I reckon golf majors are more difficult than tennis majors. But I reckon tennis majors are harder than golf majors. It depends on the meaning of the question. Let’s not be vague, old mate, this is important stuff. By harder, do we literally mean harder? Or do we mean harder in the sense of it sort of being more difficult? Because I reckon it’s more difficult to win a golf major and yet harder to win a tennis major.
Day one of the US Open. World No 1 Dustin Johnson has a pebble behind his ball at Winged Foot. He leans over and flicks it away with the nail of his right index finger. He thinks the ball has moved a fraction and so he hollers for a marshall. His fright at perhaps unintentionally cheating has shaken him so badly that he duffs a short wedge to a green that is wider and more welcoming than Sydney Heads, failing with a stroke so simple he would normally make it in his slumber.
One blip has probably ruined Johnson in the US Open of golf, which comes fresh off last week’s US Open of tennis, which precedes next week’s French Open of tennis, with the US Masters of golf looming on November’s horizon. It’s a majorsathon, a late-night and early-morning feast of tournaments that stand alongside anything else in sport for prestige and century-old history.
The first golf major? In 1860, won by Willie Park Sr, not to be confused with Willie Park Jr, before Old Tom Morris, not to be confused with Young Tom Morris, got him the following year at Prestwick. The first tennis major? In 1877, when Spencer Gore chipped-and-charged to the first Wimbledon title just two years after he’d called stumps on his first-class cricket career for Surrey. Still wearing what could have passed as his cricket whites, the long pants and collared shirt, Gore was the first tennis player to regularly volley, considered an act of incredible derring-do given one’s flat cap might fly off while approaching the net.
My first instinct is that tennis slams are the mightier achievements. Look at the photo of Dominic Thiem after winning his US Open. Flat on his back. Sweating like a fevered pig. Every muscle aching. Heart banging like a drum. Completely knackered. Like he’s run a marathon.
And then you look at the photo of Collin Morikawa after winning his US PGA Championship. Not a hair out of place. Not a bead of perspiration. Like he’s just completed his first Rubik’s cube and is about to board a yacht for cocktails at sunset. Tennis.
I start rattling off the reasons. Thiem has run non-stop for four hours. Golfers get to walk. Wherever a golfer hits the ball, it stays there. For better or worse, it’s all on them. A tennis player hits a ball but it comes back and they have to hit it again, again, again. You can hit a great tennis shot and still lose the point. A great golf shot stays a great golf shot. Tennis has all the physicality, to state the bleeding obvious. Only golfers can win majors with pot bellies. Consistency is easier in tennis, at all levels, hence the higher number of multiple majors winners. Tennis has six calendar-year grand slams: Don Budge, Rod Laver, Rod Laver, Maureen Connolly, Margaret Court, Steffi Graf. Golf has one: Bobby Jones.
I think it’s easier to jag a golfing major. There’s more of a fluke factor in the sport. I think in tennis, if you win one, you’re probably going to win a few. Any one of 50 players seem capable of winning every golf major. In men’s tennis, there’s only three or four real contenders.
Johnson’s fade despite pre-tournament favouritism has been a reminder that golf’s scoring system is more brutal. Every shot counts. Every swing contributes to the result. It’s like every thought pattern will have consequence. That’s not the case in tennis. You can cough up a horror game but the blemish is often immaterial. You can still win the set, which is all that counts.
A nightmare hole in golf stays on the card. You can’t lose a tennis tournament in one game. You can lose a golf tournament on one hole. A triple bogey can take hours to recover from. The brain strain is immense. Not every swing in tennis carries the weight of the world. In golf, it does.
They both have yips and shanks. Missing a second serve is like missing a short putt. Spraying a groundstroke is like pushing a seven-iron wide of a green. Golfers are playing the course more than they’re against each other. Whoever beats the course most effectively is the winner. That’s easier, but perhaps less simple, than seven man-on-man tennis battles. But as Johnson has shown in his three-over-par 73, tied for 71st, after his rolling stone moment, the best player in the world can bow out with one slip. As Nick Faldo has said in commentary, “You’ve got to have 100 per concentration on every single shot.”
That’s not quite the case in tennis. Some moments are worth more than others; break points, deuce points, advantage points. It’s not always what you do, but when. Every stroke in golf is break point. The first shot, the last shot, they’re all worth the same number of shots. One shot.
Given the definition of difficulty – “Needing much effort or skill to accomplish, deal with, or understand” – the answer is golf. But given the definition of harder – “Requiring a great deal of endurance or effort” – it’s tennis. Says I. Great question, though. What say you?
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A text from a mate. Daft bugger, loves his sport. He asks, what’s harder to win? A golf major or a tennis major? I’m yet to get off the mark at either, the forehand being a bit wild, and tee shots insisting on going over extra cover for six, so I’m not entirely sure. But here’s what I imagine.