The One-Handed Backhand: Last Art in the Age of Two Hands

At the moment Stefanos Tsitsipas stepped back three feet, slid across the Melbourne hard court and swung his racquet to carve a one-handed backhand down the line, Rod Laver Arena held its breath. That was not a thunderous two-handed winner in the style of Jannik Sinner. It was a low, spinning ball that landed precisely in the far corner, leaving a cut of patience on the court, a cut that only those willing to choose beauty ever understand. In the ATP rankings at the start of 2026, players using the one-handed backhand can be counted on one hand. But I write this not to mourn a dying technique. I want to understand why it is dying, and whether that death is a final verdict or merely an exile. The context of this story begins in the late 1990s. When Andre Agassi and Michael Chang proved that the two-handed backhand could defend better against powerful serves, the shift began. But it was Rafael Nadal, with his monstrous lefty topspin aimed directly at opponents' single hand, who exposed the classic flaw: high balls at shoulder height. Roger Federer still won 20 Grand Slams with his legendary one-hander, yet he lost to Nadal in six Grand Slam finals because those floating balls were intercepted at dangerous height. That was the first tactical crack. Since then, academies no longer encouraged children to learn the one-hander. They teach two hands because it is safer, easier to coach, and helps a ten-year-old hit deep returns after only six months. The core of the issue lies in modern ball speed and spin. Based on my experience following matches across hundreds of tournaments, I have noticed that the two-handed backhand is not inherently more powerful—it simply allows players to handle balls around the shoulder with a lower contact point. Two hands act as a short lever, stable when the ball jumps above the head. The one-hander demands perfect footwork and a swing angle accurate to the millimetre. Roger Federer once said, 'My one-handed backhand is the most beautiful thing I have, and also the weapon that made me lose to many players.' ATP statistics from 2026 show deep-return rates of 78% for two-handed backhands, notably higher than the 69% of one-handed players in defensive situations. Yet when attacking, the percentage of winner points generated by one-handed backhands, relative to total points won, is 11% higher than for two-handers in recent seasons. In other words, the one-hander is not technically weaker—it merely demands a courage that few are willing to pay for. Looking at the remaining players, I see that truth clearly. Stefanos Tsitsipas reached the 2026 French Open final using an early-hit one-hander. Lorenzo Musetti, at 24, is among the few who dare to use a one-hander to change rhythm in five-set matches. Grigor Dimitrov, at 34, remains in the top 30 thanks to his fluid movement, transforming the stroke into a scalpel rather than a heavy sword. But all three carry an inner fragility. They have days of brilliance that leave spectators breathless, and days when they collapse under unforced errors from their own signature shot. Last year's Monte-Carlo match between Tsitsipas and Alexander Zverev is a perfect example: in the deciding set, Tsitsipas missed eleven one-handed backhands because he tried to step in too early, while Zverev simply returned to the middle and waited for mistakes. I believe that fragility is what creates beauty. The one-handed backhand is an image of imperfect curves, of humanity in a sport increasingly resembling a machine. But from a contrarian angle, I believe this technique is not dying because it has been surpassed – it is dying because of laziness in youth development. We build junior rankings based on victories before age fourteen, and a two-handed child will win faster because they make fewer errors. But the side effect is that an entire generation grows up without learning how to answer the question: How do you convert a heavy spinning ball into a decisive shot with only one arm? In history, giants like Rod Laver, Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe never looked at junior rankings. They looked at the court and asked what put the most pressure on their opponent. The one-hander, used correctly, does exactly that because it can shift direction suddenly without revealing its intentions from the shoulder. The story of the one-hander is not just about scores. In the summer of 2026, while reporting from a Melbourne training camp, I watched a Serbian coach adjust the grip of a twelve-year-old boy. The boy looked up and asked, 'If I play a one-hander, can I be like Roger?' The coach shook his head and said, 'You will never be ranked.' I have never forgotten the light fading in that boy's eyes. That was the moment I realized diversity in sport is not destroyed by data alone, but by the fear of being left behind. Major tennis federations can present statistics on the success rate of two-handers, but they cannot measure the freedom a one-handed backhand gives a child when they first solve a difficult rally by themselves. We say sport is a universal language, but if that language is narrowed into one standardized stroke, we lose far bigger stories. An empty stadium is a sad poem about the loneliness of victory. I remember the 2026 season when tennis paused due to the pandemic, and I stood at Melbourne Park with not a soul in sight. No sound of racquet hitting ball, no sound of spectators breathing. In that silence, I realized what we are losing is not just a shot; we are losing a way of thinking about victory. The one-handed backhand teaches us that victory comes not from certainty, but from accepting risk. Roger Federer, Stan Wawrinka, Richard Gasquet, Dominic Thiem—they were artists of uncertainty. They made us love tennis not for aces, but for the pauses before the swing, when their whole body commits to a ball no one dares to promise. When it lands in, that is a moment of pure will. When it goes out, it is not failure—it is proof that they dared to be beautiful. The 2026 regular season is only a quarter through. Tsitsipas still struggles to regain Grand Slam final form. Musetti is maturing on clay. Dimitrov's physical state is a question mark. But as I write, I do not ask how many titles they will win. I ask another question: Will a generation lacking the one-handed backhand still understand the exquisite pain of maintaining uniqueness? Modern tennis may keep producing perfect two-handed champions, but if there is nothing fragile, nothing to fear and love in the same moment, the sport will merely become a race for points. I believe the one-hander will not disappear completely. It will become a choice for rebels, those willing to endure losses in order to preserve beauty. And every time a twelve-year-old picks up a racquet with one hand and steps onto the court, our world will grow a little wider with a space that can never be measured.