The battle of the ball mark: Will we miss that unique piece of clay-court theater?

Daniil Medvedev was agitated—as he sometimes gets. He was having trouble closing out Alexandre Muller, a player ranked 28 spots behind him, in Monte Carlo on Wednesday. At one stage in the second set, a Muller serve landed close to the service line. No call came, and Medvedev eventually lost the point.

When the rally was over, the Russian took a few steps into the court and craned his neck to try to see if the serve had left a mark. “Here we go,” I thought, assuming we were about to get a full Meddy meltdown when he discovered an indent on the clay that showed the serve had been out. Instead, he turned away immediately and moved onto the next game. He even kept his cool long enough to win the match in three sets.

Once upon a time—i.e., for the entirety of clay-court history until last year—that scenario may have played out much differently, lasted much longer, and become much more heated.

You remember how it went: A player points at a mark with his racquet that shows his opponent’s shot was out. The chair umpire jumps down from his or her perch. Player and umpire take turns bending down to inspect the mark and make a case for whether it was in or out. If they disagree, each becomes more demonstrative, and they start bending down and standing back up more quickly, like a pair of pigeons pecking at bird feed.

The battle of the ball mark has been a staple of the sport since clay courts were invented—near Monte Carlo, in the South of France—over a century ago. It’s a distinctive trait of the surface that makes it feel a little more natural somehow; the ball leaves a tangible trace of itself in the earth. What other playing surface serves as its own referee?

That all-natural element became more pronounced when other surfaces went first to digital replays, and then to electronic line-calling. The ball mark was analog by comparison—and truer than any calls made by Hawk-Eye, which has a margin of error in the three-millimeter range.

As someone who plays on clay courts, though, I noticed a couple of problems with ball marks: They’re not always easy to find, and if they are, it’s not always easy to tell whether the ball touched down outside the line, or skidded off its far edge. Granted, the clay I’ve played on has never been as expertly groomed as the stuff the pros use, or swept clean after each set. But I always wondered exactly how chair umpires, when they jumped down and pointed confidently to a tiny spot, could be so sure they were seeing it correctly. Hawk-Eye replays usually backed them up, but not always.

For that reason, among others, Roland Garros and its lead-up events have been under pressure to adopt electronic replays, and now line-calling. With the exception of Madrid, they’ve held out until now, but they’ve all agreed to use it in 2025. I was generally in favor of bringing in Hawk-Eye Live on clay, but I also wondered whether there would be discrepancies between ball marks and electronic calls. If there were, would that undermine the trust in Hawk-Eye Live on other surfaces as well?

So far, in the matches I’ve watched in Monte Carlo this week, I’ve yet to see that happen. What has surprised me is how little attention the players have paid to the marks at all. If a call is close, they look to the big screen at the end of the court that shows Hawk-Eye’s call.

Numerous times, Jordan Thompson questioned whether one of his shots had really been long, but he never asked to have a mark checked or looked at one himself. During a match of Matteo Berrettini’s, a ball landed at his feet, at the very back of the baseline. When he lost the point, I expected him to at least glance back at the mark, but he didn’t give it a second thought.

Greater accuracy and efficiency are the way to go in sports. But that doesn’t mean we can’t miss a little of the human drama that the machines replace.

The players have had time to gain trust in the electronic system; there are few arguments over it—other than from the famously skeptical Jelena Ostapenko, that is. They also know that Hawk-Eye is a closed system; if you ask for a replay, the screen is going to show you a visual version of the audio call it just made. Even if that original call was three millimeters off, the replay will never show it.

This is, on balance, a good thing. If Hawk-Eye isn’t perfect, it’s better than the human eye, and it eliminates any need for ball-mark inspection. Matches move along more quickly and with fewer interruptions, and players avoid debilitating temper tantrums. Former player and coach Brad Gilbert, who has been calling loudly for this move for years, is pleased.

“So much better watching MC on clay,” Gilbert tweeted this week, “no more umpire interpretation of the mark, or completely wrong mark.”

Greater accuracy and efficiency are the way to go in sports. But that doesn’t mean we can’t miss a little of the human drama that the machines replace. The battle of the ball mark took up time and led to bad feelings, but when those arguments started and the chair umpire leaped out of his seat, everyone in the crowd, and everyone watching in their living rooms, stopped to watch and listen. At Roland Garros especially, crowds grew louder—with boos, hisses and cheers—as the argument grew more heated. On the flip side, when a player inspected a ball mark, and rubbed it out because his opponent’s shot was in, audiences clapped appreciatively at the show of sportsmanship. Either way, it was part of the unique, bullfight-style theatre of clay.

The battle of the ball mark may return at times; I’m guessing Ostapenko could be at the center of one this spring. But I’d rather get the calls right and have matches run smoothly, and Hawk-Eye Live is fairest way to do that. On occasion, though, I may miss the controversy and contention that a little mark in the dirt could inspire.