip that, should you need it, there’s a pharmacy on site. Considering that one of the main meeting and resting areas at Melbourne Park is named Heineken Square, perhaps it’s wise.
There’s no question that the four Slams are now moneymaking machines. Last year’s French Open prize money was 56.35 million euros ($64 million); at Wimbledon, it was £53.5 million ($71.6 million); and at the US Open it was $90 million, with the two singles champions receiving a record $5 million each.
Revenues are immense; in 2024, the United States Tennis Association (USTA) recorded revenue of $623 million, the vast majority coming from the US Open, while Wimbledon brought in a record £406 million ($539 million).
But the four Grand Slam nations also have a remit: to grow the game and make it accessible to everyone. That’s proving more and more difficult every year.
But the point is that Australia gets the balance right.
A grounds pass ticket (giving general access to the outside courts and some show courts) for any day in the first week in Melbourne costs from just AUD $59 ($39.50), similar to the French Open and Wimbledon, where it is around $40. Great value, no doubt. You can even get a grounds pass for the whole of week 2 from just AUD $99 ($66).
By contrast, the US Open has become almost impossibly expensive. In theory, a grounds pass there costs a similar amount if obtained in advance, but tickets are invariably snapped up in minutes, by bots or organized companies, only to reappear at vastly increased prices.
At Wimbledon, the only tickets that can be resold are “debentures.” They’re the most expensive tickets, almost a financial instrument in themselves, which can be traded on the secondary market. Otherwise, you can try your luck in the ballot or line up in the famous Wimbledon queue, with tickets available every day on the gates. The French Open’s grounds passes are available online, in advance and during the events, while Australia has a rule that says tickets can only be resold at a maximum of 10 percent above face value. In New York, however, tickets can be instantly re-advertised for sale via Ticketmaster and are often several times face value. In 2025, grounds passes were available during week 1 for $300, and people were not happy, as a glance at social media during the event proved.
Not all grounds passes are the same; at the US Open, a grounds pass gives access to some seats in Arthur Ashe Stadium, while at Wimbledon, in Paris, and in Australia, it does not give a seat on the two main show courts.
If you do happen to get a ticket, that’s just the start of what can quickly become a bank-account-emptying day out. At the 2025 US Open, their signature Grey Goose honeydew melon cocktail was on sale for $23. An incredible 738,459 of them were sold, bringing in $16.98 million, up 32 percent from the previous year.
Price increases have far outstripped inflation; in 2014, the drinks were just $14. Food prices are also sky-high; a lobster roll, which was $18 in 2010, is now $39.50, a shrimp cocktail is $25, and a beer (Heineken) is $16. Food and drink at Wimbledon are pricey, too, but in Paris you can get a galette or a signature ham baguette for less than 10 euros, while a Leffe beer was also 10 euros (once the 2 euros for the cup had been refunded).
The 2025 US Open was the last for Stacey Allaster as tournament director (former doubles player Eric Butorac takes over). At a gathering hosted by Rolex in the second week of last year’s event, Allaster outlined a host of new, costly improvements that will be carried out at the Billie Jean King Tennis Center over the next couple of years, including some more rows in the lower bowl on Arthur Ashe, which will doubtless command tasty prices.
I asked Allaster whether she or the USTA could do something about resale prices. She seemed to suggest it is beyond her control. I contacted the USTA to see what, if any, percentage they receive from resold tickets in the form of service fees or facilities fees that often appear on Ticketmaster. Though the USTA acknowledged the question, an answer has not been forthcoming.
The U.K. government announced in November that it is to ban the resale of tickets above face value for live events, including sports, although Wimbledon’s debenture tickets may be exempt—in part, it seems, because their sale helps boost the tournament’s profit, 90 percent of which is then handed to the Lawn Tennis Association to grow the sport in the U.K. In 2024, that amounted to almost £50 million.
The Slams might argue that if people are willing to pay those prices, then it’s all good. Revenues go up, players get more money, everyone’s a winner. The numbers from 2025 will no doubt buoy US Open organizers, but if tennis becomes a sport only the rich can afford to watch, then it has a problem.
But that grounds pass for week 2 in Australia is an outstanding value, including access to numerous other attractions, from music to dance. That $99 ($66) is just enough to get you a Grey Goose and a lobster roll at Flushing Meadows. It can’t be right.
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Wham, Bam, Thank You, Slam
Wham, Bam, Thank You, Slam
Wham, Bam, Thank You, Slam
The Australian Open’s 1-Point exhibition is both ecstasy and agony.
The Australian Open’s 1-Point exhibition is both ecstasy and agony.
By Owen Lewis
January 14, 2026
1-Point Slam runner up, Joanna Garland. // Getty
1-Point Slam runner up, Joanna Garland. // Getty
If anything in the main draw of the 2026 Australian Open beats the 1-Point Slam for drama, it’ll prove a wildly successful tournament.
The AO has struck gold with its exhibition, evidenced by the jump in prize money from $50,000 to $1 million in just its second year. One point deciding a match—just one point!—presents a very specific kind of gut check that is very different from an official match. Even top professionals might not pass it. Main-draw matches are their own gauntlet of nerves, but players can find solace in repetition. Miss a backhand on one point, and you’ll have a chance to right the wrong on the following point. The 1-Point Slam offers no space for mistakes. So do you take your fate into your own hands, or push the ball down the middle of the court and hope your opponent misses? On Wednesday night, plenty of high-ranked pros picked the latter option. Some of them just plain choked.
Jannik Sinner, the two-time defending champion of the Australian Open and a player as impervious to emotional vulnerability as I’ve ever seen, lost to amateur Jordan Smith when he hit a serve that fluttered weakly into the net. (Pros in the top 100 are allowed only one serve, while lower-ranked players and amateurs get two.) Carlos Alcaraz landed several forehands onto the baseline in a rally against Maria Sakkari, only to net one of his favorite drop shots. Six-time major champion Iga Swiatek beat top male pros Flavio Cobolli and Frances Tiafoe but sent a forehand way long against 71st-ranked Pedro Martinez.
Rod Laver Arena was not only sold out but truly invested in the points, which is more than quite a few official matches can say, even those with the highest stakes. Twenty-four-year-old, 117th-ranked Joanna Garland was the breakout star of the night—she outmaneuvered Alexander Zverev with a hard backhand down the line, got Nick Kyrgios to miss a return (he smashed his racquet afterward, because of course), and drew a backhand error from Donna Vekic. Even as Garland lost the final to Smith, she couldn’t stop smiling. It was incredible theater. The hosts maintained a steady stream of banter and asked players about their tactics, which was annoying at the best of times. Still, I imagine the 1-Point Slam did more to intrigue casual or previously uninterested tennis watchers than most official matches.
Unfortunately, the event also has some kinks it badly needs to work out. And they’re a bigger deal than the numerous delays between rounds and the first point kicking off 41 minutes after the scheduled start time. As the 1-Point Slam progressed past the early “matches,” with the top seeds falling, it became sickeningly clear that while players to whom the money would be transformative had a real chance of winning, several would have their dreams dashed in the space of a few moments. In those moments, the jokey, game-show-esque aesthetic of the 1-Point Slam proved woefully inadequate.
Take Martinez, who lost to Smith in the semifinals. Before he sent a tight, tight backhand down the line wide, he probably considered the million his for the taking. He was the only male professional left in the draw at that point. He is 28 years old and ranked 98th in the world, 47 spots below his career high. Though he has made more than $5 million in prize money over the course of his career—singles and doubles combined—that money has been spread out over many years. He has won just one title; the last event he played before the Australian Open was on the Challenger Tour. This would have been the best payday of his life. He had more riding on this one point than he will when he plays his first-round match at the Open or, in all likelihood, in any match he’d ever played before.
When Martinez missed that backhand, the crowd roared in support of Smith. Martinez’s cry of “NO!” was audible for no more than a split second. But you could see the anguish on his face and in the way he drew his arm back to slam his racquet into the hard court, only to reconsider at the last second. He gamely shook Smith’s hand, and that was the end of his story; he appeared on the broadcast only once more, in a replay of his reaction. I’d screwed up my schedule and had to leave the event half an hour in, but I was glad not to be there for this, because I might have had to run out. A beaming host began interviewing Smith so fast Martinez couldn’t possibly have had time to make himself scarce, or perhaps vomit. I thought briefly that the tournament suddenly had far too much in common with Squid Game.
Mind you, the money meant a lot to Smith, too. He spoke of buying a house in Sydney, and I’m thrilled that he now can. The juxtaposition with Vekic, who repeatedly plugged her line of diamonds throughout the night, was also deeply unpleasant to watch. Imagine if the money had gone to Vekic instead after that. Imagine if Garland had understandably crashed out after missing a backhand in the final, when she’d spent the earlier rounds hitting so many good ones. Worse, imagine if Alcaraz or Sinner, who’d pocketed $2 million each just this week for an exhibition in South Korea, had beaten Smith in the final. I would like to believe that they’d have let an amateur or lower-ranked pro win, but given that both have taken enormous paydays at the Six Kings exhibition in Saudi Arabia, I’m not sure they’d be able to resist chasing the cash.
The 1-Point Slam is onto something—more than something. 2008 Bill Simmons is somewhere in a parallel universe arguing that this format should replace the main draw at the majors in a column laden with pornography references. The event manages to amplify the aspirations, nerves, and drama of a tennis match and condense it into a single point. But the game-show vibes in the late rounds need to go as soon as possible. The idea may be novel and unofficial, but the hopes and dreams of the unwealthy taking part are very real. The losers deserve a format that respects their disappointment.
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Coleman Wong Makes History
Hong Kong Has a Plan
Hong Kong Has a Plan
And Coleman Wong is at the vanguard.
And Coleman Wong is at the vanguard.
By Carole Bouchard
January 9, 2025
Coleman Wong of Hong Kong during quarterfinals match against Lorenzo Musetti at the Hong Kong Open. // Getty
Coleman Wong of Hong Kong during quarterfinals match against Lorenzo Musetti at the Hong Kong Open. // Getty
Every time he steps on a court, Coleman Wong makes history for Hong Kong. That’s the beauty and the pressure of being the first. At just 21 years old, he’s been the first-ever Hong Kong native to play in the main draw of a Masters 1000 event (in Miami last year, where he defeated Ben Shelton and reached the third round). He then became the first to break into the top 200, and then the first since Paulette Moreno in 1988 to qualify for the main draw of a Grand Slam—the US Open last year, where he was also the first male Hong Konger to reach the third round at a major, in the process reaching his best ranking so far, at 128 in the world.
Wong shows that you can climb the pro tennis ranks even when coming from a place with no clear path. This week at home, he made history again by becoming the first man representing Hong Kong to reach a tour-level quarterfinal in the Open Era, thanks to his win over Gabriel Diallo. “A lot of people watch my matches, kids or adults, and I hope it can motivate them,” he told me. “For someone coming from here, it’s not easy to be an athlete because there aren’t many players in the past who have been able to compete internationally and play against top players. I hope now it will inspire them.” Against Lorenzo Musetti in the quarters, Wong looked able to pull off another upset when he broke for 3–1 in the second set, but then his lack of experience caught up with him.
The Hong Kong Open has been very well attended, with each of Wong’s matches being especially well subscribed. Locals have embraced the city’s efforts to bring the tournament back to Victoria Park, nestled amid the city’s iconic skyline. Nobody has forgotten that from 1973 to 2002, Hong Kong was once an important stop for the world’s best players. In 2024, men’s tennis returned, and then last year, women’s tennis also came down to Victoria Park for an autumn WTA tournament. The message is clear: Hong Kong wants in again.
“Hong Kong has 40 tennis clubs, and on top of that, there are [many] local sport associations,” explained Michael Cheng, president of the Hong Kong China Tennis Federation and tournament director. “There’s a very strong community spirit, league spirit, but traditionally, Hong Kong is a very conservative society where they focus more on academics. There’s not a strong professional sports culture, but that’s changing as people are starting to believe there is a path to shaping the sporting industry in Hong Kong, and also shaping Hong Kong to be a major sporting event hub.”
One can wonder how Coleman Wong found a way. His coach, James Allemby from the Rafael Nadal Academy, where Wong trains, insists on the role luck played and on Wong’s entourage. “He got into tennis by chance, because his parents, who are teachers, wanted him to get in shape. They are not from sports, so they never put pressure on him; they really listened to the coaches. He loves playing tennis and traveling, and doesn’t worry too much about other things. He likes to feel he’s constantly improving, but he doesn’t complicate things too much. He is living his dream out there.”
Gabriel Diallo, who also played doubles with Wong here, praised his progress. “He’s very explosive. He has a good arm, a good serve, takes the ball early, plays very fast, goes to the net, and moves very well. He competes well, is solid on both sides…. He’s really improving fast.”
Wong could feel overwhelmed by it all, but Allemby doesn’t worry about it. “He knows he can only control his attitude and daily effort, that bad matches still can happen, and that his average level is still not high enough.” Still, facing the reality and responsibility of his fame on home soil was a shock for Wong. “I don’t have many chances to play at home and receive so much support, so getting some wins meant a lot. But it’s not easy to play in front of the home crowd. There’s always pressure, so I’m happy I did pretty well at handling these nerves. This is something I will never forget.” If he had to reach his first ATP quarterfinal, there was no better moment. “I don’t want to do it somewhere else! I keep believing in myself, in the work I’ve put in. I’m at the same level as these players, so it’s all about whether I can believe that I can do it. It’s been very important for my game, but also for my team, to know that I belong here.”
For Allemby, Wong’s main strength is his work ethic. “He’s in constant progression, because his daily effort is very high. His patience on court has also improved, and he has more options than a year or two ago, including at the net. We focus a lot on his evolution, on the small steps that need to be taken, and don’t worry too much about the results. He’s humble, always with a smile on his face, which is a great power in a sport like tennis. He loves to learn, doesn’t set limits, and sees the bigger picture. He’ll go back to the gym and add hours on the court after a tough loss. He also realizes that he has a lot of chances to do that, and that it’s a very short career, so he needs to make the most out of it.”
Overall, Wong enjoys being the “first-ever,” but he’d love some company. How could others join? “I’ll tell them to make sure to go out and start playing matches outside of Hong Kong and start exploring, because Hong Kong is such a small place, and you need to go out and start playing against all the different players, maybe in Europe, maybe in the U.S.,” he said.
The Coleman Wong index is trading at a high in Hong Kong, potentially offering a foot in the door for many. “To get tennis to the right place here, you need a good national participation strategy, so it’s the training pace, then you aspire to having the right event. And here, it’s a tennis garden right in the middle of the town, which is the uniqueness of Hong Kong,” said Michael Cheng. “But to make it even more impactful, having a local hero really helps. And what Coleman does is groundbreaking. He’s really ramping up the tennis in Hong Kong, within the tennis community and beyond.”
As an echo, Wong has repeated this all week: “Now let’s keep going, let’s keep dreaming.” Then on Thursday he added: “I’m here to stay.” Hong Kong has a plan.
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Zizou Bergs: Drama King
Drama King
Drama King
Team competition brings out the best in Zizou Bergs.
Team competition brings out the best in Zizou Bergs.
By Giri Nathan
January 9, 2026
Zizou Bergs at the United Cup in Sydney this week. // Getty
Zizou Bergs at the United Cup in Sydney this week. // Getty
The tennis is back on, it’s as good as we remember, and your friends at The Second Serve find themselves pondering the one topic on every fan’s mind. That’s right: world No. 42 Zizou Bergs.
Ah. Perhaps you are not yet thinking about the plucky 26-year-old who wears a backward hat and was named after the great Zinedine Zidane. Well, now is as good a time as any to start. Bergs spent much of his early career on the Challenger tour—his father used to religiously wake up in the middle of the Belgian night to watch Zizou play and listen to excellent commentator Mike Cation—but he broke into the top 50 late last season. He’s got some game, and moreover, he’s a bit of an entertainer, who has shouted “Where is the party?” to rile up the Roland-Garros crowd, and has often found himself entangled in thrilling matches. That last bit is especially true when he’s representing his country. What is it about Zizou Bergs that reliably produces such absurd drama whenever he’s in a team competition? Whatever it is, it’s happening again this week at the United Cup.
The trend stretches back to February 2025. Davis Cup tie between Belgium and Chile. Zizou Bergs in a tight third set against Cristian Garin. The Belgian dipped a forehand pass to break serve for 6–5, took a celebratory hop-skip, started running, and kept running into the changeover, where, at the net post, he collided with an unsuspecting Garin. Oops. Garin fell to the ground. Bergs apologized for his reckless celebration and was issued a code violation for unsportsmanlike conduct. But Garin was infuriated by this ruling. He wanted the punishment to be more severe. In fact, so committed to this principle was Garin that he refused to start the match again. As a result, he received three consecutive code violations. The first was a warning, the second was a point penalty, and the third was a game penalty—which, unbelievably, ended the match and decided the whole tie in Belgium’s favor. Legendary scene. Garin later said that he was knocked unconscious for three seconds. Though Chile’s own team doctor disputed the unconscious part, he did conclude that the impact to Garin’s eye socket left him in no condition to play on. Chile’s Olympic committee hoped that “this shameful international incident does not go unpunished.” All this because Bergs was a little too happy to have broken serve.
That wasn’t even the craziest thing that happened to Zizou Bergs in Davis Cup last year. That honor goes to a match played nine months later, in the semifinal between Belgium and Italy. For all the flaws of latter-day Davis Cup, sometimes the atmosphere at those matches is just otherworldly, and that was true of the frenzied stadium in Bologna that day. In front of that home crowd, Bergs took on Flavio Cobolli—another player prone to playing epics, another baseline battler with superb movement. The two arrived at a third-set tiebreak. That tiebreak alone lasted 27 minutes. Bergs saved six match points, some in spectacular fashion; Cobolli saved seven. Italian teammate Matteo Berrettini was so nervous that he couldn’t watch at times, cowering under his shirt. Papa Bergs, no longer watching a Challenger live stream from afar, was huffing and puffing in the stands. It is not an exaggeration to say it was one of the best tiebreaks ever played. Cobolli took it 17–15 and tore open his shirt. A little later he would walk over to comfort a crying Bergs.
So when Bergs opened up the 2026 season representing Belgium at the United Cup, he was poised to continue this legacy of great entertainment in team competition. Thus far he has not disappointed. His very first match of the year was a three-set thriller against Zhizhen Zhang. A battle of abundant z’s, and a high-level affair that Bergs ultimately lost, 6–7, 7–6, 7–5. But Belgium continued to advance in the tournament, and he soon rebounded with two straight upsets: one over Felix Auger-Aliassime, and another over Jakub Mensik, both in straight sets. This is new territory for our hero. Before this tournament, Bergs had been 2–16 against top 20 opponents. He has started his season by winning two such matches in a row, and his team is still rolling. What else could the great Bergs accomplish this week, or indeed this season? Our editor Dave Shaftel recently pulled a signed Zizou Bergs in a pack of Topps tennis trading cards, which we can only take as an auspicious sign. May he prosper, win a dozen Slams, and boost its value.
The aforementioned Bergs pull. // Courtesy of David Shaftel
The aforementioned Bergs pull. // Courtesy of David Shaftel
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Big House Boris
Big House Boris
Big House Boris
Book Review: Inside: Winning, Losing and Starting Again
Book Review: Inside: Winning, Losing and Starting Again
By Patrick J. Sauer
Dec 18, 2025
Boris the writer. // Getty
Boris the writer. // Getty. // Getty
Consider for a moment, if you will, being Boris Becker on April 29, 2022. Historically, you are the Wimbledon Wunderkind, a member of the Tennis Hall of Fame who won six Grand Slams, 49 singles titles, an Olympic gold, and $25 million in prize money alone. Yet here you are at Wandsworth, Her Majesty’s Victorian-era prison, with a rubber-gloved guard touching and examining, as you describe, “Balls, penis, rectum. You almost laugh. Not quite, but almost. What exactly are you looking for?”
Inmate A2923EV would spend the next eight months inside two British penitentiaries. He tells the somewhat harrowing tale of his incarceration in a new memoir, Inside: Winning, Losing and Starting Again. Released in the U.K. in September, it can be found through online booksellers for the Boris Franz Becker completists on your Christmas list.
Becker’s misdeeds are convoluted and uninteresting, dumb rich-guy shit that can be traced back to his dumb rich-guy plan to sell a luxury estate in Mallorca for a vastly inflated price. It led to him declaring bankruptcy in London in 2017 and, five years later, a conviction for the financial malfeasance of hiding assets from creditors and trustees.
It’s unclear whether Becker knew specifically what was going on—at various times in Inside he comes across as both dupe and dope—but the conviction itself is interesting because it’s the ultimate self-own. Judge Deborah Taylor made it clear that a “significant aggravating factor” as to why she dropped the Boom-Boom on his head was because he skated on doing time for a previous 2002 German tax evasion conviction. She twisted the knife into Becker’s boundless ego, adding, “While I accept your humiliation as part of the proceedings, there has been no humility.”
So this is how a former No. 1-ranked player in the world ends up with some nonplussed prison guard rummaging around his undercarriage. It’s one of many killer anecdotes Becker spills in the intriguing, enlightening, and entertaining 200-page book. Too bad it’s trapped inside the tedious 338-page book that was actually published.
There are so many repetitive pontifications on both obvious things about prison life we know from movies—the food sucks; it’s boring, unless there’s fighting; playing chess kills time—and from the self-help-y pop psychology of what it all means, one wonders if Becker got paid by the word.
There are two other Inside editorial oddities that pad the book out while adding little of value. The first is the inexcusable decision to include chapter-beginning letters from Becker supporters. Here are three lines, plucked from three randos, that I would say are taken out of context, except there was no context in the first place:
“I found an interesting book called The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. He is famous for saying, ‘If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change!’”
“I have a nine-year-old pug called Boris named after you, not the Prime Minister.”
“I’ve got nothing to say really, I just want to say hello and hopefully make you smile.”
Let’s hope Becker did smile, and that the notes lifted his spirits, because they drag the prose down. As do the “Cell Dreams,” which are haphazardly placed throughout the book but, apologies for the pedanticism, should be called “Things I Happen to Remember Remembering While in Prison.” The passages aren’t dreams; they’re specific moments from his past. All the way to the granular level of Becker, as a 17-year-old in 1985, recalling a ham-and-cheese sandwich he ate before going out and beating Kevin Curren in four sets for his first Wimbledon title.
Some of these non–dream sequences are intriguing, like his utter jealousy when the hot new young “golden boy” Andre Agassi came on the scene, which might have added to his isolation had it been woven into his day-to-day life behind bars. Instead, these interludes are presented on the page as italicized set-aparts and end up becoming a distraction. (Also, discussing mental hang-ups around Agassi is a stark reminder that Inside ain’t Open.)
It’s unfortunate that the book has all this unnecessary obfuscation, because when Becker focuses on what his actual prison experience was, it’s fantastic stuff. It’s wild, at least by American jurisprudence standards, that a white-collar criminal even went to prison, let alone a nightmarish Dickensian-age stone-walled one that formerly housed “Ronnie Biggs, the Krays and Gary Glitter, Pete Doherty and Oscar Wilde.” It’s inspiring that within Wandsworth there’s an earned position, a “Listener,” for experienced, respected prisoners who “serve as link between inmates and wardens,” “your local guides” and “your guardian angel in tattoo sleeves.”
His time in prison isn’t hard compared with, say, the pedophile who gets beaten senseless by Becker’s workout buddy Baby Hulk, but it’s no country-club joke, either. At his second prison, HMP Huntercombe—an upgrade, but only by the lowest of “British prison” standards—Becker learns how to maintain his sanity in unexpected ways, including an intensive monthlong stoicism class he aces and takes to heart. This leads to a jailhouse meeting between Becker and former tennis rival Pat Cash, a fellow practitioner of the stoic arts and a member of the Aurelius Foundation, the group of ancient-Greek followers who run the prison course.
Many of the Inside details are mind-boggling in the best kind of way (especially considering a 2022 Forbes story reported Becker’s peak fortune as $150 million), like when Becker stopped hanging around an inmate named Giovanni after learning his fellow financial fraudster had been close to Serbian president Slobodan Milosevic and a business partner of the notorious war criminal Arkan.
Inside gets better and better as Becker’s sentence goes along. He begins opening up about how close he got to his prison pals, all of whom, like Becker, ended up back in their home country because extradition shortened sentences. I started narrating them sitting around a London pub in the Henry Hill Goodfellas voice: “There was Shuggy from Sri Lanka, Paulo from Naples—his pasta and sauce was better than the finest hotel—and Baby Hulk from Lithuania, he’s training to be a UFC fighter now, and then there was my best friend and mentor Andy Two Times, I called him that because he preached everything twice like ‘Boris, you should read the Stoics, read the Stoics…’”
There are a couple of truly affecting scenes near the end of Inside, both centered on Becker’s birthday. One in Huntercombe involves multiple cakes, the other comes on the outside, in Germany, with a beautiful surprise that had me a bit teary-eyed in that holiday-with-loved-ones way.
Becker is a flawed man, and it’s a flawed book, but by the end of Inside, he seems humbled. He’s 58, but as Charles Dickens showed us, come this time of year, when the air blows cold like it did through his prison cell window, a man is never too old to change. I’ll be rooting for Boris Becker to honor Christmas in his heart, to keep it all the year, and to hire a ruthless editor for Ghosts of Paperbacks Yet to Come.
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Are We Having Fun Yet?
Oh, Joy.
Oh, Joy.
From OPEN Tennis Vol. 2: Is Tennis Fun?
From OPEN Tennis Vol. 2: Is Tennis Fun?
By Brittani Sonnenberg
Not pictured: the author of this piece. // Getty
Illustration by Dalbert B Vilarino.
I kept my cool walking past courts 4, 5, and 6; then the infuriating water fountain, whose measly burble is like a woman talking to herself; then the KEEP OFF GRASS sign, which Alejandro and I ignored, like everyone else, taking the well-trod shortcut to our car. Doors closed, I fixed a stony gaze out the front window. At the stoplight, the tears began to leak out, and by the time we got on I-35, I was messy-crying.
It wasn’t that my husband had beaten me, again, in our Tuesday singles match, although the 0–6 first set rankled. I usually get at least one game off of him, four on my best days. There had been a close baseline call, and then a blatant ace theft, after which I summoned my inner Ostapenko and glared at him while slamming winners right and left. Or, more truthfully, straight into the net.
My odds were not good going into the match. I was about 1–350 in our four-year head-to-head. As I told tennis friends, who raised their eyebrows and said they would never play against their spouse, playing against a 4.0 dude made me better in my 3.5 women’s matches. But as Ale squeezed my knee in the car, an admittedly kind gesture that just felt really fucking condescending, I thought: I hate this.
*****
Is tennis fun? If you play tennis regularly, your answer is probably yes. The Oxford Dictionary defines fun as “enjoyment, amusement, or lighthearted pleasure.” Would you call your matches a “lighthearted pleasure”? Doesn’t that sound more like pickleball players, and isn’t that why we make fun of them? When is the last time you left a court thinking: That was delightful! Admit it, if you won, your satisfaction was bloodier than mere “enjoyment.” If you lost, you were probably attacking yourself, as I was on the car ride home, for taking it too seriously. For not having fun. For being so infantile.
*****
Speaking of babies, my 15-month-old, who just learned how to walk, looks a lot like me on the court. She’s elated, and then she’s furious. Ona looks astonished when she falls, even though this is what happens every time she takes a few steps. Everyone praises the toddler can-do attitude for getting up again and not letting it affect their sense of self-worth. But if her vocabulary extended beyond “banana,” “woof,” and “uh-oh,” I think she’d tell you that she loves the forward-flying miracle of walking but hates how quickly it abandons her, the same way I feel about my forehand approaches. The difference, I guess, is that she doesn’t retreat into a corner of the playroom to think about how she can walk more “loosely” next time. Walking is thrilling, and walking is the worst, like most things in Ona’s life, except for mashed potatoes, which are perfect.
*****
David Foster Wallace famously called luxury cruises a “supposedly fun thing” he would never do again. I know this because I remembered the title and the essay’s subject, but in truth, I have never read the actual essay because it didn’t seem fun enough. I’ve read his tennis essays, of which I recall that the wind didn’t bother him because he grew up in North Dakota, and that he was kind of hard on Tracy Austin. I’m not going to go back and reread them now to glean where he lands on fun in tennis, because that would not be fun. But the reason that essay title stuck in my head is that it’s so damn good; so much of what we do as adults is “supposedly fun” but ultimately too draining to repeat.
Tennis, however, is a supposedly fun thing that we do again and again and again, which brings it into the realm of addiction. (Get ready for another fun definition!) “Addiction: a compulsive, chronic, physiological, or psychological need for a habit-forming substance, behavior, or activity having harmful physical, psychological, or social effects.” Am I grumpier when I play tennis or when I abstain? This week, I am limiting my tennis to three days to heal a wrist injury (see: addiction’s “harmful physical effects”), but I know I’ll be moodier on the days that I don’t play. Like David Foster Wallace, I have a depressive streak, and I imagine this is true for a lot of athletes who choose tennis, especially singles players. It’s the lonely overthinker’s sport. But in the moments when the physical and mental challenges are eclipsed, you are freed from your Eeyore, and part of the joy comes from how hard it was to shed yourself.
That said, I most consistently enjoy tennis in my other weekly meeting with a better male player: my coach Tom. But in these lessons, of course, I am literally set up for success. His encouragement replaces the sarcastic, cutting voice in my head. But do private lessons count as real tennis? Aren’t they just pre-tennis, like clinics or choosing cool shoes? There’s a Velveteen Rabbit dilemma to “club-player tennis”: You aspire to veracity, but as Conor Casey’s satirical Instagram videos so gleefully skewer such wannabes (us), the gap between our own seriousness and the actual stakes is laughable.
*****
I spent half of my childhood in Shanghai and Singapore in the late ’90s and loved watching martial arts, ballroom dancing, and calligraphy painting in the parks. (Alongside more esoteric activities like tree slapping, which turned out to be a martial-arts drill.) Practitioners, largely retirees, were often more enthusiastic than notably skilled, although you could always spot a few whose liquid movements revealed mastery. Recently, researching traditional Chinese medicine for a novel, I came across the Taoist concept of “yangsheng” (养生), whose literal translation means “life nurturing,” but which serves as an umbrella term for all kinds of amateur pursuits (from disco dancing to kite flying to walking backwards) and health practices (regimens around eating, drinking, sleeping, etc.). “Yangsheng should lead to greater vigor and alertness; it should prevent common diseases such as colds and rheumatism; it should above all make you happy,” write Judith Farquhar and Qicheng Zhang in Ten Thousand Things: Nurturing Life in Contemporary Beijing. In their ethnography, Farquhar and Zhang report that an important aspect of yangsheng groups is that “participation is optional and…has nothing to do with a sense of duty.”
Is tennis 养生? My first tennis coach often told me I needed to “take it down to 70 percent” in order to play my best. If there is a sweet spot on the racquet’s strings, is there a sweet spot in our brains, where we are deliciously driven but not depressed?
Alejandro and I are scheduled to play in six hours. Irrationally, I am looking forward to it, although I know that losing to him will make me livid. Still, there is the belief that one day I’ll win. And before then, the little moments of triumph—passing him down the line, acing him up the T—are victory enough. That juicy compulsion to beat a tough opponent might be fun’s weird cousin; they’re related, but you can only see the resemblance if you squint. The biggest challenge when facing your biggest challenges is not figuring out how to win, but how to keep fun around, instead of assuming you can’t afford to enjoy yourself in the big moments. Inviting that lightness and trusting it. Tennis is fun until it isn’t, but luckily, like a tennis fan who made a bad decision about when to grab food at a Grand Slam, fun always wants to be let back in.
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New Again: Adidas's Barricade Gets An Update
New Again: Adidas's Barricade Gets An Update
New Again: Adidas's Barricade Gets An Update
By Tim Newcomb
Dec 11, 2025
Image courtesy of Adidas
Images courtesy of Adidas
The adidas Barricade is the longest-running performance tennis silhouette in the sport for a reason: its durability and playability. Some iterations have felt a bit stiff and heavy, though, so the fresh approach the German brand has brought to the latest iteration is exciting, to say the least. The new Barricade 14 comes with an entirely updated last, a fresh approach to foam, and additional comfort-focused points throughout, giving the shoe (which released in early December) a new, more maneuverable feel 25 years after its initial release.
Annette Steingass, a senior director at adidas, tells me that feedback on the Barricade revealed that they needed to “elevate the fit and feel of the model,” all while keeping the legendary stability the shoe franchise has become known for. “The main focus was to improve the immediate comfort from first wear and provide an overall more agile and dynamic shoe that meets the needs of the increased physicality and speed of tennis,” she says.
It all comes with a completely new last—or mold used to make the shoe—updating the fit of the new Barricade. Adidas then brought in its Lightstrike Pro foam in the forefoot, meant to improve energy return, while keeping the Repetitor foam in the heel for shock absorption. “It’s essentially to support the demands of the modern game,” Steingass says about the foams, “and provide a snappier response off that key part of the [fore]foot.”
Adidas added touches of comfort, from cushioning in the tongue to a cushioned collar, and introduced a new outsole construction borrowed from the brand’s running shoes. A new “chassis claw” construction is meant to retain the stability the line has featured, even with the updates. So far, adidas has launched the $170 sneaker in a black-on-white design. Let’s hope more colors are forthcoming.
Images courtesy of adidas.
Images courtesy of adidas.
Follow Tim Newcomb’s tennis gear coverage on Instagram at Felt Alley Tennis.
SIGN UP — YOU'RE ONLY AS GOOD AS YOUR SECOND SERVE.
SIGN UP — YOU'RE ONLY AS GOOD AS YOUR SECOND SERVE.
Withdrawal Season
Withdrawal Season
Withdrawal Season
Our tennis-starved correspondent is suffering.
Our tennis-starved correspondent is suffering.
By Owen Lewis
Dec. 4, 2025
Centre Court, Wimbledon, under a cloak of snow. // Tom Parker
Centre Court, Wimbledon, under a cloak of snow. // Tom Parker
There’s a moment near the end of John L. Parker’s classic novel Once a Runner that’s more poignant than the climactic four minutes of running that precede it. Protagonist Quenton Cassidy has just finished first in the mile race he aspired to win from book’s beginning, chasing down a far more accomplished rival in the last 100 meters and hammering his body into a “solid block of lactic acid” to do it. Once the pain juice sufficiently dissipates to grant him renewed control of his faculties, Cassidy is aimless. In what should be a triumphant moment, waving to the crowd to acknowledge his unlikely victory, Cassidy thinks, I have nowhere to go.
I’ve been thinking about this moment in the aftermath of an even more testing physical accomplishment in my own life: watching the 2025 tennis season, mostly from the comfort of various beds, sofas, and chairs. I enjoyed this season from first ball to last, even the usually boring ATP Finals. Tennis is compelling to watch for the same reasons as other sports—we can live and die with our favorites, scream at moments of excruciating tension, appreciate an unexpected hero’s journey from a previously unknown player. But its greatest charm, the reason it is so fiercely beloved by those who never watch anything else, is that it runs for damn near 11 months of the year. There is always tennis to watch, some tournament, on some continent, in some time zone. There’s even tennis to watch right now, if you can get past the frustrating lack of stakes in the exhibitions top players tend to pack their offseasons with. Such a reliable source of entertainment fosters relationship and routine: checking scores in the morning from tournaments I’m not even watching, opening the Tennis Channel during dead hours of the day, calling a friend after a particularly electric match. With the season over, I lack an adequate substitute on which to spend my time.
Juan José Vallejo, a writer with a gift of observing the more nuanced reasons why tennis points unfold the way they do, once articulated this particular feeling for me, quoting a friend he used to host a podcast with: “Tennis is the best sport for people with addictive tendencies.”
“And it’s true,” Vallejo said, “because it just offers you a continuous supply of the drug.” Vallejo’s framing made me evaluate the nail-biting habit I’d been unable to kick since I picked it up as a kid, and my pattern of rewatching old shows rather than try new ones, through a different lens.
If tennis is a drug to its diehards, the season is something like withdrawal, and a particularly difficult one for we addicts. Six weeks until the Australian Open begins? This is simply too long. Worse, the offseason experience is usually filled with tasteless mush. Without tennis to watch, our habits of checking social media and headlines remain, but the substance at the other end is lacking. Hark! The tennis Redditor who already replies to every single comment on a given page, while complaining about the community half the time, now seems to be arguing with themself via an alt account. Another player has offered a bland take on a podcast, to be seasoned and dressed up into clickbait. Sincaraz fans are debating “who the real No. 1 is” and likely won’t stop until one guy has a canyon-wide lead in points. Someone declares in the YouTube comments section that Stan Wawrinka was better than Andy Murray, actually. A decorated coach is spending his time posting pointless, provocative YouTube Shorts. The best matches, outfits, sound bites, and performances are relitigated endlessly. A vague stat called “performance ratings” circulates the internet, trying to convince you that a 6–4, 6–4 match in which the loser produced a singular (unconverted) break point was not only close but one of the best tussles of the year. I feel as if I’ve gone to bite my nails only to find that there’s nothing left on the backs of my fingertips. In unrelated news, you may send any article ideas you have over the next few weeks to owentennis11@gmail.com, now that I have written this one so early in the offseason. My kingdom for an Australian Open first round instead, even a blowout.
It’s indulgent to wallow in my withdrawal, the known price of this kind of reliance. Yet another feature of the offseason—and general season these days—is discourse about how the tennis calendar is far too long and crowded. We’ve heard a lot to that extent this year, particularly from oft-injured top players. The most commonly suggested solution is to shorten the season, but I wonder if merely reducing the number of mandatory tournaments might help maintain both players and the pleasant omnipresence of the sport that grinds them down. That there is a high-level tennis tournament to watch for 11 months of the year is a gift; what if we could make it 12 and give the players free rein to choose a manageable schedule that works for them? Complaints about the schedule would cease, and fans would feast.
I’ll spend this offseason watching old matches through glazed-over eyes and talking to friends about the happenings of the year. Remember when Mirra Andreeva looked like the best player in the world for about a month? This is not a bad fate—hell, it’s fun at times—even if it is really just a simulation of times in which tennis is actually happening. The months are probably better spent searching for somewhere new to go, something new to do, until our supply returns in January.
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Jasmine Paolini's Sneakily Wonderful Season
A Sneakily Wonderful Season
A Sneakily Wonderful Season
Jasmine Paolini figures out the tennis part.
Jasmine Paolini figures out the tennis part.
By Giri Nathan
November 21, 2025
Jasmine Paolini's victory in Rome was a moment. // David Bartholow
Jasmine Paolini celebrates victory in Rome. // David Bartholow
Jasmine Paolini’s 2024 season was so surreal that I felt attuned to its scarcity even while it was still playing out. I was distracted by my real-time awareness that none of this could ever be replicated. How could it be? What is a tennis observer to make of a player, who had never advanced past the second round of a Slam, suddenly catapulting herself into the finals of Roland-Garros and Wimbledon? Here was a 5-foot-4 marvel, ricocheting all over the court like a Super Ball, playing with contagious joy. Got to enjoy this while it lasts.
Because there was only a single-season sample of her being one of the best players in the world, and there was a much larger sample of her being ranked far outside the top 50. Few players have ever turned their careers around like that at such an advanced age and had it stick. And as heartily as I throw my support behind all vertically challenged players on the pro tours, I understand the reality: Margins are slim. They have to rely on athleticism to compensate for a lack of easy power, and when that fails them, even by a half step, their game can fall off a cliff, à la Diego Schwartzman. So I had no idea how she would fare in 2025, the last season of her 20s.
The start was not auspicious. She entered the year at No. 4 in the world and, for the first two months of the season, did not beat any opponents ranked higher than No. 70. Paolini finally warmed up in Miami, making it to the semifinal, where she was promptly smashed by the eventual champ and season-long tyrant, Aryna Sabalenka.
It wasn’t until mid-April that Paolini beat a fellow top 10 player. That was Coco Gauff, on the clay at Stuttgart. That was the first match of 2025 to validate Paolini’s lofty ranking, and even though it delivered her into another semifinal defeat at the hands of Aryna Sabalenka, beating Gauff would be a good prophecy for what was to come.
In the heat of the clay season, she went back home to Italy. Rome—like so many other stops on tour—was a tournament where she’d never seen much success. She hadn’t yet cleared the second round. This year, as the No. 5 player in the world, she was laboring under expectations for the first time. And the atmosphere was rare. Italy was relishing its recent rise to tennis supremacy, world No. 1 Jannik Sinner was making his debut after suspension, and the crowds sounded full of nearly religious fervor. They were rewarded for their faith when both Sinner and Paolini blazed to the finals, raising the possibility of an Italian sweep of both singles trophies.
Though Sinner fell, Paolini finished the job. Faced with a challenging slate of opponents, she played spectacular tennis throughout the tournament—an addictively watchable blend of speed, power, variety, hands. Her opponent in the final, Coco Gauff, was swept away like all the rest. Paolini clinched the title in 89 minutes and danced around the court in one of the emotional apexes of the entire tennis season. She was the first Italian woman to win the Rome title in 40 years. The crowd regaled her with song. If that weren’t enough, the next day she picked up the doubles title with her friend and countrywoman Sara Errani. The new queen of Italian tennis probably could’ve retired from the sport that day and been content.
But the season went on; it always does. Roland-Garros and Wimbledon, sites of past glory, brought only disappointment in 2025: a squandered triple match point in the fourth round, and a second-round exit, respectively. But Paolini bounced back with another run to a 1000 final, this time in Cincinnati, along the way beating Coco Gauff for the third straight time. Her opponent in the final was a white-hot, post-Wimbledon Iga Swiatek, who dealt Paolini the sixth loss of their six meetings. But after a middling US Open, and after leading Italy to a second straight Billie Jean King Cup, Paolini got another look at Swiatek in Wuhan. This time it was one of the shock results of the entire season: 6–1, 6–2, a flawless Paolini victory, and her last big splash in 2025.
On court, Paolini found consistency. In the player’s box, there was some instability. She moved on from her coach Renzo Furlan, whom she had been working with for a decade. She then tried Marc Lopez, but that lasted for only three months, and then started working on a provisional basis with rookie coach Federico Gaio. I would expect to see more changes there in the coming weeks. But the tennis part seems to have been all sorted out. For all the uncertainty heading into the season, 2025 was a remarkably normal year. There were no Slam finals this time. The spikiness smoothed out, and she eased into life as a top 10 player, stacking solid wins week after week, claiming some nice trophies, ending as world No. 8. It was, after all, a sneakily wonderful season, one that seemed designed to assure everyone that 2024 was no mirage.