Elite sport isn’t meant to be fun, is it?

Even for stars who love what they do, success can be a grind

This article was originally published on 23 August, 2024 in The Economist.

 

“Never even liked tennis anyway.” So tweeted Sir Andy Murray after his final professional appearance on August 1st. The three-time grand-slam winner and twice Olympic champion announced his retirement before the Paris games, in which he reached the quarter-final of the men’s doubles. His post racked up more than a million likes. Its dry tone was self-mocking, typifying an athlete who really did love tennis—but sometimes looked miserable while playing it, especially towards the end of his career, when the pain on his face was very real as injuries took a toll.

 

Sportstars like Sir Andy are fortunate. They win fame and riches for playing games. Yet top-level athletes often speak of the hardship of success. The Paris Olympics were replete with stories of champions who had temporarily fallen out of love with their sports before returning to glory. These tales are generally told in terms of redemption—athletes beating their demons to win again. But they also show how the pressure of elite competition weighs down even on the very best.

 

Take the swimming. Florent Manaudou, a French freestyler, won Olympic gold at the London games in 2012. But he later took a two-year break from the water to focus on handball, citing the need “to keep intact the pleasure” that had been his original motivation. Having dived back into the pool in 2018, he won two bronzes in Paris. Then there is Adam Peaty, a British breaststroker. The three-time Olympic gold medallist stopped swimming in 2022 because of mental-health problems and the fact he was “not enjoying the sport”. He returned just over a year later and added a silver to his Olympic tally this time around.

 

The reasons for such personal crises are often complex. The most talked about comeback of all in Paris was that of Simone Biles. The American gymnast won three golds and a silver, having pulled out of the Tokyo Olympics in 2021. In Japan she suffered a case of what gymnasts call the “twisties”, the feeling of not knowing where your body is in the air. She later suggested it was a “trauma response” to the sexual abuse she suffered years earlier from Larry Nassar, a former Team USA doctor. Ms Biles rediscovered her confidence partly by focusing on the basic skills that came so easily to her in childhood, like flipping on a trampoline.

 

More broadly, the Olympian struggles are a reminder that professional sport can often not be much fun at all. The relentless tedium of training, the media scrutiny, the pressure of performance—all can serve to make great athletes miserable. And for those who never reach the top, life can be even worse. Journeymen—the footballers who drift between lower-league clubs or tennis players who toil outside the top 100—deal with the uncertainty of life on the road and, sometimes, financial hardship.

 

Some view the suffering as necessary. Football managers like Antonio Conte (now of Napoli) and Diego Simeone (Atlético Madrid) argue that teams must bear hardship to win. The endurance is more than just physical. Under Mr Conte’s regimented, ultra-defensive tactics, players are given little licence to express themselves. Mr Simeone also emphasises discipline and patience over flair. Players and fans may not enjoy the process. But Messrs Conte and Simeone have won them plenty of medals.

 

The ideal, of course, is to win with a smile on your face. But sport is about pushing the human body (and mind) to the extent of its ability. Even for the most talented, that entails an acceptance of pain. Andre Agassi, for instance, said that he hated tennis with a “dark and secret passion” because of its mental and physical demands. But the American player persevered, sometimes training until the early hours of the morning. He won eight grand slam titles. Ultimately, athletes must decide whether pursuing such success is worth the personal costs, especially when the chance of failure is high.

 

Are you not entertained?

 

Fans have skin in the game, too. True, some pay to watch low-stakes displays of skill, where athletes can express themselves without fear of defeat. The Harlem Globetrotters, a basketball outfit, have long toured the globe with an act that is part sport, part theatre. In baseball the Savannah Bananas, a newer exhibition team from Georgia, dance and sing as well as swing. They boast 8.8m followers on TikTok, Gen Z’s favourite social-media platform.

 

But for many, exhibition matches will fail to satisfy. Sport is compelling largely because of risk. The joy of winning relies on the pain of losing. Take that away and even the most impressive feats of athleticism can become bland—all sugar and no salt. That is the dark pact at the heart of competition. Suffering is part of the fun, too.