Is tennis in a golden age of congeniality? 

Novak Djokovic had plenty to think about as he began the quest for his 25th Grand Slam singles title at the Australian Open this week. He’s 37 years old. He’s short on match play. He’s coming off a year in which he won but one title (granted, it was a doozy: Olympic gold). And he may be facing arguably the most difficult draw he’s seen in years, with the three top-ranked players all penciled in as potential opponents.

So it’s no wonder that during the pre-tournament media day, Djokovic dismissed the Internet trolls who got all up in his business because, in a lightning round of word association with a writer for GQ magazine, the first word that popped into his mind at the prompt “Sinner” was “skiing.” Internet hate farmers bashed him for disrespecting Sinner (a champion skier in his youth), and his response was straightforward.

“Rubbish,” he said.

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So what if he had responded “elegant” for Roger Federer, “tenacity” for Rafael Nadal, and “charisma” for Carlos Alcaraz? Is there any need for a deep dive in defense of Djokovic? Of course not.

This tempest in a teacup is a pretty good indicator of what a lousy time it is for controversy, with the exception of thorny doping sagas nobody understands anyway. Look around: we are in a golden age of congeniality. There’s hardly any beef on either tour.

Sportsmanship is suddenly, of all things, cool.

Of course, hormonally overloaded teenagers and born cranks can still pin their hopes for disruption on Nick Kyrgios. But lately, that apostate is playing nice, walking around and popping off like somebody really did die and leave him boss. Now that he’s not playing much any more and looking for validation in his bromance with Djokovic (whom Kyrgios once denigrated as a “tool”), the Aussie’s outrage looks performative.

Yet old habits die hard, and the media isn’t easily put off, so there’s been a fair amount of buzz these days around frosty handshakes like the one between Iga Swiatek and Danielle Collins at the recent United Cup. Okay, but those women have a history. In general, there is rarely any more to the handshake controversy than to the skiing Sinner saga.

Sure, sometimes at the end of a match one player or the other will blow along the net, offering a drive-by palm swipe without making eye contact. People mostly find it funny and—let’s be real—it’s certainly a more civilized way of expressing disapproval than taking a poke at the other player’s jaw.

Daniil Medvedev, the No. 5 seed this year, goes as far as recommending that players ought to be better at turning the other cheek. He told reporters, “I think we should be maybe a bit more open to cold handshakes in a way.”

Sportsmanship is suddenly, of all things, cool.

In fact, on both tours the post-match ritual has emerged in recent times as proof of excellent sportsmanship, along with a passing fair grasp of good public relations. The standard reaction after most matches ranges from the kind of pro forma handshake you might exchange with the guy who just sold you a car, to a heartfelt embrace and prolonged tete-a-tete that can range from touching to mawkish.

“There’s kind of a hug almost, especially if you get along with the person,” said the Australian Open’s No. 2 seed, Alexander Zverev. “But I’ve had one or two moments myself where the handshake maybe wasn't great.

Zheng Qinwen, last year’s runner-up in Melbourne and the No. 5 seed this year, doesn’t like to go overboard in either direction after a match. She’s also the kind of truth-teller who makes tennis officials nervous.

“Doesn’t matter if I win or I lost,” she told the media. “I always give a handshake, but not always a handshake with a smiley face. I don’t often give a hug to my opponent because I feel that is not necessary for me. I come just here for play a match. If I lost, I will give you just a basic respect and that’s it.”

Respect also features heavily in Djokovic’s estimation of his opponents, something easily overlooked given his specialty in delivering equal-opportunity beatdowns—never mind all those bouts of shirt-tearing and bellowing at the heavens.

“I like more Novak’s style,” Medvedev said. “He can be tough to his box. You can see he can get frustrated by the opponent playing well or something. But once the match finishes, he tells himself, ‘It’s done, the battle is done.’ He always congratulates his opponent, no matter whether he won or lost. Always smiling. I like this.”

When winning becomes a habit, smiling does too.