All hail Novak Djokovic, the greatest tennis player in all of history. (That was the po-faced bit. He is.)
But where does a man go once he is the greatest? This world is not enough. From here, you must also be the most Christ-like, the most sinned-against, the most aggrieved, the most heroic in overcoming injury, the trickiest, the fakest, the truest, the realest, the thinnest of skin and thickest of will, the greatest in every imaginable direction. Only one man matches Novak in all these respects and he is otherwise engaged, issuing executive orders from on high.
The great one has already changed tennis, making aspects of gamesmanship a regular part of the professional toolkit. Want to irritate your opponent into nervous collapse? Bounce that ball before serving, until… no, wait, there’s another few bounces. It’s killing them just to think about it.
The tennis tantrum pre-dated Novak and was much more extreme in the 1980s. But the tactical tantrum – that’s his intellectual property. It’s followed by the tactical celebration, the tactical condescension and the tactical post-match interview. You will love me! If it annoys the spectator, imagine what it has done to generations of tennis players.
The tactical injury and immaculate recovery, which Novak patented about ten years ago, is a miracle that would be better placed in the New Testament. On Tuesday night, when trailing in his quarter-final against Spaniard Carlos Alcaraz, Novak was in such desperate, desperate pain from some kind of unspecified leg injury that he was thinking about quitting. In commentary, Jim Courier said it looked really bad. (See Courier, cut-and-paste, from 2023, 2022, back to the beginning of Novak time.) A bandage was wrapped around the offending thigh, with just enough showing below the hemline of the shorts so that everyone could see it.
The grimaces looked strangely familiar (see 2023, 2022, etc). It always looks really bad, yet somehow – somehow – once the pain-killing drugs have taken effect the one who begins to suffer is not Novak but the opponent. Alcaraz couldn’t cope, and why would he? He was up against divine intervention.
The tactical injury time-out is now a standard tactic. Others copy it, but there’s only one Novak.
Then there’s the influence on officials. Ten Australian Open titles earn you a certain gravitas. Unlike your rivals, you don’t have to be Moses during the days when Melbourne becomes an Egyptian desert. The tournament organisers say they consult with all players on scheduling; it’s just that Novak is the one whose wishes are their commands.
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