Why tennis struggles to create billion-dollar superstars.
Tennis is one of the world’s most prestigious sports, rich in tradition and global in reach. It draws millions of viewers—Wimbledon alone attracted over 500 million viewers globally in its most recent edition, and the 2023 US Open broke ESPN’s all-time viewership records. The appetite is clearly there. But despite its elite status and loyal fan base, tennis still lags far behind other major sports financially. While the Super Bowl generates $650 million in just four hours, Wimbledon, arguably tennis’s crown jewel, struggles to reach even half that amount over two weeks.
The contrast is stark. Leagues like the NFL, NBA, and FIFA have built empires through coordinated media rights, powerful branding, and continuous fan engagement. Tennis, by contrast, remains fractured. Its governing bodies—the ATP, WTA, ITF, and Grand Slams—operate independently, each with its own incentives. This disjointed structure undermines the sport’s ability to negotiate major deals, build consistent narratives, and provide financial security to its athletes.
The problem isn’t fan interest; it’s the inability to monetize it. Tennis has the viewership—Wimbledon alone attracts over 500 million viewers globally—but generates just over $2 billion annually. By comparison, the NFL earns $18 billion from a mostly US-based fan base. The gap isn’t in audience size but in how effectively each sport converts attention into revenue.
At the heart of the issue is a tension between tradition and modernity. Tennis prides itself on its individualism and decentralized governance, but that same independence is costing the sport billions. While NBA bench players and NFL rookies sign multimillion-dollar contracts, tennis players must win to get paid. Prize money is performance-based, and lower-ranked players often struggle to cover travel, coaching, and tournament expenses.
Andy Roddick, a former world No. 1, once remarked, “Tennis is the only sport where you can be ranked 80 in the world and still lose money.” That quote remains a sobering reminder of the steep financial climb for those outside the elite—and of how difficult it is to design a system that is both fair and sustainable.
To their credit, the Grand Slams have recognized this disparity in recent years. Wimbledon and the Australian Open have restructured prize distribution to direct more money toward qualifiers and early-round losers. This has helped ease the financial burden for players outside the top 100, many of whom previously left events in the red. However, this solution has created its own moral hazard: now that even a first-round appearance guarantees a substantial payout, some players dealing with injuries or poor form still make the trip—knowing that simply stepping onto the court in Melbourne or London ensures a paycheck. Before these changes, such players might have withdrawn entirely to avoid travel costs they couldn’t recoup.
Movements like the Professional Tennis Players Association (PTPA), co-founded by Novak Djokovic, aim to give players more bargaining power and push for structural reform. But progress has been slow, and the core financial model remains unchanged. The decentralized structure isn’t just inefficient—it’s resistant to reform. Each governing body has its own legacy, sponsors, and priorities, making unified change incredibly difficult without outside disruption.
Fragmentation has made it nearly impossible for tennis to build cohesive branding or long-term partnerships. Television deals and sponsorships are fragmented and short-lived. The Grand Slam tournaments are shown on different channels or streaming services. Storylines that could keep fans engaged year-round often fizzle out after a Grand Slam final.
That’s where rivalries come in. In sports, rivalries are more than emotional spectacles—they’re business engines. Magic vs. Bird didn’t just lift the NBA’s ratings; it sold merchandise, drove ticket sales, and became the foundation for billion-dollar media deals. Messi vs. Ronaldo turned every matchup into a global event. Even Formula 1 has leaned into driver rivalries to fuel fan loyalty and boost subscriptions. Rivalries sell—and smart leagues sell them hard.
Tennis, on the other hand, leaves these opportunities largely untapped. Federer vs. Nadal. Serena vs. Venus. Djokovic vs. Murray. These were cultural moments—but only occasionally. There’s no league-wide marketing push, no season-long narrative arc, no structured build-up to marquee matchups. Once each Grand Slam event is over, the storyline disappears. Without coordinated promotional infrastructure, tennis fails to extend its rivalries into broader fan experiences—missing out on sponsorships, media rights, and consistent engagement.
The Formula 1 model offers a compelling alternative. By packaging its sport as a season-long journey with defined races, consistent branding, and media integration—most notably through Netflix’s Drive to Survive—F1 has turned drivers into global celebrities and doubled its fan base. Tennis, with its global reach and elite athletes, is perfectly positioned to do the same.
A restructured tennis model could include season-long team formats, optimized revenue sharing, guaranteed salaries, and uniform media production to follow player arcs across the calendar—turning each match into part of a broader storyline. Imagine a reimagined tennis season with league-style tournaments, broadcast packages, and story-driven matchups designed to keep fans invested all year.
Some players might resist such a shift, preferring the independence and variability of today’s system. But if a private investor, like those behind LIV Golf, offered a $500 million rival tour with guaranteed pay, streamlined logistics, and global broadcasting, how many would stay loyal to the status quo? LIV Golf has already shown that tradition is no match for money and vision—especially when financial security is on the line.
Tennis, for all its prestige, has left billions on the table. It has a global audience, talent, and tradition. What it lacks is structure—and the willingness to evolve. The question is no longer whether tennis can become a billion-dollar powerhouse. The question is: Who will trigger that change? Will it come from within, or will it take a billionaire disruptor to reimagine what the sport could be?
Either way, the race has already started.
