The One-Handed Backhand: A Dying Masterpiece or Just Waiting for Its Moment?

Sydney, an unremarkable Tuesday morning. I stood at the edge of the practice court, a spot I've occupied thousands of times over two decades. The smell of freshly cut grass mixed with the rhythmic bounce of the ball. And then I saw it — a one-handed backhand down the line, low, flat, biting into the opponent's feet. The executor wasn't Roger Federer, wasn't Stan Wawrinka. A young Australian player, 19 years old, fighting his way back from injury. That shot stopped me in my tracks. Numbers tell half the story; the other half lives on the court. And in that moment, I realized I was witnessing an endangered species — the one-handed backhand — still fighting to survive in an increasingly hostile tennis ecosystem. The context of this crisis has long been drawn. Since 2026, the percentage of male players using the one-handed backhand in the top 100 has dropped from roughly 45% to under 15%. At the 2026 Australian Open, only 11 players in the main draw used this technique. Those numbers don't lie, but they also don't tell the whole truth. Youth academies worldwide, from Barcelona to Bradenton, are mass-converting to the two-handed backhand as early as age 10. The reason is simple: two hands are easier to learn, more stable, and handle pressure better. In an era where power and spin reign supreme, the one-handed backhand is seen as a luxury — beautiful but fragile, refined but breakable. But I've watched tennis long enough to know that truth always lies somewhere between extremes. Three seasons I stayed silent, then the data spoke for itself. Look at what's actually happening. Stefanos Tsitsipas, one of the leading one-handers, has reached two Grand Slam finals and stayed in the top 10 for seven consecutive years. Grigor Dimitrov, at 35, can still beat anyone on his day. And we cannot forget Stan Wawrinka — who proved that the one-handed backhand isn't just a weapon, but can be the most destructive weapon in modern tennis history. Wawrinka's one-hander in the 2026 French Open semifinal against Roger Federer wasn't just a shot; it was a statement. It said that art still has a place in a world dominated by raw power. What makes the one-handed backhand special — and also what makes it fragile — lies in its biomechanics. This shot demands perfect coordination between eyes, feet, and hand — but above all, it demands time. Time to prepare, time to align, time to execute. Meanwhile, the two-handed backhand can be hit later, with a larger margin for error. This is the crucial point that modern data analysts often miss. They look at point percentages, ball speed, unforced error counts — but they don't look at the spatial-temporal window a player needs to produce a quality shot. That pressing looked beautiful on the stat sheet, but fell apart on the court. A well-executed one-hander can create angles that no two-hander can replicate — especially when hitting down the line or driving the ball low. Let me tell you about an afternoon at Melbourne Park, 2026. I was watching Stefanos Tsitsipas practice with a young Russian player — a typical product of the two-handed training system. Tsitsipas hit a series of low-driving one-handed backhands, each one forcing his opponent to dip at the knees. After the session, I asked Tsitsipas's coach about the future of this technique. He shrugged: "Stef doesn't think about whether it will survive or not. He just thinks about making it perfect in every match." That answer made me think. Perhaps we're asking the wrong question. Instead of asking whether the one-handed backhand will survive, we should ask: what will happen to tennis if it disappears? In tennis, what gets forgotten is often what's most worth watching. The disappearance of the one-handed backhand wouldn't just be an aesthetic loss. It would change the entire way the game is played. Imagine a world where every player hits a two-handed backhand. What would happen? First, wide serves would become less effective — because the two-handed return handles spin better. Second, baseline rallies would become more monotonous — because the two-hander produces less variety in ball trajectory. Third, and perhaps most importantly, tactical diversity would shrink. The one-hander allows players to hit slice backhands, take the ball early, hit against the direction of play — all of which create the richness of the game. But I don't believe in revolutions; I believe in accumulation. And if we look at history, we'll see that techniques thought to be dying often have a way of coming back. In the 1990s, many experts predicted serve-and-volley would die forever — but then Roger Federer and Pete Sampras proved otherwise. In the 2000s, people said the one-hander couldn't withstand the power of the new generation — but then Wawrinka won three Grand Slams. What happens next? I don't know for certain. But I know that somewhere, at a small academy in South America or Eastern Europe, there's a 12-year-old holding a racket with one hand and hitting shots that make his coach's jaw drop. And I know that child, when grown, will bring something different — something no data machine can measure. Look at the numbers once more. In the current top 30, we have three one-handers: Tsitsipas, Dimitrov, and Lorenzo Musetti. Musetti, at 24, is perhaps the greatest hope for the future of this technique. His one-hander doesn't resemble anyone else's — it's soft, fluid, and full of surprises. When Musetti hits a down-the-line one-hander from a wide angle, crowds in Rome or Monte Carlo often rise to their feet before the ball bounces. That's not just a shot; it's a moment of art. And it's those moments — not the numbers — that make tennis the most beautiful sport in the world. I remember an evening in September 2026, during the pandemic, when I sat alone in my Sydney living room and rewatched the 2026 Roland Garros final between Wawrinka and Djokovic. It was my third time watching that match, but this time I noticed a detail I'd missed before. In the fourth set, with Djokovic leading 4-2 and serving, Wawrinka hit an incredibly sharp one-handed return — low, heavily spun, landing exactly on the baseline. Djokovic couldn't reach it. In that moment, I realized the one-hander isn't just a technique; it's a statement of identity. It says: I don't have to do it your way; I have my own way. Slow down one beat to read the rhythm of the match correctly. That's what the one-handed backhand teaches us — about tennis and about life. In a world where everything is optimized, measured, analyzed to the smallest detail, the one-hander is a reminder that not everything can be reduced to data. Sometimes, the most beautiful thing is precisely the hardest to measure. The 2026-18 season taught me that pressing also needs humility. Similarly, the one-hander teaches us that power also needs finesse. In a tennis world increasingly dominated by heavy baseline hitting, the one-hander — with its ability to create unique angles, intelligent slices, bold early takes — is a reminder that there are many ways to win. And perhaps, when two-handers become increasingly similar — same style, same tactics, same approach — it's precisely the difference of the one-hander that will become its greatest asset. At the 2026 Australian Open, I spent time watching Musetti practice with his coach. After the session, I asked Musetti about the future of the one-hander. He smiled: "I don't think about that. I just think about making it better every day." That answer sounds simple, but it contains a profound truth. In a world full of doom predictions, those who truly make a difference are those who don't listen to those predictions. They just quietly work, day by day, hour by hour, shot by shot. So, will the one-handed backhand die? I don't think so. It will never return to the dominance of the 1980s — when most players used it. But it won't disappear. Because somewhere, there's always a child holding a racket with one hand and feeling a special connection between hand and racket — a feeling no two-hander can provide. And when that child grows up, they will bring us moments that make us rise to our feet — not because of a number on the scoreboard, but because of the pure beauty of the game. I will keep watching. I will keep recording. Because in tennis, what gets forgotten is often what's most worth watching. And I believe that one day, when we least expect it, the one-handed backhand will once again make the world bow in admiration.