In our endless summer of discontent — the heat, the humidity, the devastating wildfires, the smoke, the wayward storms, the indictments, the losing Yankees, to name but a few — I’d like to take a break and return to a subject that helped inspire my fiction and this blog, tennis and in particular Novak Djokovic, whose career trajectory has a lot to do with two pairs of themes that fascinate me — power and rivalry and context and perception.
Since the spring, Djokovic — long the third wheel in the rivalry of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, even though his own rivalries with Federer and especially Nadal, the longest in the men’s game, were arguably better than anything Federer-Nadal produced — has developed a new rivalry with Carlos Alcaraz, the 20-year-old phenom who’s already the No. 1 player in the world.
This is the point in the Hollywood script when Djokovic should be the embittered veteran gazing wistfully across the net at the new kid on the block. “Carlito” — as he’s already been dubbed by adoring fans and an equally adoring press that has fallen all over itself to draw comparisons to their beloved but now retired Fed and the injured Rafa — is, to borrow from the New York Post’s too optimistic headline on tumbling Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, “Da Future.” Nole is on his way to becoming Da Past.
But time is an artificial construct, a tidal continuum in which the past ebbs and flows seamlessly into the present and future. Rather than being threatened by a wunderkind who is 16 years his junior, Djokovic has decided to approach the situation,smartly, as a complementary, and complimentary, somewhat removed elder statesman who can afford to be generous.
Let’s face it: At this point, Djokovic isn’t really playing Alcaraz or any of the other guys. He’s playing the women. He’s playing Margaret Court Smith. He needs one more Slam to tie her record of 24 and thus one to go ahead.
He’s playing for history, for destiny, for his legacy. He’s playing himself. And in a sense, he’s always been playing himself. He has never been and will never be as loved as the elegant Federer or the intense Nadal, both of whom broke through before him. Federer in particular — who had five year on Nadal and six on Djokovic — had already established himself as the most marketable tennis player on the planet, now worth $1 billion. It doesn’t matter that he is neither as talented nor as smart as the polyglot Djokovic. When people think of a tennis player, they think of Federer, Nadal or maybe Serena Williams. That is the context that Federer’s five-year head start on his rivals and his bland, somewhat snooty demeanor created. And context drives perception.
Djokovic, of course, hasn’t helped himself in this. The need to be loved on the court, which only pushes the public away; the classless eating of grass at Wimbledon and “The Incredible Hulk”-like tearing of his shirt after victories; the impolitic comments about Kosovo; the anti-Covid vaccine mandate stance that led Australia to treat him like an animal, the Djoker impersonations, the never-ending bouncing of the ball, the grunting: It can be a bit too much sometimes, even for us fans.
And yet, there is the survivor who finds a way to endure and win, even in the most improbable moments; the union guy who fights for those players who haven’t tasted his success; the global goodwill ambassador who champions early childhood education, especially in his native Serbia, refugees and the environment, the man who likes to mentor the up-and-comers.
Enter Alcaraz, as prodigious and poised as the young Nadal but without the passive-aggressive gamesmanship and covert but nonetheless unmistakable petty jealousy that defined Nadal’s relationship with Djokovic once Djokovic got the upper hand in their rivalry. If you saw their graceful post-match, on-court speeches after Djokovic outlasted Alcaraz in the final of the Western & Southern Open Aug. 20 in Cincinnati, then you know that Alcaraz, eager as a puppy, wants a relationship with Djokovic. He wants to learn from him on- and off-court. And Djokovic is the tolerant older dog willing to show him the ropes — and the rest of us that he’s still got a few new tricks.
The irony: Alcarez will probably have the relationship and rivalry with Djokovic, however brief, that Djokovic never really had with Nadal and Federer.
After a seesaw season in which Djokovic beat Alcaraz at the French Open, lost to him in a heartbreaker at Wimbledon and then returned the favor in Cincinnati, fans are hoping for a rematch at the US Open, which gets underway Aug. 28.
I’d love to see Djokovic win there and get number 25 at the Australian Open in January. But the way to do that now is only through Alcaraz. He’s the only one who can stop him.
In the one-sided relationship of the mind that is fandom, Djokovic and I have come a long way together. His ascent in 2011 marked the end of a dark period in my life and the beginning of a challenging chapter. Now each of our respective careers are in late summer, to put it kindly.
But when I think of athletes I’ve loved, be it the Yankees or Nole, I think of those words from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “Ulysses” that Robert and Edward Kennedy often quoted;
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.