This year’s Wimbledon crowned two worthy champions. Jannik Sinner triumphed in a brutal showdown against Carlos Alcaraz, and Iga Swiatek achieved a double bagel in a women’s final not seen in over a century. Yet, beneath the champagne toasts and ceremonial waltz at the Wimbledon Ball, an uncomfortable truth lingered—both champions had served suspensions for banned substances within the past year. One must not mistake that for a footnote. It is a first in the long and proud history of the All England Club. Never before have both men’s and women’s singles champions at Wimbledon arrived fresh from doping bans—however brief or explainable. And while governing bodies insist that neither Sinner nor Swiatek bore significant fault, the optics of it are undeniably troubling.
As a matter of fact, Swiatek tested positive for trimetazidine (TMZ), a heart medication with endurance-boosting properties, in August 2024. The ITIA ruled that her case was the result of contamination in a non-prescription melatonin product. She served a one-month ban and returned to the tour. Sinner’s case looks even more tangled. He twice tested positive for clostebol, an anabolic steroid, allegedly due to contamination from a topical spray applied by his physiotherapist. The explanation was accepted, and after a confidential “case resolution agreement” with WADA, he served a three-month ban that neatly sidestepped any Grand Slam absences. The timing and discretion with which both cases were handled have sparked fury and disbelief among players and fans alike. Notably, the outcry has not come from fringe voices. Nick Kyrgios bluntly called the situation “disgusting,” and former British No. 1 Tim Henman warned of a “sour taste” left in the mouths of fans. Tara Moore, who lost 19 months of her career while clearing her name after a contaminated meat incident, has openly questioned the disparity in treatment.
At the heart of this storm lies the perception—fair or not—of preferential treatment. Tennis has long prided itself on integrity and self-regulation, but the opaque settlements and strategic timing of bans in these cases have weakened that claim. The Professional Tennis Players' Association has called out the system’s lack of transparency and consistency. Even Novak Djokovic noted that legal muscle now seems to shape the outcomes as much as medical facts do. This is not to cast Sinner or Swiatek as villains. Both are young, elite athletes who may well have been victims of honest mistakes. Their statements reflect emotional strain, public judgment, and the pressure of elite competition. Yet, sympathy for them does not erase the broader problem their cases illuminate. For tennis, the real damage may not be reputational fallout alone—it is institutional trust. The notion that doping cases can be negotiated into tidy PR packages sets a dangerous precedent. Sport demands both fairness and the appearance of fairness. When enforcement begins to look discretionary, based on fame or financial resources, the credibility of the system cracks. Tennis fans are a forgiving bunch—perhaps too forgiving. The roars on Centre Court, the millions tuning in, and the grace of Sinner and Swiatek on grass have masked much of the controversy. But brushing it aside in the name of spectacle only invites deeper cynicism later.
The solution? Rigorous, transparent adjudication. Equal treatment regardless of ranking. A system where clarity replaces confusion and consistency outpaces convenience. The ITIA’s claim of a 26 per cent increase in anti-doping tests in 2024 is commendable—but meaningless if results are met with silence or settlements. The sport deserves champions who win not just matches, but the public’s unshakable belief that those victories were earned cleanly. The game is beautiful. Let it also be fair.