Enough. We’re tired of discussing ‘engineered’ players, coaching choices, biomechanics, and programming. We’re weary of dissecting every loss as the failure of an engineering project. Sometimes, you just have to look at the other side of the net and ask: who won? And, more importantly, how did they do it?
Yesterday in Montreal, the winner was Itō Aoi. And she did it by short-circuiting the system. She took the powerful, rhythmic, and codified tennis of Jasmine Paolini, one of the most solid players on the tour, and turned it into a tangled mess of frustration and confusion, culminating in 67 unforced errors—a season-high negative record for the tour.
For a set and a half, the match seemed to follow the usual script: the power player, the number one seed, in full control. Itō, a Japanese qualifier ranked outside the top 100, appeared to be a “memorable curiosity,” destined for an honourable exit after a few “intermittent flashes of oddball brilliance.” Down 2-6, 1-4, her defeat seemed a foregone conclusion.
Then, chaos took over. A saved match point at 5-4 in the second set, during a moment of general confusion over an alleged double fault that was never called, acted as the catalyst. The third set was a festival of eight service breaks, a tactical asylum that ended in the most insane and brilliant way possible: with a Federer-esque SABR (Sneak Attack By Return) on match point, sealing the biggest win of her career.
But who is Itō Aoi, and what is the secret to her disruptive game?
Born in Nagoya on 21 May 2004, Itō is an anomaly in modern tennis. She almost entirely skipped the junior circuit, a mandatory path for most professionals, developing her game in a near-sheltered environment, far from the academies that tend to standardise playing styles. Her team is a family affair, a setup she laughingly describes as “very cost-efficient.” Her father, a former prosecutor, is the tactical mind, her coach. Her mother, who used to work for a travel agency, is the logistical engine and psychological support, organising trips, meals, and providing mental care. It was her father, a great admirer of Hsieh Su-wei, who passed on the inspiration for an unconventional style of tennis, although Itō candidly admits she has never diligently watched her supposed ‘muse’ play. This distance has allowed her to create a style all her own, an approach she lives with a disarming lightness: “I feel like I am playing a tennis video game when I play in real life.”
Her game is a manifesto against predictability. Her main weapon isn’t a shot, but a concept: anti-rhythm. Her forehand is almost always a slice, a shot that is practically an archaeological find in contemporary women’s tennis. She uses it not just defensively to absorb an opponent’s power, but as a paintbrush to decorate the court: it can become a venomous drop shot, an angled stroke that opens up the court, or a slow, looping arc that removes all reference points. “I think my forehand slices have improved the most. I can use them for both defence and attack,” she has stated.
This ‘junk’ shot (in the best sense of the word, so-called ‘junkball’) is contrasted by a technically perfect, solid, and powerful two-handed backhand, with which she often finishes the point. This asymmetry is devastating. Opponents are programmed to respond to power with power, but Itō denies them this possibility. She forces them to generate all the force themselves, from awkward positions, on weightless balls, driving them to exasperation and error. And just when her opponent is mentally trapped in this web of slow, sliced shots, Ito strikes them down with a clean and definitive backhand winner.
Her tennis is an art of frustration, and she does nothing to hide it. “I really love to see that [my opponents getting frustrated]! That’s my play-style!” she candidly admitted. And against Paolini, it worked to perfection. The Italian, a two-time major finalist, was forced to “over-press in her bid to hit through Itō ’s offbeat game.” She lost the plot, falling into the trap of playing the same game as the one who masters it.
Itō Aoi is more than just this. She is an excellent net player, with instincts and touch that some analysts rate among the best for her ranking. She is tactically astute and knows she cannot rely on pure power. “I have no physical strength,” she explained, “so I always look for the technique to win against a better player, not power. The most important thing is tactics for me.”
So, let’s stop talking about projects and constructions. Ito’s victory in Montreal was not a fluke or someone else’s failure. It was the victory of a different idea of tennis, one based on instinct, creativity, and tactical intelligence. It is proof that in a sport increasingly dominated by physics, there is still room—and perhaps there will be more and more—for those who know how to use their head and their hands in ways others do not expect. There is still room for genius and for chaos, embodied by a young woman who doesn’t necessarily dream of winning Slams, but more pragmatically of earning enough to “build a happy old age.”
