Building Champions

Introduction

BARBORA Krejcikova stood on Centre Court clutching the Venus Rosewater Dish in her hands, her mouth agape. 'I think nobody really believes it,' she told the 15,000 people in the crowd, and further four million watching on television across the United Kingdom. 'Nobody believes that I got to the final. And nobody's going to believe that I won Wimbledon.' Her charge to the title in 2024, as the 31st seed, was one of the sport's more unlikely storylines. Only, it was also exactly the kind of upset we have come to expect in the women's game. The truth is, there have been plenty of those in recent times. In the last eight editions of Wimbledon, there have been eight different women's champions. Krejcikova was the latest, and also the seventh consecutive first-time Wimbledon champion. The tournament has never seen such an extended period of changeable results in its 140 years of hosting the ladies' singles event.

That unpredictability extends far beyond Wimbledon too. Krejcikova's victory continued a trend that we have seen in women's tennis for at least 15 years, and close to 20. Winning multiple major titles became extremely rare unless you were named Serena Williams. From 2014 to 2024, only Serena, Iga Swiatek, Aryna Sabalenka and Naomi Osaka won the same Grand Slam event more than once. If you stretch back to the last two decades, from 2004 to 2024, only seven women won the same Grand Slam back to back: Serena, Swiatek, Sabalenka, Justine Henin, Venus Williams, Victoria Azarenka and Kim Clijsters. These results mean that, since the turn of the century, there has been a massive boom in the number of women reaching tennis's holy grail. From 2000 to 2024, 36 different women won Grand Slam titles (compared to 22 men). Just as soon as someone made their breakthrough, the tennis gods were already churning out another young star to nab their spot by the next major tournament. A production line, if you like, of fresh faces with fierce forehands and bruising backhands. At least that is how it has sometimes come to feel.

Winning a Grand Slam title is no mean feat; they are after all the most prestigious prizes available in tennis. In January, players battle it out for the Australian Open on the hard courts in sweltering Melbourne; in the spring, they switch to the clay at the chic Roland Garros club in Paris; in July they adapt to the fast grass and inevitable rain at the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club in Wimbledon, before finishing in September back on hard courts, under the bright lights and heavy humidity of Flushing Meadows in Queens, New York. Taking home the trophy at any of these tournaments entails winning seven matches in a row during a 14 or 15-day period. Unlike at other smaller tournaments (which last between one week and 12 days), every fit member of the top 100 shows up to the majors. The calibre of opposition is the highest it can possibly be. The arenas are bigger, the crowds are much larger too, as is the prize money. At the 2024 US Open, singles champions Jannik Sinner and Aryna Sabalenka pocketed a cool $3.6 million each. If all of that doesn't sound challenging enough, at certain slams players may well be completing their matches way past midnight, if they find themselves scheduled to play in the night session (apart from at Wimbledon, where there is thankfully a civilised curfew).

With all of that at stake, you then add the media attention players receive into the mix. At Grand Slams, it becomes amplified to new levels as the world's press descends on the tournaments. During the weekend before play begins and after their matches, top players are ferried between multiple media engagements. First, a 200-seater press conference room, where they are met by the questions of dozens of journalists after each win and loss. Then there are the multiple studios, where players are mic'd up and quickly moved along on a conveyor belt of national broadcasters. For the top talent, it could add up to a couple of hours' worth of interviews and media commitments every other day, as the hype builds with each round they win. Then, when they get back to their hotel room (if they are brave enough to check), their phone will light up with thousands of social media notifications. Some will be messages of support, but others quite the opposite, as vitriol from furious gamblers or cruel trolls is sent their way.

All of that is to say that the mental focus and physical effort it takes to emerge as champion over an intense fortnight like this is a test unlike any other in tennis. It is a measure of endurance, speed, guile, tactical nous, temperament, psychological strength and skill while under the toughest scrutiny. The challenge to win one Grand Slam is immeasurably di?cult, let alone multiple. And yet, because there has been an influx of new winners in recent years, the perceived value of a Grand Slam win has changed. The term 'one-slam wonder' is more commonly bandied about across women's tennis now. Can you really fluke a major title, though? The answer is obviously no, but context is key.

Women's tennis has not always been so unpredictable. Actually, at the turn of the century, things were completely reversed. Jon Wertheim's book Venus Envy, which gives a detailed, behind-thescenes look at the WTA Tour during the 2000 season, paints a completely alternate universe to the tennis world we've seen of late. 'Insiders know that at the Grand Slams, the women's draw doesn't really start until the second week,' Wertheim wrote. 'Unlike the men's brackets, which are riddled with upsets, the women's side invariably follows form through the first week.' As such, from 1980 to 1999, there were only 12 new women champions across the Grand Slams. The numbers don't lie, and there has been an undeniable shift since then. But even back in the 1980s and 90s, women's tennis had plenty of critics. When Martina Navratilova, Chris Evert, Ste? Graf and Monica Seles flourished, women's tennis was accused of being boring. Now that there have been shock results aplenty, the women are regarded (by some) as too flaky.

That is partly because women's sport is never valued entirely in a vacuum. Rather, it is too often based on how it compares to the men's game. The long-term view of tennis history paints an even picture. In pure numbers terms, from 1968 (the start of the Open Era) to 2024, tennis saw 58 different men win Grand Slam titles. During that same period, 60 different women did so. That's 56 years of tennis, where on average each tour saw one new champion crowned per year. So far, so (nearly) identical. But it is the trajectory that differs and, when you break down the numbers, it is the last two decades where we've seen the starkest difference in the two. In men's tennis, we saw the rate of new champions drastically slow down, and in women's we saw it accelerate. A good marker to begin from is the moment tennis changed forever: when Roger Federer won his maiden major title at Wimbledon in 2003. I recognise the irony in beginning a women's tennis book from the date a male player won a tournament, but stick with me.

This most recent period of unpredictable results in women's tennis has been measured - for good and for bad - alongside the era of men's tennis it coincided with: the Big Three era of Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic. Where women's tennis has been highly unpredictable, the men's competition has been the opposite. Where the top end of the WTA rankings have fluctuated and changed on a dime, the ATP's have been more stable (17 new female world No. 1s, to nine male). Where we have seen dozens of women champions emerge - some remaining close to the top, others stepping away or fizzling out - in men's tennis the Big Three rewrote the history books with their three-way rivalry and near-complete monopoly over the Grand Slams. Three men had never previously won as large a share of top titles as this trio did for as long as they did (and, in Djokovic's case, continues to do). Before, there was always room for shock winners and dark horses to slip through the draw and make their mark. Federer's 2003 Wimbledon title began the era of the Big Three (or Big Four if you count three-time major champion Andy Murray). Since then (and up until the end of 2024), only 12 different men lifted a Grand Slam trophy for the first time. In women's tennis, the same period saw 30 different new champions - more than double the rate.

That discrepancy is often used as a stick to beat the women's game with. Critics complain about the lack of consistency. Sport is built on rivalries, they opine, and women's tennis has lacked that in the last 15 or so years. Winning a Grand Slam in men's tennis is more di?cult, they argue, simply based on the fact fewer men have done it during this period. There are both falsehoods and fair points across these arguments. For example, rivalries are extremely fun, and it is fair to say that women's tennis has not lucked out in this department in recent times. But it is false to say winning a Grand Slam in women's tennis is somehow easier because more women have done it. For some though, greatness can only be truly, unequivocally exciting when men are involved. It goes without saying that this book is not for them.

The point of this book is not to say that women's tennis is better than men's either, or that one era is better than another, or to pit champions against each other at all. There will be no GOAT debates here, I'll leave...