Ash Barty, 26, and her former coach, Craig Tyzzer, 63, worked together from her 2016 comeback until her retirement early last year. While their friendship hasn’t waned, she misses his whistling and humming on tour.
Ash: When I think of Tyzz at his happiest, the photo that comes to mind is from Wimbledon in 2021, me looking at him, holding our trophy together. I was so proud of him that day. We had worked together since I came back to tennis in 2016, and that trophy always makes me think back to the hundreds of wins and losses we learnt from – all those moments of growth. Like just before the French Open semi-final in 2019, and a conversation we had in the hotel lobby. I told him that I didn’t feel like I deserved to be there because I hadn’t beaten a top-10 player that tournament. “You’ve outlasted all of them,” he said to me. “You’ve earned every bit of being here.” He helped me feel like I belonged.
But after winning Wimbledon, my mindset changed. When that season was over, ahead of the Australian summer, I had my first conversation with him about retiring. He knew how tired I was and could see the spark was dwindling. Coming up to pre-season, we spoke about that absence of drive or passion. To me, the results almost didn’t matter any more.
I felt that at a tournament in Adelaide, too, when we had a conversation by the pool after midnight. I said, “I’m tired. I think I’m done.” Tyzz said, “You can choose your schedule; just play Slams if you want,” and told me I shouldn’t feel any pressure. But I also knew it was my responsibility not to drag him along if I was only half in. It was then that we realised that retirement was closer than we’d thought.
Tyzz responded perfectly by trying to lighten the mood – mucking around and having fun, kicking the footy or playing cricket matches – even before all those finals at the 2022 Australian Open. He went from this serious coach who sends the longest tactical text messages the night before every match to a larrikin who’d just try to make me smile and laugh every day. We were just gonna go and have fun every single moment.
Months after we won the 2022 Australian Open, I told Tyzz over a sushi lunch at my house in Brisbane that I was ready to stop playing. I was so nervous. His life was about to be completely flipped based on a decision of mine, and he wasn’t the only one. A dozen people’s lives and careers were going to change in an instant. My big concern was making him understand my reasons, which ultimately came down to this: I’d fulfilled my dreams. I was so teary, but it was liberating and amazing, and he kept saying, “It’s all right, mate. It’s okay.” There was no regret or anger or backlash. Eight months on, our relationship hasn’t changed, which is the most beautiful thing.
“He went from this serious coach who sends the longest tactical text messages the night before every match to a larrikin who’d just try to make me smile and laugh every day.”
We have our same group chats and banter and fun, but I miss working with him, just spending time with him. He’s a quirky guy. The amount of time Tyzz spends humming and whistling is weird and wonderful. I didn’t notice it when we first started working together but, over time, it stood out like a sore thumb. He never, ever sings – just hums along or whistles a tune. On the tour, after weeks on the road, I’d find myself doing it, too. Just driving to practice or a match, the two of us whistling and humming together. Yeah, I’ll miss that.
Craig: The professional tennis tour – for Australians, in particular – is difficult. The travel is draining, enormously taxing emotionally and socially. Then there’s injury and fitness, handling that week in and week out. And if, like Ash, you’re playing deep into tournaments and then fronting up somewhere else in a few days, it can be brutal. It’s hard. You have to do all this work in pre-season, too, on every little area of your game: you have to continue to improve because everyone’s out to get you.
Ash used to have to work on her emotional performance: believing in yourself is work. It wasn’t something she did easily or naturally; working through insecurities and doubts is the same as learning a forehand or backhand. But they’re the things that take you from the start to the finish of a player’s career and not all players can do that. Some won’t even test themselves because they don’t want to find out they’re not good enough. She was always willing to find out.
Ash retiring wasn’t a surprise for me; I never felt she was going to be in tennis for too long. She had goals she wanted to achieve; it was never going to be about just continuing forever with no reason or finish line. And she wasn’t going to go through the motions, either. But did I think she’d walk away that early? No.
“Ash used to have to work on her emotional performance: believing in yourself is work … the same as learning a forehand or backhand.”
We had conversations. I felt it didn’t need to be such a clean break. Maybe there was a way of having her family around for some of the tour, playing golf between tournaments, taking her nieces and nephew to cities they might enjoy. I thought, for instance, it might be good for her to go back to Wimbledon in 2022 as the reigning champion – to walk back in there holding the title would be a lovely thing – but it’s a long process to get there.
To make the final call was so difficult for her, but I knew it was coming. It was more about trying to understand how it would work: what do we do from here? What’s the next stage? And, more importantly, how do we tell everyone? Millions of Australians wanted her to keep playing, so it became more about handling the announcement. I didn’t want to see her lose the Australian public. They know Ash as a tennis player, but I know her as a person. Tennis isn’t who she is, it’s what she does – and there are other things in life she wants to do.
Ash has always been an emotional girl, and we had a pretty strong, trusting relationship. That hasn’t changed. I never felt as if she was letting me down by walking away. We went on a fantastic journey together, but we haven’t cut that tie. We still talk a lot. We just talk a lot less about tennis and stress, and a lot more about families and footy and dogs.