Straight up, I’ve loved the Australian Open forever. On TV since Edo and his fantastic moustache took the 1976 title, and in real life since the 1980s when I’d catch the train from school to Kooyong to park up in the back row of centre court and critique players’ legs.
My first boyfriend was a pro player who ended up coaching the Bryan brothers to a zillion grand slam titles. During the 1984 Open, David slept on the velour modular in our lounge room and badgered mum to make her sweet and sour pork.
The Australian Open is in full flight.Credit: Eddie Jim
I was 18 and studying for HSC exams. Still 17, he was making his main draw singles debut. At night, we’d play cards, he’d quiz me on my English texts, we’d talk cricket and our futures.
Long story short, my dream to marry into tennis fizzled, but not my love for the game and the Open.
It’s clearly the best grand slam. It brings dazzling energy to Melbourne, it’s brilliant for families, it’s a cultural spectacle as much as a sporting event. But even amid the fun and fabulousness, this year’s iteration has a lot of elephants in the room.
So many that it would legit not be surprising to hear Craig Tiley has pitched a circus tent on the banks of the Yarra to house them all.
I’m not talking the stitch-up food prices or the way lots of men are playing in pyjamas. Fellas, get some tailored shorts with a contrast belt and a proper top, can you?
Once upon a time, the worst moments at the Open were Eugenie Bouchard being asked to “give us a twirl” and Jim Courier’s dress shoes for post-match interviews. Now, the tournament feels it’s as much about moral dilemmas as it is about the sport.
None are breaking news, but it feels like there’s an unprecedented crush of them all at once this year.
First up, the Russia question. I know rationally Daniil Medvedev and other Russian-born players have no say in their country’s geopolitical decisions. Watching Medvedev’s shock second round loss, I thought, “I love that you play a bit angry and with focus and spirit.”
But there was no way I wanted him to win.
When you see Russians on court, it’s impossible not to think about the war in Ukraine and what their presence symbolises.
This week, that includes the horror of the reported execution by Russia of Melbourne man Oscar Jenkins. Right now, to me, it doesn’t feel okay to cheer for someone whose nation’s actions are causing so much suffering, even when it also feels unfair.
Then there are players with past accusations of domestic violence. In 2023, Nick Kyrgios pleaded guilty to the assault of an ex-girlfriend. Last June, Alexander Zverev paid 200,000 euros to settle a charge for assaulting his ex.
Yep, those incidents are done and dusted, cases closed. But it’s a bit much to expect the audience to simply park them (or to accept the blokes as cool disruptive commentators when their game falls apart.)
When a player accused of domestic violence wins a match, it’s not just a victory. It’s a public relations moment, a message – intended or not – about what we’ll overlook for the sake of entertainment.
For fans, it’s a moral quandary. Do you boo? Do you clap? Do you get up and leave or change the channel?
Same goes for reigning Open champ Jannik Sinner and second seed Iga Swiatek, both playing after failing drug tests in 2024. And then there’s the man refusing drugs, the famously unvaccinated Novak Djokovic.
Can we separate the athlete from their actions? Should we?
Sport has never been a perfect, unsullied realm. It’s a microcosm of the world, filled with flawed people and messy politics.
The Australian Open’s elephants remind us of that, writ large. Maybe they’re an invitation to think more critically about who we’re cheering for and why. Maybe I’m just suffering from a case of “back in my day” syndrome.
Or maybe, it’s time to just watch some tennis and plot to get Pat Rafter back on the circuit.
Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.
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