He’s the real tennis champion of the world. Why won’t anyone believe him?

That is because the sport is eight centuries old, a lot less lucrative and so different from modern tennis that John McEnroe reportedly stinks at it. But the hardest thing about the game might be explaining it to strangers.

“I try to steer clear of it—it’s too complicated," says Robert Fahey, a 56 year-old British-Australian, who dominated “real tennis" for almost three decades and still plays.

Fahey changes the subject or lies and says he’s a photographer.

Camden Riviere, the younger American who dethroned Fahey in 2022, is less jaded and will indulge people who are curious.

“It is a great way to kill time on a long flight," he says. “The next thing you know, you’re giving a full description of the rules."

These conversations often occur while Riviere is crammed into economy class on the way to a tournament, taking a break from his job as business manager of Boston’s Tennis & Racquet Club. When Riviere, 37, does reveal to seatmates that he’s a professional athlete—he rarely adds he’s a world champ—things can turn awkward.

“Sometimes they don’t believe me—you can see it in their eyes."

Modern tennis—initially called “lawn tennis," since it was played on grass courts—began to emerge in the 1870s. The ancient version took place in high-walled courtyards. Shakespeare mentioned the game in several plays, and Henry VIII reportedly was enjoying a match at Hampton Court Palace, where it is still played, when informed of Anne Boleyn’s unfortunate fate in The Tower of London.

France boasted hundreds of real tennis courts, and use of the word “tenez" before serving likely evolved into the game’s English name. The Tennis Court Oath at Versailles marked a pivotal event during the French Revolution.

Today, this niche sport has an estimated 10,000 players and maintains a professional circuit, including a real tennis “French Open," although winning that nets just a few thousand dollars in prize money. Only 10 places in the U.S.—all east of the Mississippi—offer places to play.

Perplexing rules

The indoor real tennis court dwarfs the better-known version. While the scoring remains familiar—15, 30, 40, deuce—achieving points, and even hitting the ball, differ completely. Players wield small, tightly-strung wooden rackets to serve onto a sloping roof called the “penthouse," echoing back to the game’s origins in medieval alleys and monasteries.

Players can score multiple ways, including hitting openings called the grille, dedans and winning gallery. Courts feature slightly different dimensions. Pros themselves handcraft the cork-filled balls, which can vary in size from club to club too. The most perplexing aspect of game play is “the Chase," which would take several paragraphs to describe.

“The rules are perfect—they’ve been tested over time," says Bertie Vallat, a young British real tennis professional. “But they’re really confusing."

In America most real tennis courts were built by wealthy Anglophiles during the Gilded Age, when the “sport of kings" held extra snob appeal. Recently, Vallat and fellow British pro Max Trueman played a spirited set at the exclusive Tuxedo Club in New York. A lone observer watched the young men, both recent winners of the British Junior Real Tennis Championship. It didn’t take long to see the appeal of the game and why it has been overtaken by the easier version of the sport.

‘Utter B.S.’

The ability to judge angles is critical, which has led to comparisons with chess. Athleticism counts for a lot too, though—along with humility. McEnroe “wasn’t very good," according to one pro who watched him try the sport in England. McEnroe’s longtime agent Gary Swain disputes that assessment. “That’s utter B.S. It was the very first time he did it," he says. “I bet if he worked at it for six months he’d probably kick their asses."

Roger Federer tried his hand at the sport and excelled after a shaky start. “His footwork was just incredible," says Susie Falkner, chief executive of the International Real Tennis Professionals Association.

Presiding over one of the world’s oldest sports doesn’t quite come with the perks of running a larger league, admits Falkner, a Brit who fell in love with the game while living in the U.S., where it is called “court tennis."

“I was headhunted for it," she says. The recruiter, “always told me there were two candidates, but I’m not sure I believe him."

Falkner isn’t shy when her favorite pastime comes up.

“People ask ‘do you play a sport,’ and I say ‘real tennis,’ and they say ‘I play real tennis too!’"

But they seldom have.

Trueman, the young British pro, faces similar misunderstandings. “You say to them ‘I’m a real tennis professional’ and they’re like ‘So you’re going to Wimbledon.’"

This lack of recognition seems unfair. While Trueman concedes that players, other than the top five, go out for beers during tournaments, he insists the training and dedication at the game’s pinnacle is on par with elite athletes.

Trueman hails from a small English island with a court, yet he still draws blank stares at home when mentioning the game. So does Riviere, the world champ, who hails from Aiken, S.C., population 33,000, one of the rare U.S. places where one can play real tennis.

Aiken’s Wikipedia page lists 15 locally-raised or born athletes, including an Olympic silver medalist in the triple jump, a gymnast, two golfers and several football players—most famously William “Refrigerator" Perry. What’s not there? The name Camden Riviere.

Fahey may lament the lack of money but, with only 551 Instagram followers—about 0.003% of Rafael Nadal’s following—at least he enjoys his privacy. He says being recognized would be “very unusual."

Riviere has been recognized just a handful of times.

“I’m always just as surprised as they are."