I have a theory that there are basically two ways people are remembered by their competitors in junior tennis. The first is by having a memorably high level of performance. Unfortunately, the only other way is to behave so poorly that people never forget you. After I returned to the sport as an adult, 28 years after I thought I had put my racquet down for good, I have come across a handful of people from my junior playing days. While I remember them with clarity, they typically don’t have a clue who I am. I take that as a compliment. Since my racquet wasn’t strong enough to make a lasting impression, it is good not to be remembered because bad behavior is all that is left.
I once played a match in West Texas against a player whose name and face remain an indelible memory. It wasn’t because she was a great player. Rather, in a close match in which she ultimately prevailed, she pulled out every nasty trick in the book. Her line calls were atrocious. Early in the match, she took a bathroom break during which I could visibly see her consulting with her coach, which isn’t allowed.
At the time, if you asked for a line judge, the tournament desk would find a bystander to stand at the net post to mediate. They no longer do that, probably because of situations like the one I experienced. In my case, the desk tapped her brother’s doubles partner as the line judge, and he wasn’t exactly a neutral bystander. His decisions reflected that. She also pulled a trick I had never seen before at that juncture in my young tennis life. She sent every close serve aggressively back into play and then decided whether or not to belatedly call it out based on the quality of her return.
She was blonde, attractive, well-dressed, and superficially personable. Later in the year, at a tournament in my hometown, one of the site directors decided to give her the top sportsmanship award for that location. Although I didn’t play her head-to-head there, I can personally attest that her on-court behavior remained abysmal. Unfortunately, from the isolation of the air-conditioned pro shop, the site director thought she was an angel. Awarding her the site-level sportsmanship award was a travesty. Unfortunately, it nearly went further. That tournament also handed out an overall sportsmanship award drawn from all the site winners, and the director at her site advocated for her. Since the other site directors didn’t have a strong opinion… she nearly received it. It didn’t happen only because my mother was on the tournament committee with influence that amounted to veto authority.
That experience convinced me at a very young age that sportsmanship awards were largely a sham. The individuals making the determinations often lacked the necessary data, insight, or fundamental understanding of sportsmanship to make informed decisions. While most awards handed out are probably fine, my reflexive reaction to hearing that someone received a sportsmanship award is to roll my eyes. I bet many other people have similar stories of seeing an absolute jerk win one.
As an aside, during the League Committee meeting at the USTA Summit a couple of weeks ago, the fact that Texas rarely wins the sportsmanship award at League Nationals was lamented, along with a vague sentiment that we need to find a way to improve. I actually think I understand why Texas is perceived as unsportsmanlike in that setting. It comes down to consistently showing up with very strong teams due to population, weather, and demographic advantages. That strength often leads opponents to think rosters are stacked with too many “above-level” players, which is widely regarded as unsportsmanlike. If the USTA developed the mechanisms to collect the kind of data I outlined yesterday, I think that sportsmanship awards could eliminate that bias. Showing up with a strong team should not disqualify you from being recognized for sportsmanship, but in practice, it often does.
Seeing a rival who behaved poorly win a sportsmanship accolade was an early experience that pretty much scarred me for life. I saw firsthand how the wrong people could end up celebrated for behavior that was anything but exemplary, while players who competed fairly and followed the rules escaped notice. To me, that has always underscored the hollowness of many of these awards.
What would actually make sportsmanship awards meaningful is moving away from isolated impressions and superficial judgments, and instead grounding recognition in consistent, observable behavior as reflected in data. The technology exists to do that. Armed with match-by-match feedback collected by the USTA’s digital platform, sportsmanship determinations could be measured over time, giving credit where it is truly due.
Until then, I will probably continue to experience skepticism most of the time when I hear that someone has won a sportsmanship award. Too often, it means they were charming to the right people. However, sportsmanship should mean more than that. It should be the baseline expectation of every match. When it rises to the level of recognition, it should be because the data provided by the tennis community over a significant timeframe affirms that the award is deserved.
Shouldn’t sportsmanship awards be voted on by the players in the tournament?
Back in the pre-Internet days, most players were gone by the end of the tournament. The idea I proposed in the previous post is essentially the modern-day electronic equivalent of player voting.