For a long time I’ve wanted to write a blog post about the phrase “the Open era” — what it means and why it matters. I knew the basics, but something about it confused me — something I had trouble articulating — and I figured I might not be alone in that feeling. This year’s U.S. Open, where Novak Djokovic, in the waning days of his career, will try to finally top Margaret Court’s record of 24 Grand Slam singles titles, seemed like the perfect time to dig in.
But there’s another U.S. Open story that I want to write about: the new and highly controversial mixed doubles format. How can we ignore that can of slimy worms?
As I considered the choice, though, it dawned on me: These aren’t different topics at all. So lucky us, we get to tackle both in one bloated blog post. (Don’t give me the eyeroll. Focusing through long boring reads helps ward off dementia. You’ll thank me when you’re older.)
As you probably already know, the Open era started in 1968 when the major tournaments opened their draws to professional tennis players. Before 1968, only amateurs were permitted to play. Because of this distinction, Margaret Court’s record of 24 majors, mostly achieved in the pre-Open era, has always been a little sus, as the kids like to say. When people talk about the GOATs of tennis, they’re talking about Serena Williams (at 23 majors) and Djokovic (at 24). Court doesn’t come into the conversation.
Still, today’s GOAT contenders crave the distinction of holding the record outright, without having the “in the Open era” caveat tacked on the end.
That’s all pretty straightforward, but here’s what I could never understand. Why were professionals banned from the majors? How does that make any sense? Why would you want a tournament of only amateurs? And how could such a tournament be considered more prestigious than one with actual pros in the draw?
Part of my confusion stemmed from the fact that in modern usage the word “amateur” conveys “less skilled.” Or even laughably unskilled, as in “amateur hour.” Even I, a lowly 3.5-rated player, could call myself an amateur, and I have no business competing in a local club tournament, let alone Wimbledon.
That’s not who these amateur players from the pre-Open era were. Back then, amateur simply meant unpaid. You could be an amateur and still be damn good. Rod Laver won a calendar-year Grand Slam as an amateur in 1962 before repeating the feat as a professional in 1969.
That still leaves the question of why majors wanted to ban people who made money from playing tennis.
That part derives from the history of tennis as a sport of the upper crust. Among the elite, sport was romanticized as a noble pursuit of excellence taking place on a field of honor and fair play. Playing for money seemed antithetical to this rarefied ideal.
It’s easy to dismiss those concerns as elitist, and no doubt there was a certain class snobbery at play, a desire to socialize only with “our sort.” I’d argue, though, that there’s an underpinning of truth to it. Having money at stake can make participants in any contest less than honest. That’s just unfortunate human nature.
And once money’s at stake, once sport becomes business, financial pressures can change the sport itself. That’s evident in the rule modifications designed to speed up baseball or increase scoring in basketball. And in tennis it’s evident in the long decline — and now the possible resurgence — of doubles.
The Open era business of tennis drives television coverage towards the biggest stars, the singles players, making it hard for viewers to even find a doubles match to watch. In a self-perpetuating cycle, less coverage means the public is less familiar with doubles specialists, further driving down demand for their matches. When you do finally catch a televised match, the stands are distressingly empty.
One recent approach to drawing more attention to doubles has involved shortening the matches through a combination of no-ad scoring and a 10-point tiebreak in lieu of a third set. I never understood the logic behind this move. The discipline wasn’t struggling because it was slow. It was struggling because it lacked stars. Giving doubles players even less air time only exacerbates the problem.
The new U.S. Open mixed doubles format appears to finally target the heart of the problem — lack of familiarity with the players — but in a highly controversial manner, namely by excluding those unfamiliar players. For those who missed it, the new format completely disregarded doubles rankings in figuring out the draw. Instead, the USTA invited singles players to pair up. Sixteen pairs were then selected, eight based on the players’ combined ranking in singles and eight chosen by wildcard. In other words, entrants to a Grand Slam mixed doubles tournament didn’t even have to have played doubles in the past year — or ever — to get a place at the table. Meanwhile, the vast majority of doubles specialists found themselves excluded.
There’s so much wrong here it makes my head hurt. Sara Errani and Andrea Vavassori, the only doubles specialists in the entire draw, eventually prevailed, knocking out their famous-but-inexperienced opponents and defending their 2024 title. Though no doubt thrilled with a paycheck five times larger than last year’s, they took an opportunity on the podium to express the collective outrage of their doubles colleagues, saying their triumph is for all those who weren’t allowed to play.
Measured in financial terms, which I guess is the only way things get measured any more, the new format was a resounding success. Every seat in Arthur Ashe stadium was filled for a doubles match, an unprecedented turnout. There’s now talk of expanding this format to the other majors.
I’ll admit the new format was entertaining, even though the quality of play was sometimes lacking. But I wonder if there wasn’t a way to raise the profile of doubles specialists — to make them bankable stars, or even just familiar names, rather than displacing them. Couldn’t the USTA have invested in some promotional hype? Held an exhibition of singles stars versus doubles specialists, with everyone mic’d up? Advertised on the Pickleball Channel, where doubles already reigns? But instead of investing in doubles, the sport’s governing bodies left the discipline to languish, then “fixed” it by first slicing off match time and then finally excluding the very athletes who have devoted themselves to it. We’ve essentially gone from a pre-Open closed-door policy based on class to closing out players based on popularity.
It must also be said, however, that I’m resistant to change. I whined about the elimination of line judges and the loss of all the drama the challenge system offered — and now I don’t think about it at all. I equally wrung my hands over the repeal of the no-coaching rule, but now all the fuss about clandestine hand signals seems downright quaint. A year from now I may find myself a full-throated endorser of the revamped mixed doubles. No doubt Errani and Vavassori now have a much bigger fan base than they had before, and perhaps the audience for matches featuring actual doubles specialists will grow. If so — if we end up seeing more real doubles on television — I will happily eat my words.
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