During a calm, quiet afternoon in the buildup to Wimbledon last year, the former US Open champion Sloane Stephens was working on her game in a practice set against another player when her opponent’s mood suddenly soured. Stephens prides herself on her integrity and, having contested hundreds of practice matches over the years, she says she always veers on the side of caution when charged with calling her own lines. Only when she is certain there is a clear gap between the ball and line does she call an opponent’s shot out.
Halfway through the set, Stephens believed her opponent had missed a second serve and called a double fault. “She thought I cheated her in the practice,” says Stephens, smiling. “I didn’t know this happened [during] the practice. I was like: ‘Second serve out, double fault.’ Apparently, she looked back at her coach in disgust.”
Stephens was reflecting that evening with her mother, Sybil, and her coach, Kamau Murray, when the discussion turned to the double fault. Her mother and coach agreed they had seen chalk fly up after the second serve: “They [said] it wasn’t a double fault. I was like: ‘That’s why she was so mad at me.’ [During the practice] I said to them: ‘I think she’s having a bad day.’ No, she legit thought I cheated her.”
Stephens quickly made amends with the player but her experience highlighted one of the more unique aspects of the tour. Players usually train with the same opponents they battle for prize money and prestige on the court. With no umpires or linespeople present during training, those players are charged with calling their own lines. Not everyone believes their rivals can be trusted to make fair calls.
In locker rooms around the world, shady linecalling is referred to as “hooking”. The mere mention of the word brings a knowing smile to most players’ faces: almost everyone has some sort of experience with cheating in their careers. “Oh, there’s a lot of guys who hook,” says Frances Tiafoe. “Oh my God, brutal. Brutal. I’m not going to name names, but brutal. It’s just comedy to me. These practice sets aren’t going on ESPN. I don’t get why people do it. But, hey, man, whatever floats your boat. It’s funny.”
Players are split on whether or not questionable line calls are malicious attempts to deceive them or simply mistakes. “I’ve been hooked,” Emma Raducanu says, laughing. “I genuinely don’t like calling my own lines because I feel like I can’t see. I always just try and ask someone who I’m on court with to call the lines for me.
“When we’re in practice playing points, if it’s an inch in, an inch out, it doesn’t necessarily matter. It’s practice at the end of the day. For some players, it’s the biggest thing ever.”
Coco Gauff, however, is unsure about her rivals’ intentions. “There are some girls, I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, that will do it. I don’t really take any offence because it’s [not] a real match, so what’s the point? But a lot of times it’s probably girls who maybe were cheaters in juniors and they just have the habit.”
Ben Shelton notes he has consulted his father, who is also his coach, to check if an opponent was being dishonest, and said: “Most guys probably give more calls than take calls,” he says.
A training session between players who are afraid of calling lines incorrectly can be a comical sight. That was true on Tuesday night when Novak Djokovic and Carlos Alcaraz battled in an intense set of the highest quality for more than an hour. On both sides of the net, though, any ball that landed remotely close to the line was called in. For some players, losing a practice set is preferable to losing the respect of a close rival.
“It’s difficult because we’re not used to calling our own lines,” says Jack Draper. “So there’s often a lot of times where I think that ball was in or I think it was out, but it’s practice. So you give the point or you say: ‘Oh, I don’t want an argument, so let’s just move on.’
“It depends who you’re practising against as well. Some people really want to win the set, whereas a lot of players, they’re going through the motions and taking it easy, working on some things.”
Being accused of cheating is not a charge a player forgets. The subject of hooking immediately takes Daniil Medvedev back to the summer of 2018 when he trained with Taylor Fritz at Wimbledon. “I don’t remember exactly what it was, but I called some out where I thought the ball was out. Then my girlfriend [now wife] talks to me after the practice and says that he was talking to his coach and was like: ‘Damn, this guy, he cheats all the time.’
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“I was so shocked because I really, honestly don’t really care if I win a practice set or lose. I always try to win, but whatever. Out of everyone on the tour I don’t think anyone in practice wants to cheat. [But] he was apparently not happy with me,” says Medvedev, laughing.
Medvedev found the situation funny and suggests asking Fritz for his recollections. Although he cannot completely remember what happened, Fritz says he wasn’t being serious himself. “I do it all the time. Someone makes a bad call in practice, I’ll turn to my coach being like: ‘He just hooked me so bad there’ or ‘[He] gave me such a bad call.’ I don’t really care, I know no one’s trying to do it on purpose.”
Those who do decide to cheat in practice have probably been misleading opponents for a long time. Junior tournaments are notorious for dishonest linecalling. “When it was under 12 years old and you play the matches without a referee, that’s brutal,” says Medvedev.
“A lot of stories from both sides. Brutal. It’s not even cheating. You think the guy cheated, and then he plays a ball in the middle, and you say: ‘Out’. A lot of stories like this. Tennis under 12 is brutal. It prepares you mentally. It’s much tougher than the ATP Tour.”
Perspectives on how to deal with a cheating opponent in practice also vary. Raducanu says she “just got to laugh it off”. Gauff, however, says: “Most of the time I try to practice with people who don’t do that just to save frustration because I’m not going to question the girl. I’m not going to be like: ‘Hey, that was kind of in.’ I’ll just be like ‘whatever’ and move on.”
There is another option for people who like to see the world burn. “I’m going to call them out and just laugh about it,” says Tiafoe. “I’ll be like: ‘Come on, bro. That’s what we’re doing? That’s where we’re going?’”
Then he shrugs. “And I’ll do it back. Not blatantly, but if it was a close one, I’ll be like: ‘No, that’s just out. Sorry, bro. I don’t really care, it’s out.’”
