Let’s not make the giant bigger
Juan Carlos Ferrero
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On ESPN, a quarter of an hour before the final, John McEnroe wonders:
-How many years have we been waiting for the changing of the guard? How many years have we been hearing that the dominance of Federer, Nadal and Djokovic is going to end now? Is this going to happen one day? Is it going to be Carlos Alcaraz who accelerates that transition?
We found out the answer almost five hours later, when the Murcian talent (20) topples Novak Djokovic (36) and seizes his first crown at Wimbledon, the second Grand Slam of his sports career, this is already a change of third.
(…)
In the run-up, how many questions had the final offered us!
“Djokovic is invulnerable, he has everything,” Albert Costa and Roberto Carretero, formerly tennis players and now television commentators for Movistar Plus, told me days ago, when the courtesy car for the tournament took us from here to there. And Alcaraz, almost almost, is also invulnerable.
The London sky closes and opens, and now it rains and now the sun rises, and the wind always blows, and the organization checks the meteor forecasts while, out of the corner of its eye, it scans the horizon. For now, the retractable roof remains open, that is the decision. At stake, tennis like before, two wrestlers fighting on the grass, in the open.
Alcaraz comes out into the open and crouching in the bushes, Djokovic shoots him. The Serbian awaits him from the bottom of the track, he waits for him and despairs, because he does not risk in the slightest, and in his Djokovic way he discourages Alcaraz, the puppy who, when he remains, counts the Serbian’s bounces, the time he the other inverts between point and point.
One, two, and so on up to twenty. Or more.
Djokovic analyzes the balls, chooses the most consistent, the most compact, the one that runs the most when he serves.
Cook over low heat.
Dressed in nuclear white, without caps or headbands, number 1 and 2 are two clones. Powerful lower body, both have a sharp torso, they are elastic, they are very fast from the rest, short brown hair, two types of the Mediterranean, a few days’ beard, a fierce combatant’s beard, few physical elements distinguish one from the other.
One of those distinctive elements is the tone.
When Alcaraz spreads his legs and launches a lob that bounces just a breath away from the baseline, Wimbledon roars with wonder because he has seen the ball inside, and Djokovic is suspicious and asks for a review because he has seen it outside, and then the Serbian laughs mockingly, laughs at the public: the video has proved him right.
And he’s done it again.
Djokovic is already playing against his rival, against the Center Court, against the entire world and also against that McEnroe who talks about the changing of the guard.
And that’s how Djokovic likes himself, like the greats, like Michael Jordan. The more you challenge him, the more he gets stubborn.
This is how he executes a perfect match opener.
Djokovic limits himself to hitting from the bottom of the track, as Juan Carlos Ferrero had anticipated the day before, and from there he administers the despair that clouds Alcaraz’s mind.
Djokovic is immense, and after 27 minutes he has already broken Alcaraz’s serve twice, he is already 0-5 up, he has already woven his web. The Murcian saves the rosco, but nothing prevents him from 1-6.
The intermission resets Alcaraz: seen what has been seen, stage fright makes no sense. Lost to the river. The Murcian continues hitting, and the balls that previously went outside now fall inside. The rallies are lengthening, Alcaraz manages patience, nothing remains of those Sampras-Ivanisevic finals, serve after serve and no exchange.
Alcaraz finally breaks Djokovic’s serve, and Djokovic returns it instantly. Physically and strategically, the game is balanced. The psychological factor remains.
Of this, Djokovic knows a world. This is his 35th Grand Slam final, his ninth at Wimbledon. He slept well the night before: for him, this is another day at the office. He is not going to be intimidated now, determined as he is to open more space over Nadal (the man from Manacor wears 22 grandes) to achieve a greater feat, the 24 Grand Slam of Margaret Court, the absolute record.
And Alcaraz?
He’s not scared either. No, at least not from now on. He projects himself forward while the audience uncorks champagne and Djokovic begins to argue with his box: Ivanisevic, the coach, is his punching bag.
(Alcaraz treats his people radically differently: when he turns to his box, he does so waving his racket, celebrating a success).
The tie break is a 400m race. It is disputed to the sprint and out of breath. The 400 is a race for youngsters, for puppies, and Alcaraz points it out after a delicious parallel passing shot. The data is important, and it distinguishes the Murcian: until then, Djokovic had won the last fifteen sudden deaths of him.
With the score tied, the match enters a new dimension: two hours have passed, one set to one.
The adjustment misfits Djokovic, the man who has linked 45 consecutive victories on the Center Court. He hasn’t lost in that theater since Andy Murray had knocked him out in 2013. It’s 3,661 days.
Amongst so much invulnerability, so much superheroism, Djokovic feels insulted by the puppy and by London: the parish has sided with the Murcian. Alcaraz has found cruising speed and the Serbian complains about his left thigh. A bandage covers his hamstring. He does not move with the initial elasticity. By then, Alcaraz has endorsed another break, he has done it at the opening of the third sleeve.
Playing out of hand, now Djokovic protests to the judge, the same one who has given him a warning for falling asleep between points.
-Booooo.
Wimbledon boo the Serb.
Alcaraz is whole and intoxicated, and from his side of the track he contemplates the events. While Djokovic burns, Alcaraz is an iceberg, this looks like a McEnroe-Borg.
The fifth game runs aground, it lasts for 26 minutes. Djokovic fights it, saves six break points, but compromises to the seventh. With a 4-1 lead in the third set, Djokovic seems to fall apart and Alcaraz takes over the partial and the stage.
-Djokovic will have to go to the bathroom and decide what to do now – Nacho Albarrán anticipates me, wise companion of the newspaper As.
It happens as is.
Djokovic leaves the scene and leaves Alcaraz alone, walking on the grass of the Center Court, while Brad Pitt, Daniel Craig, Hugh Jackman, Ariana Grande, King Philip and the princes of Wales watch him.
Holding four balls in one hand, Alcaraz asks the judge:
How much longer are we going to wait for him?
Djokovic takes ten minutes to return to the ring.
It’s enough.
The maneuver disturbs Alcaraz, cools the puppy’s spirits. Suddenly Alcaraz no longer runs like before, he no longer dominates the game, the Serb’s web has once again wrapped him up. Twice he loses serve in the fourth set, which he misses.
This Djokovic seems like a magician who always comes back, even when he already seems dead and buried.
At 4h26m, both have the same number of points: 155 per head.
What a roller coaster!
Is Alcaraz scared?
Not even like that: he continues to press Djokovic, who loses serve in the third game and definitely loses the mood, and bursts the racket against the base of the judge’s chair, leaving him a good notch, good booing again.
“I expected to have problems with Alcaraz on the ground or on the surface, I didn’t expect this on grass,” Djokovic admits later.
He also cries, he does it while thanking his children for continuing to smile in the box.
With 3-1 up in the decisive set, Alcaraz just has to keep serving, and that’s what he’s focused on. He no longer thinks about the Serbian’s numbers, “Djokovic has two arms and two legs,” Ferrero had told him the day before, but about himself.
In the last game, he culminated the feat with a lob, a volley and a direct serve.
