How the soulless ‘Battle of the Sexes’ committed the most cardinal sin of all, writes MATTHEW LAMBWELL – and the bizarre rule change that proved a disaster as Nick Kyrgios beat Aryna Sabalenka

After the merciful conclusion of the Battle of the Sexes, both Aryna Sabalenka and Nick Kyrgios hinted not-so-subtly about a rematch. For the love of God, no.

For two months of controversial build-up this match has been billed as anything between a dog-whistle to misogynists across the world and a momentous opportunity for tennis to reach a new fanbase. In the end, the event committed the most cardinal sin of all: it was dull. Shoddy, slapdash and dull.

Kyrgios won – as he was bound to do – 6-3, 6-3. What did we learn from the Coca-Cola Arena in Dubai? Nothing. What did we feel? Nothing. A soulless affair in a soulless city in a soulless arena named after a soulless beverage.

When September brought confirmation of the rumoured clash between the dominant women’s world No1 and the washed up men’s world No671, the more sensitive souls within the tennis world reached for their smelling salts and took to their soapboxes.

Their complaint was that, whatever the result, this event would stoke the fire of chauvinistic vitriol against women’s tennis.

To my mind, that response gave far too much power to those dull, resentful men who cling to the idea that women’s tennis is a lesser sport. These same bores will have spent much of the last week being a nuisance to their families over Christmas: they are best ignored and ushered towards the mince pies. They do not deserve an instant of consideration or acknowledgement from a superstar such as Sabalenka.

Ironically, some of the ‘pro-women’ commentators were critical of Sabalenka herself, accusing her of chucking female tennis under the bus for a payday. It was all a ridiculous overreaction to a deeply unserious event.

But to ride out that criticism, what the Evolve agency who represent both players and cooked up this event needed was to put on a show. Instead it was a flop.

The Coca-Cola Arena was a 17,000 sellout and seldom can a full house have felt so empty.

And then there is the BBC. Auntie received her share of flak for giving coverage to the event – what was more deserving of criticism was the coverage itself.

As they will for much of the World Cup, the BBC declined to send anyone out to the UAE, but the problem with covering live sport off the TV is that when the technology breaks, it is game over. Most of the second set was unwatchable: the footage being beamed from Dubai periodically lost pictures completely and because commentators Andrew Cotter and Annabelle Croft were back in Blighty they were unable to enlighten us as to what was happening on court.

When footage returned it then became completely pixelated. ‘I think that was an underarm serve,’ said Croft, like someone peering through heavy fog. Then the audio was totally out of sync. Throw in the wonky court size – nine per cent smaller on Sabalenka’s side in an attempt to even up the biological disadvantage – and the viewing experience was like watching a tennis match while suffering a seizure.

As for the commentary and punditry itself, as so often over the last decade the BBC became tangled up in their attempts to present both sides of the story. Instead of unashamedly bigging up the event they had paid to broadcast they were forever talking it down. ‘As she puts her own reputation and that of women’s tennis on the line,’ ran the intro. ‘Is the four-time Grand Slam champion in a lose-lose situation?’

Experienced commentator Cotter seemed to be trying – but not that hard – to conceal his contempt for the whole thing. As the cameras panned to fans in the arena drinking from blinged-up glasses and looking aimlessly at their phones, Cotter said: ‘The crowd are having fun. Instagram is going to be on fire this evening: ‘Here I am, at a tennis match’.’

A contest featuring two of the most charismatic characters in tennis all felt joyless and corporate. In one of the changeovers, it was incongruously announced over the speaker system that we were joined by former Brazilian football stars Kaka and Ronaldo. ‘How very exciting,’ murmured Cotter. Peter Crouch was also in the stands, although his presence was not deemed worthy of announcement.

What of the actual tennis? There were two alterations to the format to balance the scales. The lopsided court looked awful on TV but made the rallies themselves more entertaining by allowing Sabalenka to stay in the points. The removal of both players’ second serves, however, was a disaster. It neutered the whole affair and inevitably led to Sabalenka sending down a mass of – what should we call them? Single faults? The Belarusian should have been allowed two serves, Kyrgios just the one.

The one positive is Sabalenka was undoubtedly the star of the show, with Kyrgios, to his credit, playing the unfamiliar role of straight man. While the Aussie sloped on to court like a player turning up at the park, Sabalenka entered boxing style, wearing a sparkly silver trenchcoat and sashaying down the steps to Eye of the Tiger, a nod to her big cat nickname and tattoo.

She had all the best bits of the action, too. She smacked a ball at Kyrgios and caught him amidships; when one of her shots kissed the net tape and dribbled over she threw up her hands in apology then wiggled her shoulders in celebration; she dummied to do an underarm serve. She hit by far the shot of the match with a sliced forehand winner down the line.

The great hope for this event was that it would draw in people who would not normally watch tennis. And through the shimmering pixels, the deafening silence of the stadium and the apologetic commentary, they will have caught a glimpse of the superstar that Sabalenka has become.

They will have heard the Tiger’s roar – if a second or two out of sync.

If, in 2026, a few more people tune in to watch Sabalenka in the more edifying environs of Grand Slam combat then perhaps the Battle of the Sexes will have been more than just a colossal waste of time.