The Last One-Handed Backhand: Wawrinka's Farewell and the Disappearance of a Legendary Weapon

When Stan Wawrinka walked onto the Grandstand court in the late afternoon of August 26, 2026, none of the thousands of fans lining the aisles knew for certain they were witnessing one of the final moments of an era. His first-round US Open match against Matteo Berrettini — a 28-year-old with a thunderous serve — ended 7-6(4), 7-6(3), 6-0. But the scoreline doesn't tell the whole story. Wawrinka, at 41, fought through two sets with shots that left spectators holding their breath, before his body surrendered completely in the final set. The third set, a 6-0 bagel, was the clearest data point on the gap between a legend in terminal decline and a player at his peak. I have followed Wawrinka since his early days as a promising young Swiss player. I remember the 2026 Australian Open final, when he defeated Rafael Nadal in four sets — the biggest upset of that decade in tennis. But what I remember even more clearly is his one-handed backhand. It wasn't something to admire; it was a genuine weapon — a shot that could end points from positions where most players could only defend. In the 2026 US Open final against Novak Djokovic, Wawrinka hit 46 winners, most from the backhand wing. He broke Djokovic's serve four times and won one of the greatest Grand Slam finals of the 2010s. Few know that Wawrinka wasn't born with a one-handed backhand. At age 11, his coach — who saw the boy's "terrible" two-handed backhand — decided to make a complete switch. It was a risky decision, but it created one of the most feared backhands in tennis history. Wawrinka acknowledged this in his farewell press conference: "My coach at the time said my two-handed backhand was too bad. He said, let's try one hand." Without that intervention, Wawrinka might have been a journeyman, never touching Grand Slam glory. That story raises a big question: is the one-handed backhand a relic of the past, or can it still be a path to elite success? Wawrinka proved it could — but only in a short window, from 2026 to 2026, when he won 3 Grand Slams, all against the world No. 1. He beat Nadal at the 2026 Australian Open, Djokovic at the 2026 French Open, and Djokovic again at the 2026 US Open. Three finals, three meetings with the world No. 1, three victories. That's an achievement very few players in history can match. That statistic is no coincidence. It shows Wawrinka's one-handed backhand could create winners from defensive positions — something most two-handers can't do. When Djokovic targeted the backhand corner — the standard tactic in modern tennis — Wawrinka didn't just neutralize it; he turned it into attack. This nullified Djokovic's strategy and created a style clash that favored Wawrinka. In four Grand Slam meetings, Wawrinka won three — an incredible rate against one of the greatest players ever. But the one-handed backhand is dying. The statistics are stark: only 5 players in the top 100 use it — Lorenzo Musetti, Denis Shapovalov, Stefanos Tsitsipas, Daniel Altmaier, and Aleksandar Kovacevic. With Wawrinka's departure, a generation of elite one-handers has vanished. Roger Federer retired in 2026; Richard Gasquet and Gael Monfils are also nearing the end. The new generation — Carlos Alcaraz, Jannik Sinner, Holger Rune — all use two-handed backhands. The disappearance of the one-hander isn't just a technical shift; it's a structural change in how tennis is played and taught. Why? Wawrinka offered his own diagnosis: "Modern players play really hard from both sides." That means the one-handed backhand must face heavy topspin and high-bouncing balls — which the one-hander struggles to handle. It demands exceptional timing, footwork, and wrist strength. It takes years to master — and even when mastered, it remains riskier than the stable two-hander. In a sport increasingly favoring consistency and efficiency, the one-hander has become economically irrational. Interestingly, Wawrinka proved the one-hander can still be a championship weapon when it suits a player's natural coordination. He was a late bloomer — winning his first Slam at 29, rare for a multi-Slam champion. That suggests the one-hander takes longer to develop, but once perfected, it can produce extraordinary results. His career arc is the opposite of teenage prodigies — instead of peaking early and declining, he spent years refining his technique before exploding at an age when most players begin to fade. But Wawrinka's farewell story isn't only about technique. It's also about how the tennis system treats its legends. Wawrinka almost missed the 2026 US Open. Initially, he wasn't given a wild card — the final spot went to Patrick Kypson, a young American. Only when Kypson withdrew with injury was Wawrinka — who had already returned to Switzerland — called back to replace him. He had to fly back to New York within 24 hours. This raises a difficult question: should Grand Slams prioritize honoring legends or developing young talent? The US Open wild card committee clearly chose youth development — until Kypson's injury opened the door. It's proof that even the greatest players aren't automatically honored. Wawrinka was placed on the Grandstand — a smaller, more intimate court than Arthur Ashe. Thousands of fans packed the stands, creating an emotional atmosphere. He said: "One of the reasons I played until 41 was to live these moments." That wasn't a lament; it was a statement — he deliberately chose how to end his career. He managed his final phase with as much care as his peak — reducing his schedule, scaling down his team, and saving his energy for these final moments. Wawrinka's departure marks the end of an era. Just two days before his match, Roger Federer was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame. The two Swiss players — who won Olympic doubles gold together in Beijing 2026 — have together closed a chapter of history. Djokovic still plays at 37, but he too is in the twilight. Alcaraz and Sinner have combined for 6 Grand Slams — the new generation has taken over. Wawrinka's exit is a symbolic marker of this transition — he was the last non-Big-Three player of his generation to win multiple Slams. What's worth reflecting on is that the disappearance of the one-handed backhand isn't just a technical change. It reflects a deeper shift in how tennis is played. Modern tennis values stability, power, and defense — things the two-hander provides more naturally. The one-hander is a risky choice, demanding technical and physical perfection. In a world of optimization, risky choices are increasingly rare. But perhaps that risk is exactly what made Wawrinka so compelling. He wasn't a natural genius like Federer, nor a relentless warrior like Djokovic. He was a farmer's son — raised on a farm in Lausanne — who built his career through hard work and determination. He described his legacy: "Always trying to give, always trying to fight, always showing up." That's the philosophy of someone without innate talent but with an unwavering belief in effort. He cited his childhood on his parents' farm as shaping his work ethic — a rare self-awareness for a top player. As Wawrinka left the Grandstand for the last time, I remembered another match — the 2026 French Open final, when he beat Djokovic in one of the greatest clay-court finals ever. He hit 60 winners and ended Djokovic's 28-match Grand Slam winning streak. It was a performance showing how destructive the one-hander could be when perfectly executed. That match also revealed another truth: the one-hander, in the hands of someone who understands it completely, can neutralize the best defensive tactics in history. Now, looking back at Wawrinka's career, I realize his 16 ATP titles — while impressive — don't capture his true legacy. What defines him is 3 Grand Slams, all against the world No. 1. This is a case where Slam count (3) is a better legacy metric than total titles (16), because the quality of those wins was exceptional. He wasn't the most consistent player, but he was one of the best at raising his game on the biggest stages. The Grand Slam wild card system has always been controversial. Every year, tournaments must balance honoring legends — who have given so much to the sport — against giving opportunities to young talents — who will shape the future. Wawrinka's case shows how fragile that balance is. If Kypson hadn't withdrawn, Wawrinka would have left the US Open without a farewell match. He would have had to end his career at a smaller ATP 250 event in Europe, without the same dignity. That raises a bigger question: should Grand Slams have a special process for retiring legends? Should they automatically reserve a wild card for players who have won Slams or reached top 5? Or would that create an unfair precedent for young players needing opportunities? There are no easy answers. But the truth is: without Kypson's withdrawal, we wouldn't have had the moment of Wawrinka walking onto the Grandstand one last time. And that's a moment the tennis world will remember forever. The fact is, Wawrinka received the respect he deserved — but only after luck favored him. That makes me wonder: how many other legends haven't had that luck? How many great players have ended their careers in silence, without a court to say goodbye? We often remember the great farewell moments — Federer at the 2026 Laver Cup, Serena Williams at the 2026 US Open — but we forget those are exceptions, not the rule. One aspect of Wawrinka's legacy often overlooked is his doubles success. With Federer, he won Olympic gold in Beijing 2026 — a rare achievement, with both players in the top 10 in singles. It shows Wawrinka wasn't just a singles player; he was an excellent teammate — a quality he carried throughout his career. In an era where singles tennis is increasingly individual, his doubles achievement reminds us the sport still has room for partnership and friendship. The court may change hands, but the nights of losing one's voice calling out names are never sold. People remember transfer fees; I remember the captain's eyes when signing his final contract. With Wawrinka, I'll remember his eyes as he walked onto the Grandstand — not regret, but the contentment of someone who lived fully with his choices. I'm old now, so I only believe what I've witnessed, not what others tell me. And I witnessed Wawrinka do things I've never seen anyone else do. The final question isn't whether Wawrinka deserved a wild card — he certainly did. The question is: when the one-handed backhand generation disappears completely, what will we lose? Not just a technique, but a way of seeing tennis — where risk and individuality can still triumph over safety and optimization. Wawrinka proved that in three short but glorious years. And that's why we'll remember him — not as a relic of the past, but as a reminder of what's possible when you dare to choose the harder path. The new generation watches highlights; I watch the stoppage time of a life. For Wawrinka, that stoppage time was the third set of his final match — when his body no longer obeyed but his heart never quit. That's the image I'll keep forever: a 41-year-old man, who had won every glory this sport can offer, still fighting to the last second in a match everyone knew he would lose. That's not stubbornness; it's respect — respect for the game, respect for the fans, and respect for himself.