Tennis: Hingis Comeback is So Bold It Deserves Better Than Mediocrity

Martina Hingis returns to tennis aware that she may never match her past achievements, but Clare Balding finds it hard not to root for the former teen prodigy. can reach two Grand Slam finals (the French Open and US Open) this year at the age of 30 and climb to number four in the world, there is hope. The year before, three young Russians - Svetlana Kuznetsova, Anastasia Myskina and Maria Sharapova - won the last three Grand Slam titles in relatively unmemorable style and the number-one slot passed around like an unwanted Christmas present.

In 2004, while working at Wimbledon as a commentator, Hingis said of Venus Williams: 'People ask me if I think of a comeback, but when I look at Venus, I don't want to end up like that, even if I was healthy and everything was fine. The train is moving fast. Venus hasn't shown anything right now.'

A year on and Venus won Wimbledon again. Maybe that is what changed Hingis's mind and made her realise that ending up like Venus was not such a bad option. Although enjoying riding and skiing, Hingis's strongest love has always been tennis. 'I was never forced to play it, it was my passion,' she said, ignoring the fact that she started at an age - two - when most children have little conscious choice in how they spend time.

Always accompanied by her mother, Melanie Molitor, the Hingis of the 1990s was a naive, elfin figure who could pout or prance on a whim. She was a child in a woman's world, charming one minute and petulant the next, too inconsistent in her behaviour to find firm friends in the locker room.

When she returns in January, she will do so with the experience of a life away from tennis, doing her own washing and cooking her own food. She will do so in the knowledge that it could be a disaster.

Having never been a Hingis fan, I find myself admiring the boldness of her decision. She will not be satisfied with turning into one more of the many journeywomen junkies whose names do nothing more than make up the draw. She has put herself and her former status of injury and a few who have chosen to walk away before time, such as George Best (whose attempts at comebacks would not bring Hingis comfort) and Bjorn Borg.

Life after the adrenalin rush of a sporting career is always likely to be an anticlimax, but it is easier for someone who has had control over his or her departure date. Hingis had no such choice and her frustration has only grown as she looks at a sport in which there is no dominant figure. Like Richard Dunwoody, who turned to extreme expeditions to try to fill the gaping hole left by race riding, she has failed to find a challenge that matches the life she loved.

The initial years away from tennis were fine. Two years ago, while studying a Cambridge University English course in Zurich (Swiss efficiency avoided the hassle of travel and collegiate life), Hingis described a return to tennis as 'unimaginable'. She said: 'Tennis gave me a magnificent life and now a new life starts. I have no regrets. I am happy, I have money and I live in a country that I love. What more could I ask?'

Although she appeared too delicate for a stage dominated by power-players, Hingis embodied the triumph of guile over force, cunning over clout. Perhaps her star was always bound to shine bright and brief. Writers of Greek mythology would have painted her in the mould of Achilles, choosing glory over longevity and always with that darned ankle problem looming large on the horizon of life.

Hingis had the benefit of facing tennis balls rather than arrows and although injury looked to have killed her career, it did not dampen the competitive desire that burns behind that sweet, innocent smile.

Hingis has never been the cutesy, sugar-coated tree fairy that she and her image-makers manufactured. She is tougher than the more physically developed Mauresmo, more fiercely competitive than Henin-Hardenne, is more of a diva than Davenport or Clijsters, has more dedication than the Williams sisters, Venus and Serena, and is craftier than Sharapova.

Perhaps the cup of contentment started to run low when she watched the women's game descend into a state of crumbling chocolate flake. If the terminally inconsistent and mentally fragile Mary Pierce can reach two Grand Slam finals (the French Open and US Open) this year at the age of 30 and climb to number four in the world, there is hope. The year before, three young Russians - Svetlana Kuznetsova, Anastasia Myskina and Maria Sharapova - won the last three Grand Slam titles in relatively unmemorable style and the number-one slot passed around like an unwanted Christmas present.

In 2004, while working at Wimbledon as a commentator, Hingis said of Venus Williams: 'People ask me if I think of a comeback, but when I look at Venus, I don't want to end up like that, even if I was healthy and everything was fine. The train is moving fast. Venus hasn't shown anything right now.'

A year on and Venus won Wimbledon again. Maybe that is what changed Hingis's mind and made her realise that ending up like Venus was not such a bad option. Although enjoying riding and skiing, Hingis's strongest love has always been tennis. 'I was never forced to play it, it was my passion,' she said, ignoring the fact that she started at an age - two - when most children have little conscious choice in how they spend time.

Always accompanied by her mother, Melanie Molitor, the Hingis of the 1990s was a naive, elfin figure who could pout or prance on a whim. She was a child in a woman's world, charming one minute and petulant the next, too inconsistent in her behaviour to find firm friends in the locker room.

When she returns in January, she will do so with the experience of a life away from tennis, doing her own washing and cooking her own food. She will do so in the knowledge that it could be a disaster.

Having never been a Hingis fan, I find myself admiring the boldness of her decision. She will not be satisfied with turning into one more of the many journeywomen junkies whose names do nothing more than make up the draw. She has put herself and her former status at risk of ridicule and, inexplicably, I find myself hoping she does not fall flat on her face.