A pair of serves has made the game go Tsits

There was a time in tennis when you could rely on the rump of high-ranking players – those who would never win an important tournament, but were needed as cannon fodder for them, to know their place.

They had a role on the tour, and that was to be OK at tennis and to brighten the place up a bit. They all knew this, and accepted the job for the opportunities it presented as a playboy. Where Djokovic, Federer, Sampras, McEnroe and others triumphed in Grand Slams, they would get nightclubs, sports cars, nice looking girls, champagne, cocaine, coverage in tabloids, and calendar photoshoots. That’s why people like Tsitsipas, who still hangs around with his fishwife mum, and gets his girlfriends from agencies, is so bad for the game. Worse still, he’s ambitious; he doesn’t even laugh at his own fallibilities. He’s too much of an ugly child, grown into a narcissist with a victim complex, to be considered charming and good looking, but he’s tall, he’s got long hair, and he loves himself. There’s a better job waiting for him.

Today’s suggested rule change is designed for people just like him.

Listen to this. Instead of having two serves, tennis should change the rules to just one. First off, it will take all the bang-average, one-dimensional players like Tsits, out of the game. He’s got a big serve and forehand, otherwise, he’s not that good. As I write this, he is losing to Andy Murray, and he’s got a pair of wooden legs. Secondly, it increases jeopardy: the player has to decide whether to go for the big serve when needed, and risk missing, or to play safe. Thirdly, it improves the game from the spectator’s point of view (and hence the advertisers and sponsors), since, mostly, players will choose to play safe and hit a slower serve to keep it in play, and that will increase the number and duration of rallies; and won’t put the server at a massive, dominating advantage. Fourthly, only players with a good, all-round adaptable game will thrive. Fifthly, we will sift out all the mummy’s-boy, cry-babies, and send them packing to the nightclubs, and holiday resort coaching-schools, where they belong.

Yours in sport,
Sammo Bietch