Tennis trash talk is a delicate art: you’re trying to dismantle someone’s psyche while wearing a crisp polo and a sweatband The New York Times. It’s the only sport where you can look a man in the eye, tell him his second serve has the velocity of a falling leaf, and then politely offer him a Gatorade at the changeover The Wall Street Journal. Nothing hurts quite like whispering "nice frame" after a shanked volley, or suggesting their backhand belongs in a museum—specifically the one for ancient, broken relics Tennis.com. It’s all fun and games until someone mentions your footwork looks like a newborn giraffe on ice The Guardian.