Slice

Or ‘Chop’? Get the difference? Then perhaps this is for you.

The recent reflection sparked by Emanuele Ricciardi in his podcast “Slice” (bit.ly/abbonati-a-slice ) proposes to equate mental and physical fragility in tennis. This perspective questions why, when faced with a talented tennis player with physical limitations, we are inclined to admire the results achieved, whereas if we are faced with a talented athlete who is psychologically fragile, we tend to label them as a deplorable squanderer of their own potential.

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However, although such a parallel might initially appear suggestive, this present reflection intends to critically explore such an equation. The aim, indeed, is to analyse whether these two fragilities are genuinely comparable or if, on the contrary, they present fundamental differences in their intrinsic nature and specific impact on the game.

The hypothesis to be examined is that confusing these two realities could lead to misunderstanding the profound structure of tennis – its peculiar “internal semantics” (talent is knowing how to use that language) – and reducing it to a mere comparison between “how physically strong one is” and “how mentally strong one is”.

But would a rigorous examination not perhaps lead to the conclusion, conversely, that while physical fragility constitutes a largely immutable constraint, mental fragility instead represents a trait susceptible to training and development?

Above all, in tennis, both components [physical and mental fragility] remain extraneous to the ‘semantics of the technical gesture’ itself. The particular mastery in expressing such semantics – what we commonly call ‘talent’ – seems rather to have its roots in a fundamental individual predisposition, almost a neurophysiological ‘imprinting’ and a peculiar capacity for mental projection of the gesture, more than in the mere interaction between learned technique and tactical acumen. (cf. for an in-depth look at the neural bases of high performance and the mental representation of action, Yarrow et al., 2009; Jeannerod, 1994).

If we turn to scientific evidence in the field of sports physiology applied to tennis, we find that anthropometric parameters such as height, limb length, and body composition exert a determining influence on the ability to generate power and to cover the court effectively (Kovacs, 2007; Roetert & Ellenbecker, 2007). A player who is 1.60 metres tall, for example, will never be able to apply the same forces as an opponent who is over two metres tall, as mechanical levers, bone length, and muscle structure are largely determined by genetic inheritance. Even with extremely targeted training programmes, calibrated diets, and specific muscle strengthening, the shorter athlete may increase speed and endurance, but will hardly overcome the limitations imposed by their mechanical leverage in imparting the same speed to the ball as a taller opponent. This condition, for example, translates in tennis performance to a less advantageous service angle and additional fractions of a second to move from one side of the court to the other (Girard, Micallef, & Millet, 2005). It is clear that such a condition does not derive from personal choice, but rather from a phenotypic trait: there is no fault or demerit in having limited height or a contained VO2max, just as there is no effective remedy to “lengthen” bones. In this sense, physical fragility is objective, measurable, and, once growth thresholds are passed, substantially unmodifiable.

Although both physiological constraints and psychological challenges lie outside the core ‘language’ of tennis technique, they impose limits in very different ways: physical constraints remain largely fixed, whereas mental weaknesses can be improved through training.

Mental fragility, by contrast, represents an area where the athlete can (and must?) intervene concretely. For decades, sports psychology has documented how mental training – through techniques such as guided imagery, mental coaching interventions, motivational training, and biofeedback – significantly improves the ability to manage stress, maintain self-control in crucial moments, optimise concentration, and adapt to competitive pressures (Weinberg & Gould, 2019; Gucciardi, Gordon, & Dimmock, 2008; Hatzigeorgiadis et al., 2014). For example, systematic practice of visualisation can reduce pre-match anxiety and stabilise motor coordination at decisive points; biofeedback, by monitoring heart rate variability, teaches how to regulate breathing rhythm and to recover lucidity more quickly after a significant error. A consistent mental coaching path can transform a tennis player previously prone to “blackouts” or “choking” under pressure into a player capable of facing even a decisive tie-break with equilibrium. Unlike the physical component, therefore, the mind is a dynamic factor: a high-level athlete has the responsibility to avail themselves of the support of a sports psychologist or to implement self-regulation strategies, as ignoring this dimension means relying predominantly on chance in situations of high tension.

That being said, it is crucial to specify that tennis is not merely about “how hard one can hit the ball” or “how much one can psychologically endure”. On the contrary, the heart of the game lies in the ‘semantics of the gesture’ (tennis talent): in this language, each shot has its own proper form and ‘truth of execution’, and the variety and precision of movement with which such shots are realised constitute the intrinsic ‘tennis talent’ of each performer.

When we state that tennis is an autonomous language, we mean that the quality of the shots and the richness of the “tennis vocabulary” largely depend on a natural predisposition, difficult to create anew through training alone. This does not imply that those with more talent will always win – physical and mental constraints, as discussed, come into play – but it means that a talented player “speaks the language of tennis” at a higher level.

It is analogous to the difference between a skilled typist and Shakespeare: the latter, even if slow or clumsy at hitting the keys, would still remain a poet – regardless of results and statistics, which are blind in this regard. Similarly, a talented tennis player, even if physically limited or mentally inconsistent, continues to possess that ability to invent solutions and to express themselves through the language of tennis with a depth and richness of accents otherwise unattainable, which no training can ever teach from scratch. Talent, like certain physical attributes, is largely innate. Eye-hand coordination like McEnroe‘s is a gift that is difficult to acquire.

This distinction is confirmed by observing players who, despite manifesting evident mental shortcomings, have managed to express a tennis of indisputable technical value and inventiveness. Fabio Fognini and Nick Kyrgios are paradigmatic examples of talent associated with inconsistency. Their mental fragility, manifested in outbursts and lapses in concentration, has never undermined the technical identity of their game (see, for a general analysis of the relationship between personality and performance, Allen & Laborde, 2014). In each of these cases, the semantics of the gesture is not nullified by mental fragility: at the highest level, what may “switch off” is the ability to complete a sequence of shots at the crucial moment of the match, but not the intrinsic meaning of the tennis gesture.

It does, therefore, effectively constitute a “waste of talent“. After all, criticism is rarely levelled at players of ordinary talent who are extremely methodical, as they tend rather to inspire admiration.

The expert observer, indeed, instinctively recognises in talent the primary manifestation of intrinsic tennis ability: although a contemporary tendency to valorise more circumscribed or one-dimensional expressions of talent may be noted: this, however, is another story to be explored.

Furthermore, if we were to seek confirmation outside of tennis that mental strength does not define the technical meaning of a gesture, we could observe diverse disciplines such as chess, Formula 1, or football. Magnus Carlsen possesses a mental lucidity that allows him to dominate an opponent on the chessboard; Max Verstappen requires considerable mental strength to drive his F1 car with almost superhuman control; Cristiano Ronaldo demonstrates coolness in the decisive moments of a penalty kick. All of them, much like our mentally strong tennis player, exhibit a transversal mental toughness, which, however, does not qualify them as tennis players. Similarly, the performances of a 400-metre hurdles specialist or a triple jumper, which are indicators of physical potential, say little about their ability as tennis players. These examples serve to reiterate that mental (and physical) strength are general attributes, applicable to any competitive context, but they do not define the specific value of the intrinsic language of each discipline.

Tennis, as a language, is measured by the semantic depth of its shots, the geometric precision of its movements, and the breadth of its athletic gesture’s vocabulary, not by the calibre of the psyche of those who practise it. The physical and mental components affect the outcome in terms of victories or defeats, but they do not redesign the semantics that give meaning to every exchange: talent.

In light of this analysis, it becomes evident that equating physical fragility and mental fragility in tennis constitutes an error in perspective: the former is objective in nature, linked to genetic-biomechanical constraints and largely immutable; the latter is a trainable trait, dependent on mental training interventions and the athlete’s personal responsibility. Both condition the ability to “express” the language of tennis in terms of score, but neither constitutes the internal grammar or intrinsic semantics of the game. This is why there are extremely successful players, who have dedicated their lives to perfecting the repetitiveness of a single gesture, mental toughness, and physical prowess, yet who, despite years of victories at the highest levels, do not inspire the same admiration generated by a few exchanges from highly talented players, albeit sometimes less decorated.

Ultimately, physical fragility resembles a dialect that restricts the range of available words; mental fragility is more like background noise that can suddenly interrupt speech. They are not the same thing and should not be judged by the same yardstick. The body establishes how far your voice can reach; the mind decides with what continuity you will use it. The content, however, that narrative that takes shape in the ball’s trajectory, belongs to another realm: and it remains intact even when the scoreline does not do it justice.

It would then be interesting to explore how much possessing great talent – which generally coincides with having multiple options available for every single shot and often relying on instinct – is not part of the equation that makes a player “less stable”. In these times, we see very stable players who, however, have a vocabulary of three shots, executed predominantly in a single manner. This limitation could, paradoxically, facilitate mental solidity. But that, too, is another story to be explored.

References

• Allen, M. S., & Laborde, S. (2014). The role of personality in sport and physical activity. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 23(6), 460-465.
• Girard, O., Micallef, J. P., & Millet, G. P. (2005). Lower-limb activity during the power serve in tennis: effects of performance level. Medicine & Science in Sports & Exercise, 37(6), 1021-1029.
• Gucciardi, D. F., Gordon, S., & Dimmock, J. A. (2008). Towards an understanding of mental toughness in Australian football. Journal of Applied Sport Psychology, 20(3), 261-281.
• Hatzigeorgiadis, A., Galanis, E., Zourbanos, N., & Theodorakis, Y. (2014). The effects of psychological interventions on competitive tennis performance: A meta-analysis. International Review of Sport and Exercise Psychology, 7(1), 249-276.
• Jeannerod, M. (1994). The representing brain: Neural correlates of motor intention and imagery. Behavioral and Brain Sciences, 17(2), 187-202.
• Kovacs, M. S. (2007). Tennis physiology: Training the competitive athlete. Sports Medicine, 37(3), 189-198.
• Roetert, E. P., & Ellenbecker, T. S. (2007). Complete conditioning for tennis (2nd ed.). Human Kinetics.
• Weinberg, R. S., & Gould, D. (2019). Foundations of Sport and Exercise Psychology (7th ed.). Human Kinetics.
• Yarrow, K., Brown, P., & Krakauer, J. W. (2009). Inside the brain of an elite athlete: the neural processes that support high achievement in sports. Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 10(8), 585-596.