Many things said the face of Rafael Nadal (36) on Sunday afternoon, during the Wimbledon Centenary celebration.
There were 25 tennis talents parading Center Court, all of them one-time champions at the All England Club, with Andy Murray, Björn Borg and Roger Federer among the most cheered.
It is curious: Nadal was seen then as one more, not at all as the greatest tennis player of all time.
Perhaps for this reason, dressed in his white tracksuit, he remained serious and hieratic.
Maybe that’s his pose when he goes into tournament mode.
Or perhaps, deep down inside, he was saying to himself:
-I want them to always applaud me as the greatest, not as one more.
(It should not be otherwise: Nadal has won the two Grand Slams of the year, adds 22 majors, more than any other male tennis player, and alive
(…)
If Botic van de Zandschulp (26) is presented with such a dilemma, the Dutchman will laugh.
Van de Zandschulp cannot claim to be the greatest. He cannot hope to appear on a list of celebrities like the one that was displayed the other Sunday in the garden at Wimbledon.
You can’t imagine it.
Not even that.
Van de Zandschulp plays academic tennis, as correct as it is predictable, and that is why Nadal sees him coming from afar.
Someone uncorks bottles in the stands of Center Court.
Pop-pop-pop.
The dull sound echoes through the venue and the zealous ushers (members of the British Armed Forces) go wild looking for the corkscrews.
There are mischievous among the parishioners.
If they get caught, they kill it.
Neither that, nor the dull sound of the plug that jumps, throws the Manacorí off center, immersed in tournament mode, with his routines and his punches. The bottles diagonally, one of cool liquid and the other warm, the bag resting on the bench, Nadal avoids the white lines, uses the towel to dry his arms and the wristbands to dry his forehead, scratches both shoulders, sideways he goes Contemplating the scoreboard, he rushes the regulation half minute between point and point.
(may not clear line with sole of foot before serving; played on grass, not clay)
–He does more and more things, each time he runs short of time –confess members of his team to La Vanguardia.
Van de Zandschulp lo sufre.
The Dutchman fiddles with his racket while Nadal unfurls his paraphernalia: perhaps Van de Zandschulp is remembering himself 38 days ago, not in London but in Paris, at Roland Garros, then in the third round.
(He also lost that day, cursed but his)
So, Nadal was dealing with his foot syndrome, he anesthetized himself to inhibit the pain, and in his press conferences he anticipated us:
I’ll tell you everything when this is all over.
(and he would keep his word, he finally spoke at length, already with his 22nd grand in his possession)
As in this spring in Paris, Van de Zandschulp begins to see the ears of the wolf at the end of the first set, in the tenth game, when he serves to equal five and Nadal throws his Nadality on him. More aggressiveness in the rest, hits adjusted to the lines, and the Dutchman begins to tremble.
Nadal breaks him, the first set is scored at 42 minutes and Castilla is wide.
If that happens, when Nadal scores the first set, the match is usually ready. Nothing was going to turn the commitment around, and neither was a correct tennis player who fights against his but even forces the last tie break. In vain: he is dismounted after a long rally that gives Nadal 4-2.
Van de Zandschulp was up against a legend.
In quarters, Taylor Fritz, an American puncher, lights up, this one on the grass is already a serious thing.
Another thing is how he looks when he feels the weight of Nadal, the guy who wants to rule on any surface, on any stage.
