So, About Those Stale Rankings

Both the ATP and WTA have adjusted their official rankings algorithms because of the pandemic. Because many events were cancelled last year (and at least a few more are getting canned this year), and because the tours don’t want to overly penalize players for limiting their travel, they have adopted what is essentially a two-year ranking system. For today’s purposes, the details don’t really matter–the point is that the rankings are based on a longer time frame than usual.

The adjustment is good for people like Roger Federer, who missed 14 months and is still ranked #6. Same for Ashleigh Barty, who didn’t play for 11 months yet returned to action in Australia as the top seed at a major. It’s bad for young players and others who have won a lot of matches lately. Their victories still result in rankings improvements, but they’re stuck behind a lot of players who haven’t done much lately.

The tweaked algorithms reflect the dual purposes of the ranking system. On the one hand, they aim to list the best players, in order. On the other hand, they try to maintain other kinds of “fairness” and serve the purposes of the tours and certain events. The ATP and WTA computers are pretty good at properly ranking players, even if other algorithms are better. Because the pandemic has forced a bunch of adjustments, it stands to reason that the formulas aren’t as good as they usually are at that fundamental task.

Hypothesis

We can test this!

Imagine that we have a definitive list, handed down from God (or Martina Navratilova), that ranks the top 100 players according to their ability right now. No “fairness,” no catering to the what tournament owners want, and no debates–this list is the final word.

The closer a ranking table matches this definite list, the better, right? There are statistics for this kind of thing, and I’ll be using one called the Kendall rank correlation coefficient, or Kendall’s tau. (That’s the Greek letter τ, as in Τσιτσιπάς.) It compares lists of rankings, and if two lists are identical, tau = 1. If there is no correlation whatsoever, tau = 0. Higher tau, stronger relationship between the lists.

My hypothesis is that the official rankings have gotten worse, in the sense that the pandemic-related algorithm adjustments result in a list that is less closely related to that authoritative, handed-down-from-Martina list. In other words, tau has decreased.

We don’t have a definitive list, but we do have Elo. Elo ratings are designed for only one purpose, and my version of the algorithm does that job pretty well. For the most part, my Elo formula has not changed due to the pandemic*, so it serves as a constant reference point against which we can compare the official rankings.

* This isn’t quite true, because my algorithm usually has an injury/absence penalty that kicks in after a player is out of action for about two months. Because the pandemic caused all sorts of absences for all sorts of reasons, I’ve suspended that penalty until things are a bit more normal.

Tau meets the rankings

Here is the current ATP top ten, including Elo rankings:

Player       ATP  Elo  
Djokovic       1    1  
Nadal          2    2  
Medvedev       3    3  
Thiem          4    5  
Tsitsipas      5    6  
Federer        6    -  
Zverev         7    7  
Rublev         8    4  
Schwartzman    9   10  
Berrettini    10    8

I’m treating Federer as if he doesn’t have an Elo rating right now, because he hasn’t played for more than a year. If we take the ordering of the other nine players and plug them into the formula for Kendall’s tau, we get 0.778. The exact value doesn’t really tell you anything without context, but it gives you an idea of where we’re starting. While the two lists are fairly similar, with many players ranked identically, there are a couple of differences, like Elo’s higher estimate of Andrey Rublev and its swapping of Diego Schwartzman and Matteo Berrettini.

Let’s do the same exercise with a bigger group of players. I’ll take the top 100 players in the ATP rankings who met the modest playing time minimum to also have a current Elo rating. Plug in those lists to the formula, and we get 0.705.

This is where my hypothesis falls apart. I ran the same numbers on year-end ATP rankings and year-end Elo ratings all the way back to 1990. The average tau over those 30-plus years is about 0.68. In other words, if we accept that Elo ratings are doing their job (and they are indeed about as predictive as usual), it looks like the pandemic-adjusted official rankings are better than usual, not worse.

Here’s the year-by-year tau values, with a tau value based on current rankings as the right-most data point:

And the same for the WTA, to confirm that the result isn’t just a quirk of the makeup of the men’s tour:

The 30-year average for women’s rankings is 0.723, and the current tau value is 0.764.

What about…

You might wonder if the pandemic is wreaking some hidden havoc with the data set. Remember, I said that I’m only considering players who meet the playing time minimum to have an Elo rating. For this purpose, that’s 20 matches over 52 weeks, which excludes about one-third of top-100 ranked men and closer to half of top-100 women. The above calculations still consider 100 players for year-end 2020 and today, but I had to go deeper in the rankings to find them. Thus, the definition of “top 100” shifts a bit from year-end 2019 to year-end 2020 to the present.

We can’t entirely address this problem, because the pandemic has messed with things in many dimensions. It isn’t anything close to a true natural experiment. But we can look only at “true” top-100 players, even if the length of the list is smaller than usual for current rankings. So instead of taking the top 100 qualifying players (those who meet a playing time minimum and thus have an Elo ranking), we take a smaller number of players, all of whom have top-100 rankings on the official list.

The results are the same. For men, the tau based on today’s rankings and today’s Elo ratings is 0.694 versus the historical average of 0.678. For women, it’s 0.721 versus 0.719.

Still, the rankings feel awfully stale. The key issue is one that Elo can’t help us solve. So far, we’ve been looking at players who are keeping active. But the really out-of-date names on the official lists are the ones who have stayed home. Should Federer still be #6? Heck if I know! In the past, if an elite player missed 14 months, Elo would knock him down a couple hundred points, and if that adjustment were applied to Fed now, it would push down tau. But there’s no straightforward answer for how the inactive (or mostly inactive) players should be rated.

What we’ve learned today

This is the part of the post where I’m supposed to explain why this finding makes sense and why we should have suspected it all along. I don’t think I can manage that.

A good way to think about this might be that there is a sort of tour-within-a-tour that is continuing to play regularly. Federer, Barty, and many others haven’t usually been part of it, while several dozen players are competing as often as they can. The relative rankings of that second group are pretty good.

It doesn’t seem quite fair that Clara Tauson is stuck just inside the top 100 while her Elo is already top-50, or that Rublev remains behind Federer despite an eye-popping six months of results while Roger sat at home. And for some historical considerations–say, weeks inside the top 50 for Tauson or the top 5 for Rublev–maybe it isn’t fair that they’re stuck behind peers who are choosing not to play, or who are resting on the laurels of 18-month-old wins.

But in other important ways, the absolute rankings often don’t matter. Rublev has been a top-five seed at every event he’s played since late September except for Roland Garros, the Tour Finals, and the Australian Open, despite never being ranked above #8. When the tour-within-a-tour plays, he is a top-five guy. The likes of Rublev and Tauson will continue to have the deck slightly stacked against them at the majors, but even that disadvantage will steadily erode if they continue to play at their current levels.

Believing in science as I do, I will take these findings to heart. That means I’ll continue to complain about the problems with the official rankings–but no more than I did before the pandemic.

Podcast Episode 97: Matt Futterman on the Australian Open and Sports With Fans

This week’s guest is Matt Futterman, reporter for the New York Times and author of Running to the Edge: A Band of Misfits and the Guru Who Unlocked the Secrets of Speed and Players: How Sports Became a Business.

Matt, who spent 15 days in hotel quarantine so that he could cover the Australian Open, talks about his time in isolation and what is was like to emerge into a semblance of normal life. He explains why sports aren’t really sports without fans, how close the Australian Open came to not happening, and why Sofia Kenin isn’t a bigger star.

I also take advantage of Matt’s extensive knowledge of distance running to ask whether the unique schedules of marathoners provide any insight into how tennis players can better manage the pandemic, how tennis pros can gain some of the benefits of being part of a team, and which active player would run the fastest marathon.

Thanks for listening!

(Note: this week’s episode is about 48 minutes long; in some browsers the audio player may display a different length. Sorry about that!)

Click to listen, subscribe on iTunes, or use our feed to get updates on your favorite podcast software.

Music: Everyone Has Gone Home by texasradiofish (c) copyright 2020. Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Noncommercial (3.0) license. Ft: spinningmerkaba

Podcast housekeeping:

  • In case you haven’t heard, I’m one month into a short (~4 minutes) daily podcast called Expected Points. Here’s today’s episode.
  • The TAP book club will reconvene next week with our next selection, John Updike’s 1968 novel, Couples. Read along with us, share your thoughts, and suggest topics/questions/comments for our discussion in a future episode. (Yes, I know I said “next week” last week, too. This time I mean it. Probably.)

Podcast Episode 92: Natural Experiments and Second-Order Pandemic Effects

Episode 92 of the Tennis Abstract Podcast, with Carl Bialik, of the Thirty Love podcast, addresses the opportunity generated by the Covid-19 pandemic to study natural experiments in sports.

Many of the things we used to take for granted–stadiums full of fans, weekly travel schedules, consistent training opportunities–have been disrupted for some or all players, in tennis and other major sports. We consider what we can learn about home-court advantage, the predictability of results, the role of unchanging venues, and even the speed of play, by comparing pre-pandemic numbers with their corresponding figures since sports got back underway. We also wonder about the limitations of these sorts of studies, because there are always confounding variables. The biggest confounder of all: the pandemic itself.

I’ve been writing about these issues occasionally. Click for my posts on the predictability of match results, the effect of an empty stadium on serves, and the pace of play with no fans, no towelkids, and no linespeople.

Thanks for listening!

In housekeeping notes:

  • The TAP book club will reconvene in four weeks or so with our next selection, John Updike’s 1968 novel, Couples. Read along with us, tell us what you think, and suggest topics/questions/comments for our discussion in a future episode.
  • Fans of the TA podcast will also want to check out Dangerous Exponents, Carl’s and my Covid-19 podcast. Later today, we’re releasing a new episode about masks–the science behind wearing them, the ways researchers study their benefits, how they stack up against other public health interventions, and much more.

(Note: this week’s episode is about 51 minutes long; in some browsers the audio player may display a different length. Sorry about that! Also, I refer to this episode as episode 91, because for a numbers guy, I’m pretty bad at counting.)

Click to listen, subscribe on iTunes, or use our feed to get updates on your favorite podcast software.

Serving In an Empty Stadium

The pandemic offers a wealth of natural experiments. Ever wondered how the presence of fans affects players? Before last March, we were mostly limited to speculation, because fans were almost always there. The tours have made various compromises to keep the action going, so we have a wealth of data from all sorts of different scenarios–with or without linespeople, with or without towelkids, and of course, with or without fans.

The closest thing we have to a “pure” natural experiment concerning the effect on fans on tennis players is the 2020 US Open. Flushing Meadows is usually packed with spectators on most courts, while in 2020, it was empty save a handful of support staff. There are confounding variables aplenty, such as the aforementioned lack of linespeople (on most courts) and towelkids, and we also must keep in mind that players entered the 2020 US Open with less recent match play than usual. It isn’t a perfect natural experiment–such things are exceedingly rare–but it is better than tennis usually offers.

What should we expect from spectator-free tennis? One suggestion comes from Ben Cohen and Joshua Robinson, who found in August that both basketball and soccer players were shooting more accurately in empty stadiums:

NBA players are making a higher percentage of their free throws and hitting corner 3-pointers at rates the league has never seen. Soccer players are striking dead balls more precisely than they did before the pandemic. Without the distraction of screaming fans, one part of their games seems to have improved: shooting.

We can already speculate that tennis won’t be so clear cut. For one thing, there weren’t screaming fans before the pandemic. For another, everything in tennis is a tradeoff: If you’re serving more accurately, you might be tempted to try for a bit more power or aim closer to the corners. The “accuracy” effect, then, wouldn’t show up as accuracy, but as increased speed, or some mix of several measures. But let’s not rush to throw in the towel (as it were)–let’s look at the numbers.

US Open, now and then

We’ll check four different stats for an empty-stadium effect: first serve in, double faults per second serve (the inverse of second serves made), first serve points won, and average first serve speed.

For each stat, we’ll calculate averages for men and women from 2019 and 2020 US Open single main draw matches, adjusted for player. (I’m using the data available in my slam_pointbypoint GitHub repository.) That is, we’ll limit our focus to those players who appeared in both tournaments and weight each player’s effect by the year they played the least. A player who served 300 points in 2019 and 100 points in 2020 will have a weight of 100 points in both calculations; a player who served 250 points in both years will have a weight of 250 points in both. This corrects for the different mix of players (and the amount that each player competed) in the two adjacent years, which might otherwise affect the numbers in a misleading way.

Here are the results:

WOMEN        2020   2019  Change  
First in    61.8%  61.5%    0.5%  
DF/second   13.7%  13.4%    2.0%  
First won   66.4%  62.2%    6.6%  
First KM/H  158.6  155.2    2.1%  
                                  
MEN          2020   2019  Change  
First in    61.7%  59.5%    3.7%  
DF/second   10.7%  11.3%   -5.4%  
First won   72.9%  71.2%    2.3%  
First KM/H  186.2  184.8    0.8%

The women didn’t really improve their accuracy: a slight uptick in first serves in, and a bigger decrease in second serves made. On the other hand, they won way more of their first-serve points in 2020 than in 2019, and they served 3.4 KM/h faster. That puts the accuracy figure in perspective–no, they didn’t make more first serves, but it appears that they traded speed for accuracy. They did quite well in the bargain.

The men, on average, took a different approach. They made more first serves and committed fewer double faults (Alexander Zverev notwithstanding), but they didn’t increase their first serve speed as much. Men also won more first serve points, though their gain was not the enormous boost seen by the women.

Improvements in context

Based on these year-to-year comparisons, it looks like both men and women served better without spectators. The women’s giant boost in first serve points won suggests that there are other factors beyond those we can easily measure–perhaps players were missing first serves at a typical rate not only because they were hitting harder, but also because they were aiming for the corners. It’s also possible that post-restart rustiness affected returns more than serves–in lockdown, it’s easier to drill your own serves than to keep in practice against elite-level first serves.

Another consideration is the usual year-to-year fluctuations. For women, the small changes in first serves in and second serves missed are less than half the magnitude of the year-to-year changes at the US Open between 2015 and 2019. These numbers will always drift up and down for a variety of reasons, sheer randomness not least among them.

The 6.6% jump in the women’s rate of first serve points won, on the other hand, is quite unusual. The average fluctuation in the previous four pairs of years is 1.7%. The serve speed increase is also unusually large. It’s a 2.1% jump, compared to a typical movement of about 0.7%.

The 2019-to-2020 changes in men’s rates are less noteworthy in context, even if they do tell a suggestive story. The rate of first serves made is surprisingly noisy, fluctuating an average of 2.7% in each pair of years between 2015 and 2019, so the fans-to-no-fans shift of 3.7% doesn’t prove much of anything. The double fault and serve speed changes are no greater than previous fluctuations.

The only slightly convincing “pandemic effect” on the men’s side is the percentage of first serve points won. As we’ve seen, men won 2.3% more such points in 2020 than in 2019, adjusted for the mix of players–an increase half-again as large as the typical fluctuation of 1.5%. That’s hardly a slam-dunk case for better post-restart serving. It could be pure luck, or it could be attributed to a mix of the many confounding variables I’ve already mentioned.

Serving isn’t shooting

This stuff is complicated. Penalty kickers in soccer have an objective that is clear to all–to score a goal. While tennis servers have a similarly simple aim–to win the point–the only part of the point they can completely control is the serve, and given the tradeoffs between speed, precision, and keeping the ball in the box, there’s no single variable that tells us whether a player is serving better.

Things get even hairier when we look for data beyond the US Open. We could do the same exercise for the last few years of French Opens, but remember that the post-restart Roland Garros had a sprinkling of paying fans. Is that halfway between an empty stadium and normalcy? Is it worse than a full stadium, because individual voices are easier to discern? Is it a mix, because the French fans filled up the stands for their native players and left other courts empty? I have no idea.

It is clear that women served harder than usual at the 2020 US Open, and they won way more first serve points than in recent years. Men served more accurately, even if their success rate didn’t translate into the same whopping success than the women’s adjustments did. What we can’t say for sure is how much of those shifts can be attributed to the empty stands in Flushing last year. Even the purest natural experiments don’t always return bulletproof findings.

The Post-Covid Tennis World is Unpredictable. The Match Results Are Not.

Both the ATP and WTA patched together seasons in the second half of 2020, providing playing opportunities to competitors who had endured vastly different lockdowns–some who couldn’t practice for awhile, some who came down with Covid-19, and others who got knee surgery.

When the tours came back, we didn’t know quite what to expect. I’m sure some of the players didn’t know, either. Yet when we take the 2020 season (plus a couple weeks of 2021) as a whole, what happened on court was pretty much what happened before. The Australian Open, with its dozens of players in hard quarantine for two weeks, may change that. But for about five months, players faced all kinds of other unfamiliar challenges, and they responded by posting results that wouldn’t have looked out of place in January 2020.

The Brier end

My usual metric for “predictability” is Brier Score, which measures both accuracy (did our pre-match favorite win?) and confidence (if we think four players are all 75% favorites, did three of them win?). Pre-match odds are determined by my Elo ratings, which are far from the final word, but are more than sufficient for these purposes. My tour-wide Brier Scores are usually in the neighborhood of 0.21, several steps better than the 0.25 Brier that results from pure coin-flipping. A lower score indicates more accurate forecasts and/or better calibrated confidence levels.

Here are the tour-wide Brier Scores for the ATP and WTA since the late-summer restart:

  • ATP: 0.213 (2017 – early 2020: 0.212)
  • WTA: 0.192 (2017 – early 2020: 0.212)

The ATP’s level of predictability is so steady that it’s almost suspicious, while the WTA has somehow been more predictable since the restart.

But we aren’t quite comparing apples to apples. The post-restart WTA was sparser than the pre-Covid women’s tour, and the post-restart ATP was closer to its pre-pandemic normal.

Let’s look at a few things that do line up. Most of the top players showed up for the main events of the restarted tour, such as the US Open, Roland Garros, Rome, “Cincinnati” (played in New York), and men’s Masters event in Paris. Here are the 2019 and 2020 Brier Scores for each of those events:

Event          Men '19  Men '20  Women '19  Women '20  
Cincinnati       0.244    0.210      0.244      0.252  
US Open          0.210    0.167      0.178      0.186  
Roland Garros    0.163    0.199      0.191      0.226  
Rome             0.209    0.274      0.205      0.232  
Paris            0.226    0.199          -          -  
---
Total            0.204    0.202      0.198      0.218

(If you want even more numbers, I did similar calculations in August after Palermo, Lexington, and Prague.)

Three takeaways from this exercise:

  • Brier Scores are noisy. Any single tournament number can be heavily affected by a few major upsets.
  • Man, those ATP dudes were steady.
  • The WTA situation is more complicated than I thought.

Whether we look at the entire post-restart tour or solely the big events, the story on the ATP side is clear. Long layoffs, tournament bubbles, missing towelkids, Hawkeye Live … none of it had much effect on the status quo.

The predictability of the women’s tour is another thing entirely. The 12 top-level events between Palermo in July and Abu Dhabi in January were easier to forecast than a random sampling of a dozen tournaments from, say, 2018. But the four biggest events deviated from the script considerably more than they had in 2019 (or 2017 or 2018, for that matter).

From this, I offer a few tentative conclusions:

  • Big events, with their disproportionate number of star-versus-star matches, are a bit more predictable than other tournaments.
  • Accordingly, the post-restart WTA wasn’t as predictable as it first appeared. It was just lopsided in favor of tournaments that drew (most of) the top stars. Had the women’s tour featured a wider variety of events–which probably would’ve included a larger group of players, including some fringier ones–it’s post-restart Brier Score would’ve been higher. Perhaps even higher than the corresponding pre-Covid number.
  • Most tentative of all: The predictability of ATP and WTA match results might have itself been affected by the availability of tournaments. Top men were able to get into something like their usual groove, despite the weirdness of virus testing and empty stadiums. Most women never got a chance to play more than two or three weeks in a row.

Even six months after Palermo, the data is still limited. And by the time we have enough match results to do proper comparisons, some things will have gotten back to normal (hopefully!), complicating the analysis even further. That said, these findings are much clearer than my initial forays into post-restart Brier Scores in August. As for the Australian Open, quarantine and all, I’m forecasting a predictable tournament. At least for the men.

Podcast Episode 90: Joshua Robinson on Global Sports (and Tennis) in a Tough Pandemic Year

In Episode 90 of the Tennis Abstract Podcast, Jeff and Carl welcome Joshua Robinson (@joshrobinson23), European sports reporter for the Wall Street Journal and co-author of the book The Club: How the English Premier League Became the Wildest, Richest, Most Disruptive Force in Sports. Josh first joined me for an episode about 17 years ago, back in December 2019, and it’s great to get another round of his insights. If you haven’t read his book, I highly recommend it, even if you’re not a soccer fan.

In this episode, we run the gamut of Covid-in-sports topics, including the fate of the 2020/21 Tokyo Olympics, the outlook for athletes who want to jump the vaccine queue, the miraculously completed Tour de France, how Wimbledon’s response to the pandemic might have been the best of all, and what to expect in international sports once vaccines are widely available. Josh has written about most of these subjects, and I encourage you to browse his archives at the WSJ website.

We also touch on a few non-Covid questions, like what Slovenian sports can teach the rest of the world, and the role of the underhand serve. We close with a few words about our late friend and colleague, Tom Perrotta.

Thanks for listening!

Also, one last reminder: Next week we’ll be talking about our first book club pick, A Handful of Summers by Gordon Forbes. Let us know if you have thoughts about the book, questions for us to discuss on the show, or suggestions for future book club selections.

Fans of the TA podcast will also want to check out Dangerous Exponents, the new Covid-19 podcast that Carl and I are doing. Today we released episode 8, about issues with the global vaccine rollout.

(Note: this week’s episode is about 59 minutes long; in some browsers the audio player may display a different length. Sorry about that!)

Click to listen, subscribe on iTunes, or use our feed to get updates on your favorite podcast software.

What Happens to the Pace of Play Without Fans, Challenges, or Towelkids?

The COVID-19 pandemic has forced some experimentation on the US Open ahead of schedule. After just a couple of years at marginal events such as the NextGen Finals, Hawkeye’s live line-calling system is taking over (on most courts) for human line judges. Another NextGen-tested innovation, requiring players to fetch their own towels, has also arrived for social distancing reasons.

Automated line-calling and towel-fetching pale in comparison to the biggest change for the bubble slam: no fans. The biggest stars now get to experience what has long been de rigueur for qualifiers and challengers: high-stakes competition with no one in the stands watching.

All of these changes come not long after the US Open (and a few other tournaments) finally adopted a serve clock. I’ve written ad nauseam* about the effect of the serve clock, which is nominally designed to speed up play, but in practice has slowed it down. The problem is that chair umpires start the clock when they announce the score, which is not always immediately after the preceding point. The bigger the crowd, the more serious the discrepancy, as noisy fans tend to delay announcements from the chair.

* Incidentally, this is also the Latin term for a long game with many deuces.

Therefore, the pace of play should be faster with no fans, right? Use of the Hawkeye live system also eliminates challenges, which should speed things up a little more. The counteracting force is the time it takes players to fetch their towels. It would be nice to evaluate each of these effects in isolation*, but most of the data we have comes from matches with all of these changes at once.

* No pun intended.

The net effect

The most straightforward measurement of pace of play is seconds per point, where we simply take the official match time and divide by the total number of points. It’s an approximate measure, because official match time includes changeovers, medical timeouts, and all sorts of other delays which have nothing to do with how long it takes for players to get themselves to the line and hit a serve. It also captures a bit of first serve percentage (second serve points take more time) and rally length (longer rallies take more time), although these factors mostly wash out, especially when comparing pace of play at the same tournament from one year to the next.

The following graph shows seconds per point for all Cincinnati (and “Cincinnati”) main draw men’s singles matches each year since 2000:

(I’m looking only at pace of play for men’s matches because I don’t have match time for women before 2016. Lame, I know.)

Over the 21-year span, the average time per point is just under 40 seconds, and before 2020, the yearly average exceeded 42 seconds only once. This year, Cinci clocked in at a whopping 44.6 seconds per point, more than three standard deviations above the 2000-2017 (that is, pre-serve clock) average. The pace has gradually slowed down over the years for reasons unrelated to the serve clock, so it’s probably overstating things a bit to say that the effect of the bubble is 3 SD, but it’s clear that 2020 was slow.

But wait, what about

All four of this year’s men’s semi-finalists are rather deliberate, so you might think that the slow average pace is due in part to the mix of players who won a lot of matches. That’s what I thought too, but it’s not so. (It helps to remember that more than half of a tournament’s matches are in the first two rounds, even with some first-round byes, so we’re guaranteed a decent mix of players for calculations like this, no matter who advances.)

First, I re-did the seconds-per-point calculations above, but excluded all matches with Novak Djokovic or Rafael Nadal, two guys who win a lot of matches and are known to play slowly. It didn’t really matter. I won’t bother to print a second graph, because it looks essentially the same as the one above.

Another approach is to consider the average pace of play for each player in the draw, and compare his seconds per point in Cincinnati to his seconds per point at other events. If every man played at the same speed in Cincinnati that he did on average in 2019, the average seconds per point at the 2020 Cinci event would have been 41.3. That’s just barely above the 2019 Cinci figure of 41.0, and of course it is far below the actual rate of 44.6 seconds per point. The mix of players can’t account for 2020’s glacial pace.

But why?

I hope you’re with me thus far that the pace of play in the 2020 Cincinnati men’s event was very slow. It seems reasonable to assume that the US Open will be the same, because the conditions and rules are identical.

The simplest explanation is that players are spending extra time fetching their own towels.*

* No, you’re a towel.

It’s true–walking to and from the towel takes time. But it’s not the whole story. At the typical non-bubble rate of 40 seconds per point (again, including changeovers and other delays), there are plenty of points where the umpire delays calling the score and the server ends up taking longer than the rulebook-permitted 25 seconds without getting called for a time violation. So if the average is now pushing 45 seconds, there must be a lot of points like that.

Anecdotally, there definitely are such points. In the Cincinnati semi-final, I noticed one instance in which Roberto Bautista Agut used more than 40 seconds before serving. He’s not the only offender: All four men’s semi-finalists (among many others) occasionally used more than 25 seconds. My impression was that, ironically, Djokovic was the speediest of the four.

Chair umpires are using their discretion to act as if there are fans making noise. After long points, they often wait to call the score, and even when they announce the score immediately, they hold off several more seconds before starting the clock. In one glaring instance in the Lexington final, the umpire waited a full 17 seconds after the previous point ended before the clock showed 0:25. The broadcast camera angles at the National Tennis Center made it hard to measure the same thing for Cincinnati matches, but given the length of time between points and the dearth of time violation penalties, there must have been other delays in the range of 15 to 20 seconds.

With no fans delaying play, and no tactical challenges to force a delay, a slow pace is something that the umpire can control. Yes, towel-fetching takes time, but if the 25-second clock starts immediately and it is enforced, players will make it back to the line in time–matches at the NextGen Finals were generally brisk. But apparently, enforcing the rulebook-standard pace is not something that the officials are willing to do. We’re two years into the great tennis serve-clock experiment, and the game just keeps getting slower.

How Should We Value the Masters and Premier Titles in the Bubble?

Tennis is back, but plenty of top players are still at home–or crashing out in the early rounds of their first tournament in months. While the ATP “Cincinnati” Masters event delivered the expected winner in Novak Djokovic, the Serb never had to face a top-ten opponent. The same was true of Victoria Azarenka, who won the WTA Premier tournament with the benefit of Naomi Osaka’s withdrawal in the final round, and without playing a top-tenner on her way there.

The tennis world’s “asterisk” talk has mostly focused on the US Open, since most people care about slams and don’t care about anything else. But judging from these easy paths to the two Cincinnati titles, should we be talking asterisk about the event just passed?

Novak’s 35th, but not (quite) his easiest

Last week, I explained why I thought the asterisk talk was premature, if not wrong. The field doesn’t matter, because the player who wins the title faces only a handful of players. The presence of, say, Rafael Nadal doesn’t have much to do with the difficulty of winning the title unless the eventual winner has to go through Rafa. If the champion’s opponents are very good, the path to the title is hard; if they are relatively weak, the path to the title is easy. Keep in mind I’m using the terms “good” and “weak” in theoretical terms. On paper, Djokovic was fortunate that his semi-final and final opponents were ranked 12th and 30th, respectively, and his title path was “easy.” As it happened, he was forced to work hard for both wins.

We now know that the title paths of the Cincinnati champions were relatively easy. But just how weak were they?

I calculate the difficulty of a path-to-the-title by determining the probability that the average Masters champion on that surface would beat the opponents that the champion faced. By using the “average Masters champion,” we are taking the skill level of the actual champ out of the equation, and looking only at the quality of his opposition. The resulting numbers vary wildly, from 2.5%–the odds that a typical Masters champion would have beaten the players that Jo Wilfried Tsonga defeated to win the 2014 Canada Masters–to 61.2%–the chances that an average titlist would have beaten the players that confronted Nikolay Davydenko at the 2006 Paris Masters.

Novak’s number this week was 40.5%. In other words, an average hard-court Masters champion would have a four-in-ten shot at beating the five guys that fate threw in Djokovic’s path. That’s the 11th easiest Masters title since 1990:

Title Odds  Tournament       Winner             
61.2%       2006 Paris       Nikolay Davydenko  
50.5%       2012 Paris       David Ferrer       
49.8%       2000 Paris       Marat Safin        
48.3%       2004 Paris       Marat Safin        
47.0%       1999 Paris       Andre Agassi       
44.5%       2013 Shanghai    Novak Djokovic     
43.3%       2002 Madrid      Andre Agassi       
42.9%       2005 Paris       Tomas Berdych      
41.4%       2009 Canada      Andy Murray        
41.3%       2017 Paris       Jack Sock          
40.5%       2020 Cincinnati  Novak Djokovic     
39.6%       2011 Shanghai    Andy Murray        
39.1%       2019 Canada      Rafael Nadal       
37.9%       2008 Rome        Novak Djokovic     
36.2%       2007 Cincinnati  Roger Federer

Unless we’re prepared to put a permanent asterisk next to the Paris Masters, we should hold off on cheapening this year’s Cincinnati title. Surprisingly, Djokovic’s path was even easier at the 2013 Shanghai Masters. He had to face two top-ten opponents in the final rounds (Tsonga and Juan Martin del Potro), but Elo didn’t think that highly of them at the time.

Azarenka: asterisk squared

Evaluating the WTA title is trickier. Part of the problem is the small number of “Premier Mandatory” events, and the fact that two of them (Indian Wells and Miami) have substantially larger draws, and are thus that much harder to win. The even bigger issue is how to think about Azarenka’s final-round walkover.

Let’s start with the numbers. If we consider the five opponents that Vika defeated on court and calculate the odds that an average WTA Premier (not just Premier Mandatory) champion would beat them, her path-to-the-title number is 20.7%. If we add Osaka to the mix, on the theory that Azarenka should get credit for beating her, the resulting number is 7.4%.

Compared to the ATP numbers above, those sound pretty good. But the devil lies in the tournament-category details–the average WTA Premier event is much weaker than a marquee (dare I say “premier”?) tour stop like Cincinnati. Here’s how the Cinci title-paths stack up for the last dozen years:

20.7%       2020  Victoria Azarenka  (W/O Osaka)  
7.4%        2020  Victoria Azarenka  (d. Osaka)   
7.3%        2016  Karolina Pliskova             
5.5%        2010  Kim Clijsters                 
5.5%        2012  Li Na                         
5.3%        2015  Serena Williams               
4.5%        2011  Maria Sharapova               
4.3%        2014  Serena Williams               
4.2%        2017  Garbine Muguruza              
3.9%        2019  Madison Keys                  
2.9%        2013  Victoria Azarenka             
2.0%        2009  Jelena Jankovic               
1.3%        2018  Kiki Bertens

20.7% is respectable for a run-of-the-mill Premier–in fact, Vika’s 2016 Brisbane title was almost exactly the same, at 20.8%. But Cincinnati reliably offers tougher competition. Even if we factor in the difficulty of beating Osaka, Azarenka’s path was (barely) the easiest at the event since the Premier-level designation came into being.

Yay, nay, meh

I’ll reiterate a main point from my last article about the US Open asterisk debate: There’s no simple yes or no answer when it comes to whether a title should “count.” (That’s assuming that you even think there are circumstances under which a title should be formally discounted.) Long before the COVID-19 pandemic messed with everything, there were titles–even at the grand slam level–that were a lot easier to win than others.

Djokovic’s championship falls squarely within the usual continuum, even if it will go down as one of his least challenging. Azarenka’s is tougher to define, but more because of Osaka’s withdrawal than because of the weakness of the field. The level of competition, despite missing many top players, was plenty good enough to offer Azarenka a path to the title that was comparable at least one recent Cinci championship, and plenty of other top-tier events.

With that in mind, I’ll leave you with a couple of predictions. First: the US Open champions will face relatively easy paths to their titles, but like Djokovic’s, they will fall on the established continuum. And second: by the end of the fortnight, you’ll hope to never hear the word “asterisk” again.

How Sports are (Analytically) Different in the Bubble

Most of the world’s major sports have resumed, or will pick up again soon, in some form or other. But a lot is different, with most leagues forming one or more bubbles, often excluding fans, limiting travel, and tweaking things like officiating rules to better maintain social distance.

Many of these changes have second-order effects. For instance, the “Cincinnati” tennis event requires that players fetch their own towels–which probably slows down play–but has no fans–which could accelerate it. We’ll soon have enough data to draw some preliminary conclusions about the overall effect of the new rules on pace of play.

Some of the issues that arise when a league moves into a bubble apply across sports, like home-court advantage. With that in mind, I’m gathering evidence of how sports are playing differently in our time of social distance. I’ll try to keep this post updated as we learn more. The comments are open, so you can contribute any demonstrated effects that I haven’t listed here. (Or similar effects in other sports.) You can also tweet at me.

Baseball

So far, home-field advantage is almost non-existent. Historically, home teams win about 54% of games.

Basketball

NBA offenses can’t stop scoring. Refs are calling more fouls, and fewer off-court distractions get in the way of making shots.

The WNBA is showing the effects of a league full of fresh legs, and has displayed a record-setting pace of play. And despite playing on the same court every night, there is a marked home-court advantage.

Hockey

Fighting is up! Lucky NHLers–most of us don’t go to work where it’s culturally acceptable to hit people.

Soccer

Home-field advantage is reduced, but it still exists, even behind closed doors. A recent paper (summary / PDF) notes that refs have been more lenient than usual toward away teams. That tallies with long-held conventional wisdom that home-advantage stems from officiating bias, which is driven by noisy, partisan crowds.

Speaking of officiating, refs were more likely to grant penalty kicks, but despite the quieter environment, penalties aren’t converted any more often.

For more detail on home-field advantage in various leagues since the restart, here is a valuable Twitter thread from @recspecs730.

Tennis

I’m keeping tabs on whether match results are less predictable than usual. (They are, but we haven’t really seen enough to be sure.) Other than that, it’s still speculation. We’ll know more after “Cincinnati,” and much more after the US Open.

US Open Asterisk Talk is Premature. It Might be Flat-Out Wrong.

Many high-profile players will be missing from the 2020 US Open. Rafael Nadal opted out of the abbreviated North American swing, and Roger Federer will miss the rest of the season due to injury. More than half of the WTA top ten is skipping Flushing Meadows as well. The thinned-out fields increase the odds that a few remaining favorites, such as Novak Djokovic and Serena Williams, add another major trophy to their collection.

As a result, pundits and fans are discussing whether the 2020 US Open deserves an “asterisk.” The idea is that, because of the depleted fields, this slam is worth less than others, so much so that the history books* should note the relative meaninglessness of this year’s titles.

* Nobody buys history books anymore, so we’re really talking** about a page on the US Open website, and a never-ending edit war on Wikipedia.

** Yes, I see the irony.

From what I’ve seen, people are thinking about this the wrong way. Yes, a weak field makes it easier–in theory–to win the tournament. It’s certainly true that the 2020 champions won’t have to go through Nadal or Ashleigh Barty to get their hardware. But the field isn’t what matters.

The field isn’t what matters

I repeated that on purpose, because it’s that important. The winner of a grand slam must get through seven matches. The difficulty of securing the title depends almost entirely on his or her opponents in those seven matches. Each main draw consists of 128 players, but 120 of them are mostly irrelevant.

I say “mostly” because I can foresee some objections. Sometimes a player can compete so hard in a loss that they weaken their opponent for the next round. Take the 2009 Madrid Masters, in which Nadal needed four hours to defeat Djokovic in the semi-final, then lost to Federer in the final. We could say that Djokovic’s presence was relevant, even though Federer won the title without playing him. That sort of thing happens, though probably not as much as you think. Even when it does, it needn’t be a top tier player who wears out their opponent in an early round.

Another objection is that a depleted field affects seedings. For instance, Serena’s current WTA ranking is 9th, an unenviable position going into most slams. The 9th seed lines up for a fourth-round match with a top-eight player, meaning that she could face four top-eight players en route to the title. But with all the absences, Williams will instead be seeded third, behind only Karolina Pliskova and Sofia Kenin.

I’m not dismissing these concerns out of hand. They do matter a bit. But they only matter insofar as they affect the way the tournament plays out. The difference between the difficulties facing the 3rd and 9th seeds could be enormous … or it could be nothing, especially if the draw is riddled with early upsets.

Difficulty is a continuum

Even if you grant some credence to the objections above (or others that I haven’t mentioned), I hope you’ll agree that the most meaningful obstacles standing between a player and a grand slam title are the seven opponents he or she will need to overcome.

If those seven opponents are, on average, very strong, we would say that the player faced a particularly tough path to a slam title. Take Stan Wawrinka’s 2014 Australian Open title: he beat both Djokovic and Nadal at a time when those two were dominating the game. If the collective skill level of the seven opponents doesn’t amount to much–at least by grand slam standards–we’d say it was an easy path. For example, Federer clinched the 2006 Australian Open despite facing only a single player ranked in the top 20, and none in the top four.

We can quantify path difficulty in a variety of ways. One approach that will be useful here is to calculate the odds that an average slam champion would beat those seven opponents. The difference between easy and hard championships is enormous. The typical major titlist (that is, someone with an Elo rating around 2100) would have had a 3.3% chance of beating the seven men that Wawrinka drew in Melbourne the year that he won. Only two slam paths have ever been tougher: Mats Wilander’s routes to the 1982 and 1985 French Open titles. By contrast, the average slam champion would have had a 51% chance of going 7-0 when faced by Federer’s 2006 Australian Open draw.

The extreme “easy” draw is fifteen times easier than the extreme “hard” draw. Fifteen times! You can find plenty of champions for any approximate level of difficulty in between those extremes. The typical slam champ would’ve had a 10% chance of doing what Djokovic did in progressing through seven rounds at the 2011 US Open. Same in New York in 2012. Andy Murray’s 2016 Wimbledon path would have given the average champion a 20% chance. The 2018 Roland Garros draw was manageable for Rafael Nadal, and a typical major titlist would have had a 30% chance of securing those seven match wins.

None of this is to say that any of those players did or didn’t “deserve” their titles. Federer didn’t choose his 2006 Melbourne opponents any more than Wawrinka selected his foes eight years later. The trophy is the same, and in many important ways, their achievements are the same–both of the Swiss stars swept away all of their opponents, who in turn were the best performers (at least during those fortnights) of the players who showed up.

Asterisks for everybody

Here’s another thing 2006 Roger and 2014 Stan had in common: Almost all of the best players in the world participated in the tournaments that they ultimately won. (I say “almost” because defending champion Marat Safin was injured and missed the 2006 Aussie Open.) The “field” was effectively the same, but to win the titles, one player cruised through a two-week cakewalk and the other needed to put together one of the most impressive final weeks of the modern era.

Tennis fans have collectively decided that each major title counts as “one.” It doesn’t have to be that way: We could give more “slam points” for achievements like Wawrinka’s and grant fewer for the easy ones. Most people don’t like this idea, and I admit that it sounds a bit weird. I’m not advocating it for general use, though it is an interesting concept that I’ve pursued in a number of earlier articles, showing that Djokovic’s majors are–on average–more impressive than Nadal’s, which in turn have been tougher than Federer’s. Weighting majors by difficulty results in some changes in the order of the all-time grand slam list, ensuring that fans of all players hate me because I wrote some code and played with some spreadsheets.*

* With, I admit, malice aforethought.

Adjusting slam counts for difficulty is, in a sense, asterisking every slam title. The tricky draws get an acknowledgement of their difficult, and the ones that opened up get tweaked to account for their ease. It’s a continuum, not a simple up-and-down decision between normal slams and abnormal slams.

The 2020 US Open champions will probably have title paths that sit in the easier half of that continuum. But even that modest claim is far from guaranteed.

Let’s say Venus Williams recaptures her vintage form and wins the title, beating 3rd seed Serena in the quarter-finals, 2nd seed Kenin in the semis, and top seed Pliskova in the title match. (It doesn’t matter if the surprise winner is Venus–it could be any lower-ranked player, though Venus seems more plausible than most.) An average slam champion would beat those three players in succession about 37% of the time. 37% is already lower odds than about 20% of women’s slam draws in the last 45 years. (Kenin’s Australian Open title rated 39%.)

37% for Venus’s hypothetical title isn’t even the whole story–four more rounds of journeywomen would knock the number down to around 26%–harder than one-third of women’s slam draws. Add in another tricky opponent or two–maybe Cori Gauff, or Petra Kvitova in the fourth round–and suddenly the path to the 2020 US Open women’s championship is just as hard as the typical slam.

It’s even easier to illustrate how the 2020 US Open men’s title could be as difficult as many other slams. By the numbers, simply upsetting Djokovic (simply! ha!) is more difficult than it was to defeat all seven of Federer’s opponents at the 2006 Australian Open. That’s right: Six withdrawals and one win over Novak wouldn’t be the easiest slam victory in the last 15 years. Tack on six actual wins, including a few against strong opponents, and the result is a seven-match path that stands up against the typical non-pandemic slam.

Ironically, the player who could win the title with the weakest possible draw is Djokovic. It would be odd to claim that any of Novak’s accomplishments should be asterisked, but it does make things much simpler when he doesn’t have to beat himself.

Masked competitiveness

Once again, the field doesn’t really matter. When we focus on the players who are in New York instead of the few dozen who aren’t, we see that the ingredients are in place for a couple of respectable path to US Open titles. Wilander’s and Wawrinka’s marks are probably safe, but it’s more than possible that the winners will have faced competition equivalent to that of the average slam champ.

At the very least, we don’t know any better until the tail end of the second week. Until then, asterisk talk is premature. After that, it will probably be moot.