The handshake is the most indelible image in tennis. After doing battle at the far ends of a 78-foot court, two players finish by confronting each other nose to nose. Whether it involves friendly smiles or frozen stares, in that split second the emotional tenor of a match is sealed. More than any serve or passing shot, this is the moment that often stays with fans.

Two very different handshakes, both of which took place at Flushing Meadows, have stayed with me in 2009. The first came at the end of this year’s semifinal between Novak Djokovic and Roger Federer. The Serb, after losing in three sets that weren’t as close as the 7-6 (3), 7-5, 7-5 score line might indicate, smiled and put his arm around his conqueror in a salute to the sport’s popular king. Federer had just pulled off what he later called the best shot of his career, rifling a ball between his legs and past Djokovic at the net. You might ask what was wrong with an opponent’s honoring this moment; after all, we’ll all be shaking our heads during reruns of that shot for years to come. The trouble was, Djokovic, while he claimed afterward that he didn’t think Federer was unbeatable, had looked awed by his opponent for most of the afternoon. He smiled and shook his head in amused disbelief at Federer’s best shots and even pointed to the sky and laughingly prayed for help on one changeover. These may be understandable reactions when you’re facing a man who has won 15 majors, but it wasn’t always the way with Djokovic. Two years earlier, he had loudly proclaimed that he intended to take away Federer’s No. 1 ranking, and at the 2008 Australian Open he and his unruly family rooting section had toppled the giant in the semifinals. The Djokovics’ collective cockiness got so far under Federer’s skin that he angrily told them to “keep quiet” during a match in Monte Carlo. Since then, Djokovic hasn’t talked much about becoming No. 1, and at the past two U.S. Opens he has played Federer as if he expected to lose.

The second handshake, which also took place after an Open semifinal, wasn’t quite as heartwarming. It came at the end of John McEnroe’s five-set win over Jimmy Connors in the recently rebroadcast 1980 semifinals. The two ornery American rivals didn’t hug. They didn’t smile. They didn’t offer consolation or congratulations. Their hands stretched grudgingly toward each other. It may have been summer in New York City, but the temperature at the net was 50 below.

These two moments represent more than just the emotions of those particular days. They reveal the prevailing codes of camaraderie of their eras. If I have to choose, I’ll take the code of 2009 over 1980 most of the time. At a moment when professional athletes across the board are presumed to be frauds, the current generation of ATP tour players, taking their lead from Federer, has elevated tennis with stylish play and gentlemanly behavior. They apologize to each other after net cords, mishits, and even, now and then, when their opponent slips on the court; they congratulate each other with smiles and hugs; they sing each other’s praises in press conferences. At the same time, taking their lead from Rafael Nadal, the men have updated the game’s manners for a more expressive era. Theatrical chest thumps and fist pumps are no longer seen as gauche or unduly aggressive. They’re accepted as part of what it takes to play your best.

With all that said, why did I enjoy watching two guys who were never mistaken for gentlemen, Connors and McEnroe, so much, even while Federer’s victory at the French Open this spring, a triumphantly sentimental march through Roland Garros, leave me with a faint taste of sap? McEnroe won that Open semi in 1980, but Connors was at his charismatic best, alternating between both of his stock on-court characters: the bug-eyed rooster who worked the crowd, and the conspicuously quiet, keep-your-head-down poker player. Thirty years later, Jimbo’s colorful mix of the comic and the boorish is still emblematic of the personalities that defined tennis’ raucous golden age.

I’ve never wished for a return to the raucous. As the novelist Martin Amis once wrote, “personality” in tennis is too often synonymous with a “seven-letter epithet that begins with a and ends with e.” And after the Serena Williams incident at this year’s Open, the last thing the sport needs is more rage at its officials. Still, seeing player after player—Gael Monfils, Juan Martin del Potro, Robin Soderling—lose to Federer at Roland Garros and then embrace him with a smile, I found myself wishing for a little of the old, crude Jimbo ’tude, for a little of the gut-wrenching disappointment and even resentment that typically comes from losing a tennis match. But these young guys didn’t show any of it. They had taken camaraderie too far; it was as if they didn’t want to challenge their benign monarch or interfere with his long-awaited first French title.

In nationalistic terms, Federer is a consummately Swiss champion—he wants to remain above the fray—in an era of civilized European tennis dominance. Connors, a blue-collar individualist who bowed to no one, was the consummate American champion in an era of U.S. supremacy. At the moment, Federer is celebrated as the embodiment of all that is good and correct about the sport, and he’s certainly a classy ambassador. But this doesn’t mean that tennis can, or should, evolve its edgier competitive instincts away. If you’ve ever played the game, you know that while it’s a gentlemanly competition on one level, it’s also a one-on-one war of wills that calls up all kinds of uncivilized emotions. Today’s ATP players should be applauded for their deportment, but confronting your opponent and knocking him out his comfort zone, however many majors he’s won and however benign he may be, is as much a part of the sport as elegant shot-making. Smiling hugs at the end of a match are nice, but that’s not what most sports fans pay to see. A little controlled disrespect can be useful, and even more compelling to watch. Yes, Roger Federer is what tennis is all about. But so was Jimmy Connors.

Steve Tignor is the executive editor of TENNIS magazine.