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    At the U.S. Open, the Dwindling Ranks Leave Space and a Solitary Vibe

    It happens every year. Tennis players, by the hundreds, disappear from Flushing Meadows Corona Park.They arrive with hopes of remaining there at least two weeks, but every two days about half of them vanish until their ranks dwindle to a small, select handful. They walk the eerily quiet back halls, lounges and locker rooms of Arthur Ashe Stadium, tennis’ largest venue, nearly alone. The same phenomenon happens in London, Paris and Melbourne, Australia, each year, until eventually there are only two left to share a giant locker room, player restaurant and court.The Hall of Famer Chris Evert felt that blissful solitude 34 times in Grand Slam singles events, and won 18 of them. The goal is obviously to win their survivor game, but it is still a strange feeling.“It’s lonely and there’s pressure knowing it means you’re the last two women standing,” Evert said, adding, “There are pleasantries and small talk. You don’t want them to see you’re nervous, but you are.”When each of the four major tournaments begins, the many player areas are teeming with competitors, plus their coaches, agents, trainers, family members and hitting partners. It is difficult to get a table in the player restaurant. Preferred times for a practice court or session with the athletic trainer can be hard to come by. People are bumping into one another, stepping over equipment bags, waiting for someone to move so they can reach their locker.“At the beginning, it’s very hectic,” said Andy Murray, who has played in 11 major finals and won three, including the U.S. Open in 2012. “There’s a lot of hustle and bustle.”Even before the first day of the main draw, there are 128 women and 128 men competing in the qualifying rounds, while scores more show up to begin practicing. When the first Monday of the main draw finally hits, it’s a tennis circus. Each locker room at the U.S. Open has roughly 375 lockers, and in the early days all are in use.Space on the practice courts goes from scarce to ample.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesHiroko Masuike/The New York TimesGradually, some of the qualifiers lose and leave, but their spaces are handed over to newly arriving doubles players. Each contestant is allowed one additional person in the locker room, and past champions get two, and sometimes three as the event proceeds.“The first few days it’s crazy,” said Stan Wawrinka, who has reached four major finals and won three, including the 2016 U.S. Open. “The player restaurant is packed, you can’t find a table. It’s so noisy. I’m always trying to stay focused with my team and because of that, I don’t stay on site.”Then the cull begins. After two days, half the singles players have been eliminated. Two days after that, the herd is halved again, and so on. The same happens with the doubles teams and wheelchair players (Juniors have a different locker room, but they and their family members are allowed in the common players areas and restaurants).Day by day it gets quieter, until finally, after two weeks, there are just two left. Murray, like Evert, is a gregarious sort and enjoys the company of others. Roger Federer was known to be one of the livelier players in the locker room, too.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesHiroko Masuike/The New York TimesBut the goal is to be the last one alive in this “Squid Game,” and sometimes the isolation adds to the pressure. Before his U.S. Open final against Novak Djokovic in 2012, Murray practiced with his team, but they left him alone in the locker room to go eat while he prepared for his match.“It’s a huge locker room with no one else in there,” Murray recalled. “I remember feeling like I was incredibly nervous, and I wanted some company. At that time, I was still quite young, and I didn’t want to tell them I was nervous. I called my psychologist at the time, and she didn’t answer her phone. I felt really nervous just being in there on my own.”It turned out fine, as Murray won his first major title, but the loneliness is something with which the best players must grapple. Those who revel in solitude, like Pete Sampras, thrived on it. In Steve Flink’s book, “Pete Sampras: Greatness Revisited,” Sampras said, “I loved it on the last week of Wimbledon when nobody was in the locker room. I am a lone wolf.”Tracy Austin went 2-0 in U.S. Open finals, beating Evert in 1978 and Martina Navratilova in 1981, and said there was always cordiality in the locker room before and after matches.Mixed doubles is down to just four players. Jessica Pegula, left, and Austin Krajicek will play for the title Saturday.Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesGetting a table in the players’ restaurant gets easier the deeper into the tournament. Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesShe described the first week of a major tournament as draining, as much from navigating all the different people and chaotic scenes, as from playing the matches. To reach the end, and see all her colleagues disappear, was energizing.“The solitude is great,” Austin said. “It means you made it to the end and you don’t have to deal with whether you are being social or not. All your energy is focused into your match.”Every player handles it differently. Years ago, when there were fewer “teams” of coaches, agents, physios and advisers, players had more direct interaction, even when they were about to face one another. Evonne Goolagong Cawley sang in locker rooms before finals. Navratilova usually shared her food with Evert.Such collegiality is unheard-of in hockey, football, soccer and other sports, where teams do not dress in the same locker rooms. Golfers do, but that sport is not defined by one-on-one competition, as tennis is. In the same room, tennis players see when their opponent stretches, where they get taped, what muscles they ask the trainer to focus on.“You’re peripherally aware of your opponent and their moves getting ready for the match,” Evert said. “There’s definitely stress in the air and a finality of the moment. We are not one of many matches, we are the match. You are trying to not think about your opponent, but you wonder if they’re nervous, confident, relaxed.”For many players, the end of the first week, when more than 100 players in each draw have been eliminated, marks a turning point. There are still enough people around to have some social interaction, but the throngs have subsided and there is space to think and work.“The first week is the most stressful,” said Stefanos Tsitsipas, who has played in two major singles finals. “My favorite period of the Grand Slam is when the second week kicks in and everything starts to mellow down and become much quieter and more human, in a way.”Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesHiroko Masuike/The New York TimesEric Butorac, a former tour professional, now works as a player liaison for the United States Tennis Association. He is in and out of the men’s locker room every day. He described how attendants hand out locker assignments, with preference to past champions, but they also tend to group countrymen together.Federer, Djokovic and Rafael Nadal were in so many finals over the last 20 years that eventually the locker room would become their own.“The Americans have this corner, the Spanish are here, the French are here,” Butorac said.“You get toward the end of a tournament and it’s like, Novak is around the corner to the left, Rafa is always in the back right, Roger’s is the second from the end over here.”“Going into the restaurant was extremely lonely,” Eric Butorac said of the final days of a tournament. Hiroko Masuike/The New York TimesThe player restaurant, pulsating with activity in the first week, gradually thins until only the finalists and their teams remain. Nadal and Federer used to relax in the restaurant before finals, playing games with members of their teams, and people knew to give them space. Butorac has been there, too. He reached the men’s doubles final at the 2014 Australian Open, and also warmed up Federer before his semifinal with Nadal.“Going into the restaurant was extremely lonely,” he said. “It was me, my one coach, my partner and his one coach. Federer was way down there and there were 30 empty tables between us. It was actually an eerily lonely feeling to be the last one standing. On TV it’s a big spectacle, but it has an odd feeling to it.”At the U.S. Open, the player garden turns into a desolate patio. The five practice courts, which were overcrowded at the beginning of play, are mostly empty. During the men’s final — the last event of the tournament — the hallways are nearly empty, other than security personnel. The other courts on the grounds are vacant. Even with Ashe packed, it is still the smallest overall attendance of the event, as only a handful of fans watch the big screen from the courtyard.“I love it,” said Daniil Medvedev, who won the U.S. Open in 2021 and has played in three other major finals. “That final Sunday is the best. It’s only you, his team and your team. I don’t feel lonely. If you want to win, you have to be alone at the end.” More

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    The One-Handed Backhand Is on the Way to Extinction

    How can something so beautiful to watch, a stroke so etched into tennis history, be so exploitable — and why have a dwindling handful of players remained loyal to it?Behold the beautiful and beloved one-handed backhand, but do it quickly, because time is running short for tennis’s lustiest shot.Yes, the shot that made Roger Federer famous, the signature stroke of Rod Laver, a favorite of John McEnroe, and Pete Sampras and Martina Navratilova is fast going the way of the wooden rackets of the early 1980s, a relic that generates joy and nostalgia when a tennis aesthete lays eyes upon it, but one whose days may be numbered.Even those who play with a one-hander have their regrets. Just ask Chris Eubanks, the late-blooming breakout star of American tennis this year, whose one-handed backhand is as smooth as they come. Eubanks said he was about 13 years old when he fell hard for the Federer backhand and decided to switch from the two-hander he had played with since he first picked up a tennis racket.“If I knew what I know now, I probably wouldn’t have,” Eubanks said as he sat in the lounge of his Midtown Manhattan hotel in the days leading up to the U.S. Open.Stefanos Tsitsipas is the lone man ranked in the top 10 using a one-handed backhand. He lost in the second round to Dominic Stricker, a Swiss qualifier.Earl Wilson/The New York TimesNot so long ago, the top ranks of the sport, especially the men’s game, had no shortage of one-handed backhands. In addition to Federer, Stan Wawrinka and Dominic Thiem won Grand Slam titles with the shot. Among the top 10 men now, only Stefanos Tsitsipas plays with a one-handed backhand. Tatiana Maria, No. 47 in the world, is the highest-ranked woman to rely mostly on her one-hander.In more immediate terms, it has been a mostly terrible first week for one-handed backhands in the singles competitions at the U.S. Open. As the second round wound down on Thursday afternoon, Wawrinka, who at 38 years old still rips his one-hander as hard and as clean as anyone ever has, Grigor Dimitrov and Daniel Evans were the top one-handed backhand standard-bearers remaining.“I’m not hitting as well as when I was winning Grand Slams, that’s for sure,” Wawrinka said after beating Tomas Etcheverry of Argentina on Thursday in four sets despite uncharacteristically hitting a handful of wayward backhands. But Tsitsipas, Thiem, Eubanks and Maria all lost in the first days of the tournament.So did Lorenzo Musetti, the rising Italian whose silky one-handed backhand can make tennis cognoscenti drool. His stroke starts low, sweeps up and forward practically from knee level, then flies up with a high-stretching finish. Somewhere along the way, it makes easy, pure contact, and that fuzzy yellow ball flies off his racket. Musetti, 21, is supposed to be a rival for Carlos Alcaraz, the 20-year-old world No. 1, during the next decade. Musetti is ranked 18th, but he has yet to make a Grand Slam quarterfinal.In January, Tsitsipas faced Novak Djokovic in the Australian Open final. Tsitsipas’s backhand is another of the prettiest, smoothest strokes in the sport.“My signature shot,” Tsitsipas said earlier this week. “It kind of defines me.”Yet it took about three games to figure out Djokovic’s strategy that evening — pound ball after ball deep onto the Tsitsipas backhand. Djokovic won in straight sets.And therein lies the great contradiction of the one-handed backhand. How can something so beautiful to watch, a stroke that is so etched into tennis history, be so exploitable, and why have a dwindling handful of players remained so loyal to it?The answer to the first question, experts say, is mostly a function of the increasing role of power and velocity in the sport. Even clay courts, historically the slowest surface, play hard and fast these days. Players, who spend more and more time in the gym, keep getting bigger and stronger, and now hit forehands at more than 100 miles per hour. Rackets and strings allow for so much topspin that rally balls from even average players are bouncing up to eye level, making it hard for even the 6-foot-7 Eubanks to get on top of the ball on some backhands.David Nainkin, who leads player development for men for the United States Tennis Association, has advice for any young talent he sees wielding a one-handed backhand — get rid of it. The two-handed backhand is far more stable, he said, and the motion is shorter and simpler.“It’s almost impossible to make it with a one-handed backhand now,” he said. “I think you’ll see less of it maybe in the next 10 years.”Martina Navratilova during the 1986 French Open final. She credited her mastery of the one-handed topspin backhand for her rise.Trevor Jones/Allsport, via Getty ImagesNavratilova, who credits her mastery of a one-handed topspin backhand for her rise to near invincibility in the early 1980s (thank you, Renee Richards, her coach at the time) is a little less draconian, but not that much. Navratilova said she would encourage young players to keep two hands on the racket — most of the time.“Work on the one-handed slice and volley,” she said, though she added that trying to use it to keep up with modern pace and spin likely wouldn’t work.Given all that, how to explain the ongoing devotion to the one-hander among a dwindling few?In a word, Federer.As much as the Swiss master has done for the sport, he may be more responsible for the current generation of one-handed backhand devotees — and their shortcomings — than anyone.Why does Denis Shapovalov, the talented 24-year-old Canadian who missed the U.S. Open with a knee injury, love to hit the one-hander with both feet off the ground?Federer.Eubanks?Federer.Tsitsipas?Federer. And Sampras.Watching Roger Federer inspired many of the current generation of one-handed backhand users.Mike Hewitt/Getty ImagesTsitsipas said he remembers the day when he made the commitment to the one-handed backhand. He was 8 years old. The previous day, he had played a two-hander, and his coach had made fun of him for going back and forth, asking Tsitsipas if he was going to commit. That day, Tsitsipas did.Tsitsipas knows the advantages of the two-handed backhand. Safer shot, easier to control. But he isn’t about to quit the one-hander. He wants to be like Federer, in every way, and Sampras, too.“I’m here to kind of not have it die,” Tsitsipas said of the shot. “It kind of sits in my heart deeply because I really want to be like them.”Eubanks, too found it irresistible, and still does. “I just love it,” he said. “It just looked so good.”He took one hand off the racket one day at practice and tried not to pay attention to the coaches who might have been looking at him side-eyed, or making comments to his father, who was his primary coach. He told himself this shot was going to work for him, and he was stubborn about making sure it did.With the wisdom of age and a half-dozen years climbing his way into the top 100, plus time spent working as an analyst for the Tennis Channel, Eubanks is familiar with the shot’s drawbacks, especially the timing it requires, but he isn’t about to switch. “It’s a little too far gone,” he said. “Can’t quite do that now, not and win.” More