I have always regarded Fiend at Court as a commentary and analysis blog rather than a journalism project. I have never explicitly explained that distinction in a post, though I hope it’s been reasonably apparent from what I have been publishing every day for nearly seven years. Given this weekend’s theme of mistakes, and a rather peculiar story that recently made its way back to me, this seems like a good opportunity to explain how I approach what I write here.
The story involved an allegation that a player deliberately fed me false information about a series of matches and misrepresented how many times they played, which I subsequently published as fact. Apparently, this was used to argue that Fiend at Court isn’t credible and that people shouldn’t read it. I was naturally interested in tracking that down, particularly because I would want to correct anything I wrote that turned out to be wrong.
However, when I looked into the details, none of it matched any post I could identify in my published work. I wasn’t completely surprised. Whenever someone tells me about a match, I make it a point to look it up in TennisLink or Play Tennis to verify the dates and details. That practice also gives me leads on other people who might be able to corroborate events or provide an additional perspective. I can’t even find a post where the number of matches a person played was even relevant to the point I was trying to make.
I still don’t know what to make of that. Perhaps something was misunderstood, or the story morphed as it passed between people. I also may have overlooked something I wrote. Without a clearer example, I am kind of at a dead end. I am mildly amused at the idea that someone may have formed opinions about the accuracy of a website they reportedly don’t read, based on something that doesn’t appear to have been published there.
That experience has prompted me to think more carefully about what I am actually trying to accomplish with this site.
Fiend at Court is not a news organization. I don’t have reporters covering the sport, cultivating sources, or pursuing stories as part of a coordinated editorial operation. I don’t try to provide comprehensive coverage of tennis, and I have no obligation to write about anything just because it is newsworthy. When I write my daily posts, I generally start with something I have experienced, read, observed, or spent time thinking about, then try to understand what it means.
Some of that work involves original research. I compare regulations, examine participation data, review organizational documents, and occasionally contact people who have firsthand knowledge of a subject. My professional background has left me with a strong desire to decipher how systems work, including the incentives they create and the unintended consequences that emerge when people operate within them. Tennis provides a nearly inexhaustible supply of opportunities to apply that perspective.
The resulting posts are my analysis and commentary. I am not speaking on behalf of USTA, a tennis organization, or anyone else. When I conclude that a particular regulation is poorly designed, that a competitive structure creates undesirable incentives, or that an administrative decision deserves reconsideration, those are my judgments. Readers are free to disagree, and I hope anyone who does can explain what I overlooked or why they interpret the available information differently.
That said, there is an important distinction between disagreeing with my analysis and identifying something factually wrong with the information that fueled my thoughts.
I make a substantial effort to get the facts right. When I discuss regulations, I go back to the actual documents. When I make claims about participation, I try to find the underlying numbers from public-facing sources. If I cannot establish a causal relationship, I try to distinguish what the data demonstrate from what I suspect might explain them. Sometimes I reach out to people who should know more than I do, although those conversations don’t always produce answers.
None of that guarantees accuracy, as the first two posts in this weekend’s series have demonstrated. On Friday, I acknowledged that I had misidentified a change in the Fort Worth League regulations. Yesterday, I explained how I developed an incorrect understanding of the way USTA Texas awards wild cards at League Sectionals. The first was a mistake in something I published. The second was a mistaken assumption I apparently discussed without ever formally documenting it in a post.
Both deserved a correction and update once I had better information.
The distinction between commentary and journalism does not excuse factual errors. If I write that a regulation says something it doesn’t, that is a mistake regardless of the publication. If I misquote someone, use incorrect numbers, or attribute a decision to the wrong organization, my commentary doesn’t make those claims any less wrong.
A journalist reporting on an organization may reasonably be expected to contact that organization, seek its perspective, and give the people involved an opportunity to respond to factual allegations. There are circumstances where I think those practices are equally appropriate for something I write. However, most of my commentary begins with information that is already public, often in the form of regulations or organizational decisions. I don’t believe I need to interview the people who wrote a regulation before I can analyze what the published language means or explain why I think it creates a problem.
That doesn’t mean their perspective would be unwelcome. In fact, one of the recurring frustrations of operating this independent blog is that access to people within tennis administration can be surprisingly difficult.
I have encountered situations where people are reluctant to talk with me, and that is their prerogative. I also understand that organizations sometimes need to establish procedures for handling informational inquiries. What I have a harder time accepting is any assertion that I should always get an organization’s perspective before publishing anything. Pretty often, that claim ignores the fact that my inquiries went unanswered.
If an organization wants its perspective represented in discussions about its policies, making knowledgeable people available to speak on that would seem like a reasonable place to start. That doesn’t mean I would necessarily agree with their explanation or change my conclusions. It might, however, reveal information I didn’t have, identify a mistaken assumption, or explain why a decision that appears questionable from the outside made sense to the people responsible for it.
Yesterday’s discussion of USTA Texas Sectional Championship wild cards is a useful example. I had developed an incorrect understanding of the selection process. A conversation with someone who knew how it actually worked corrected that misunderstanding, and the explanation turned out to be entirely reasonable. I didn’t need to agree with everything USTA Texas does to recognize that its wild-card selection method makes sense.
Those conversations improve the quality of what I write. They also occasionally change my mind, which I regard as a perfectly acceptable outcome.
At the same time, access cannot be a prerequisite for commentary. If I had to obtain an official response every time I wanted to discuss a published regulation, I suspect this site would spend considerably more time waiting for answers than examining tennis. Organizations can decide who speaks for them and under what circumstances. They don’t get to decide whether someone outside the organization can have an informed opinion about their decisions.
I also recognize that some of what I write is uncomfortable for the people involved. I have criticized decisions made by organizations in which I participate, questioned the rationale behind regulations, and suggested that some well-intentioned initiatives may be producing undesirable results. I don’t expect everyone to appreciate that analysis, particularly when they have invested considerable time in the work being examined.
At the same time, disagreement is part of the process. So is the possibility that I have overlooked information that would change my assessment. I am considerably more interested in someone explaining what I have missed than in hearing secondhand that people believe something I wrote was wrong.
This brings me back to the bizarre story that prompted this post. If someone deliberately gave me false information and I later published it, I would genuinely like to know what it was. I would examine the claim, correct anything I got wrong, and probably have a few questions about why someone thought deliberately misleading a random tennis blogger was a worthwhile use of their time.
Until someone can identify the supposed post, however, I can’t do much with the story.
Fiend at Court is an independent commentary and analysis blog. I don’t expect readers to agree with everything I write, and I don’t expect to get everything right. I do expect to revisit my conclusions when someone provides better information.
I’m always happy to have challenging conversations. Other people sometimes aren’t, and that’s a shame. Understanding our diverse experiences and opinions is crucial for the health of our sport.
