Last week I wrote about the place of faith in the lives of some of the great past and present players at the Australian Open (tennis). This week I’d like to reflect on the behaviour of some of the crowd.
Tournament organisers sought to play down misconduct in the stands. They said it was no worse than normal. Yet reports of boorish and disruptive behaviour, of chair umpires having to stop fans yelling out to put players off their serve, of players feeling “disrespected,” were too many to dismiss.
Destanee Aiava compared the courtside audience with a football crowd—and said she liked it. Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova said playing on Court 6—next to the bar—was like being on a big screen before a pub crowd who only watched between drinks and conversation.
At least one match on an adjacent court had to be suspended and moved because of the noise from that “party court” crowd.
Jack Draper said he’d been served up the worst abuse ever at this Open—which only made him play harder. But American Danielle Collins thought it unsporting for the crowds to heckle her every time she scored against an Aussie.
Novak Djokovic was booed for a different reason. There’s the Aussie “tall poppy syndrome” and he’s the tallest tennis poppy. Some don’t like his personality. Some write him off as an antivaxxer who had to be detained and deported in the Covid days.
But this time he was booed as he left the court, possibly for the last time, after succumbing to injury during the quarterfinal. Like crowds at ancient Roman gladiatorial contests—on in modern cinematic Hunger Games—the hecklers demanded that the Joker to play to the death.
Djokovic’s gracious opponent, Alexander Zverev, begged the booers to stop. Commentator John McEnroe—not always a model of on-court behaviour in his heyday as a player—was disgusted.
The crowd knew the 10-time tournament winner had been injured in his match with Alcaraz and deserved their respect.
Players such as Djokovic and Collins linked the hecklers’ rowdy behaviour to the greater-than-ever availability of alcohol to patrons and consequent higher-than-ever consumption.
Of course, tournament organisers were right to claim that, with more than a million attendees this year, many of them first-timers, some inappropriate behaviour was to be expected. And they were right to imply that some players’ complaints were overstated and that they are, in any case, very well compensated.
But it annoyed the players, the referees, the well-behaved majority of the crowd, and the TV viewers. Patrons should know better.
Of course, no one would expect Australian Open crowds to be as well-mannered, indeed subdued, as Wimbledon crowds, just as no one would expect Australian football crowds to be as bad-mannered, even menacing, as English supporters. There’s arguably less tradition but more fun to be had at sport down under.
Some say the crowds at Roland Garros and the US Open are more partisan, disruptive and plain rude than the Aussies. The often witty banter of the Aussie crowds is part of what some come for. And the electric crowds bring an excitement that explains why anyone would pay hundreds to be there. Some players feed on this energy too.
What’s more, tennis is changing—like everything else. Nowadays Open attendees can come and go from the stands at any time, rather than waiting for a natural break in the game as they would have in the past.
It’s like cinemas in which some viewers talk, text or step out for eats and smokes, as they please. It seems viewer etiquette is evolving before our eyes.
But the headlines should surely be about the players not the viewers. We go to the Open or switch on the Box to see our athletic champions perform, not some mediocre miscreants on the sidelines.
As the lines between sport and entertainment, between reality and what passes for it on tv, between playful ruffians and disruptive boors are increasingly blurred, tennis will gain some new fans but lose some faithful old ones.
I’ve noticed something similar happening in “the alternative religion” to sport. Many people who come to church today don’t know how to behave. We want them there anyway. And we hope they’ll get used to our ways.
Congregants are not generally as rowdy as tennis crowds, though Hillsong might aspire to a similar energy. Only black American congregations call out during the sermon, with “Alleluia” when they approve and “Help him Lord” when they don’t. It’s more Wimbledon than Melbourne rules in most Australian congregations.
But there’s a lot more texting, chatting and snacking—not of the sacramental kind—than went on in the past. A lot of arriving late and leaving early. A lot less hush, less recollection, less reverence.
You might say that reflects the evolution of social etiquette in a flatter, more democratic direction. Or of popular culture in a less shut-up-and-listen, more interactive, market-led direction. Or of human psychology under the influence of the new media towards multi-focussed if shorter attention spans.
But whether it’s spiritual religion or athletic, some etiquette is required, some protocol, some rhythm.
It actually frees people up to focus on what matters. It gives us the language, postures and rituals we need to express respect—for God or sport, for our champions, and for each other.