If you're going to poke tennis's still-reigning bull, prepare for the horns - The Globe and Mail

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Novak Djokovic gets up after slipping and falling while attempting a return to Carlos Alcaraz in men's singles final at Wimbledon on July 16. Alcaraz beat Djokovic.Alberto Pezzali/The Associated Press

A few minutes before the Wimbledon men’s singles final began on Sunday, a great ripple went through the stand. Someone told someone who told someone else that they’d seen Brad Pitt.

Apparently, he was nearby. Sitting somewhere just ahead of us.

“Sunglasses,” someone said.

“Blue shirt,” said someone else.

On either side of me, two tabloid journalists began taking random photos of the crowd and then expanding them on their phones to furiously examine the backs of heads. Nope. Nope. Not him. Nope.

One of them was texting with her photographer. Her final had already begun.

“Are you on Brad Pitt duty, too?” she said.

No, no, not me. I’m just here waiting on history. For the next five hours, it would slowly, and then suddenly, arrive.

Carlos Alcaraz beat Novak Djokovic 1-6, 7-6 (6), 6-1, 3-6, 6-4. It was Djokovic’s first loss on Centre Court in more than a decade.

It was a match of uncommon attrition. Just one example – the fifth game of the third set took 26 minutes to play. Other, lesser players can finish a set in that much time. You half expected these two men to slowly make their way to the net, drop their tools and begin hitting each other. It never grew heated, but it still managed to seem close to violence.

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There are two ways to look at this signpost encounter.

The most obvious is that Novak Djokovic was deposed as tennis’s dominant force.

Would the Djokovic of five years ago have romped in the first set, as he did on Sunday, and then allow Alcaraz to reel him back in? Would that Djokovic have tried to chop down one of the posts holding up the net when things started to go sideways in the fifth? Would that Djokovic be seen bent over, using his racquet as a crutch, after long points late in the match?

Probably not.

The other way of looking at it is that now Djokovic is dangerous again.

He hasn’t had a lot to worry about since his best frenemies drifted out of the game. With Roger Federer gone and Rafael Nadal on hiatus, there wasn’t anyone to put a real fright in him.

The entire world’s bottled-up pandemic hysteria was enough to knock Djokovic sideways for a few months there, but that couldn’t stop him from winning whatever he was allowed to enter.

Lacking enemies of quality, Djokovic devoted himself to winning over the crowds. They’d loved Federer and still loved Nadal, but those two were gone. Now it was his turn.

On Sunday, we saw how poorly that has gone.

The crowd wanted very little to do with Djokovic from the off. By the end of the first set, he’d begun bantering with them. When he felt he wasn’t getting enough credit, he would applaud himself. When he upset them by winning points, he’d blow them kisses.

There was a moment late in the match when Djokovic decided to give himself a little mental-health break by screaming at the chair umpire for a few moments. Over what? Over nothing. This was a rest disguised as a strop.

In the middle of it, the crowd began to jeer him. All the fun had drained from Djokovic now. He stopped what he was saying and stared at them with barely concealed contempt. It was the look that said, ‘After all I’ve given you, this is what I get back?’

In the end, he reminded us of his many great attributes – an unwillingness to submit, tempered with grace.

He has never been charismatic, but it is difficult to think of any great athlete who has ever been as cordial.

If I’d spent a day of my life being booed for supplying one of the great sporting entertainments in recent memory, I might be a little peevish in my remarks immediately following it. But not this guy.

“Good afternoon everyone,” he started. “Not so good for me. But good for Carlos.”

The crowd tittered. They only really like him in London when he’s being sportsmanlike to someone they prefer.

Djokovic played it perfectly. He praised Alcaraz. He promised to be better. He admitted that he’d had his own share of luck.

“Maybe I should have lost a couple of finals that I won,” Djokovic said, specifically referencing his legendary last final on this same court against Federer in 2019. “So maybe this is even-steven.”

Djokovic had the crowd in his hands now. Too late to do him any good, they were falling under his sway. When he began to weep after seeing his children in the stands, they were fully in his thrall.

But history has proved that Djokovic can never maintain these connections. It’s hard to say what it is about him. Maybe it’s the dominance. Nobody roots for a robot.

If so, a little of that came off him on Sunday. For the first time ever, you looked at him and thought, ‘Maybe he’s gotten old.’

He’d said earlier in the tournament that his age, 36, is the new 26. Nice thought. But it isn’t. On the back half of 30, any athlete who runs around for a living is fighting a rearguard action with his own body. How many tennis players have dominated – not just won things, but dominated – at this age? Until Sunday, just one – Djokovic.

But whether he wants to or not, he has entered his lion-in-winter phase.

What took a hit on Sunday wasn’t Djokovic’s reputation or his legacy. Those remain unassailable.

What Djokovic lost was his aura of invincibility. Until the last point, you really didn’t think this guy would allow himself to be beaten. But he did.

Most opponents will still be terrified when he lands in their half of a draw. But there is now at least one who need never fear him. Once one guy has your number, the buzzards are never far behind.

When Federer lost that shine near the end, it became hard to watch him. You found yourself perilously close to pitying him.

Djokovic isn’t anywhere close to that point. Had a couple of small moments gone differently on Sunday – the second-set tiebreak in particular – this match might’ve been a walkover rather than a loss.

What would we be saying then? That he was the greatest of all time. That there was no stopping him.

What should we be saying instead? That tennis acquired a couple of new rules on Sunday.

The first is never sit beside Brad Pitt if there are cameras around (RIP Guy Ritchie).

The second is if you’re going to poke tennis’s still-reigning bull, prepare for the horns.

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2023-07-16 23:10:53Z
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