LONDON — The small boy in the towering mountains was lucky. The best coach in all the land landed on his doorstep in his remote, outback village. The kid, just 7, grabbed the opportunity. Eager and focused, he covered every detail, showing up early in the morning with a bag, racket, headband and bananas. Ready to go. He hasn’t stopped yet.
The journey hasn’t been easy. His country was isolated and ensnared in war. When cities were burning who cared about tennis – Novak Djokovic. When his play showed promise his parents dropped everything and begged and borrowed to back the aspirations of their skinny wannabe. At 12, he journeyed to Germany to train. It paid off just nine years later when he won the Aussie Open. But still there was crisis. He wondered whether he really belonged. This was the era of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. He was a notch below.
His hilarious imitations – funny to many – were “harshed” by those with pull. He seemed to do a “no mas” when he withdrew from a Wimbledon semi. The poor boy had trouble breathing and was breaking down. Andy Roddick mocked him. The wimp had 16 diseases, even SARS, the American claimed. The New York throng booed with venom.
“I would lie to you if I didn't [admit I] had doubts,” said Novak. “I did have difficult, crisis times where I didn't know if I could really make it because the first two guys were so dominant.”
But he soldiered on. Getting stronger, fixing his support team, upgrading his serve and forehand.
Then came his breakthrough. Playing last December for his little but proud land, he led his troops to a Davis Cup triumph over France that spilled out onto the streets of Belgrade. Djokovic had carried the hopes of a nation, which had a bit of chip on its shoulder, on his very athletic shoulders. Then he did what no other tennis player has every done. Brimming with confidence, playing with freedom he went on a tear like no other. Winning at Slams, at majors, on hard court or clay, he blasted his considerable rivals – Nadal, Federer, Andy Murray – and won a record 43 straight matches until Federer burst his bubble in the French Open semis.
Nice run Novak, thought the skeptics.
Now the soaring Serb would come back to earth. He skipped the grass court warm-ups and had spotty, up and down, performances at Wimbledon. After he smashed his racket three times in frustration, reporters jokingly asked him to deconstruct his form as he pounded his frame into the turf.
Nole laughed, he always does. But winning the Wimbledon final was no joke. Having beaten the streaking Frenchman Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, he assured himself of the No. 1 ranking. But Djokovic was not satisfied. He knew full well that the No. 1 ranking is just a number unless you back it up (are you listening, Caroline Wozniacki?) Plus most pundits agreed the Serb was the underdog on Sunday. He had never played a Wimbledon final and his considerable foe, Senor Nadal, owned a winning record against Djokovic, had won the last two Wimbledons he’d played, had a 20 match winning streak their, was a ferocious competitor who’d won four of the last five Grand Slams and had never lost to Novak in a major .
So when the band finally stopped playing and the lady in the beige bonnet finished her Pimms and the President of Serbia settled into his seat in the Royal Box not far from Bjorn Borg, the battle begun. And what a battle it was. On the first Sunday of July there is no more appealing lawn in the universe than Centre Court. After all, many (including the Anglican cleric with a white collar and silver hair by section 206) consider this a Holy Site.
Unfortunately, there are few holes in Nadal’s game.
Still, Djokovic plugged away, flashing his arsenal. Stepping in, stroking angled winners cross-court, the Serb is neither as muscular as Nadal nor as elegant as Federer. But he was calm and confident – swift, flexible and athletic.
This season he had dismissed Nadal in four big finals — Indian Wells, Miami, Madrid and Rome. Savoring his “pressure is a privilege” moment – he stepped in and stole his foe’s time and thunder. “He out Nadal-ed Nadal,” quipped Pat McEnroe. Throughout a tight first set he relentlessly jabbed away with his flat, quick, rough to read shots. Through Nadal’s first four service games Djokovic didn’t gain any breakpoints, but he was working his man, making the Spaniard struggle.
Tennis is a quirky game of match-ups and Nadal’s heavy, hook ‘em forehand, which so punishes Federer’s pretty but vulnerable backhand — just bounces high into Djokovic’s wheelhouse – his two handed backhand.
On serve at 5-4 in the first set, the match was certainly bound for a tie-break. But Nadal felt the pressure. He admitted that he recalled the lingering sting of losing those four finals and the Serbian, who as a seven year old child leaped at his opportunity, sensed this was his moment on the world stage. Blasting a forehand winner, he took advantage of Nadal’s problematic serves and, when yet another Nadal forehand betrayed the Spaniard, Djokovic claimed the first set 6-4.
Now Nole put down the throttle. His jabs became hooks. His defense was astounding and he scored a stunning, highlight reel cross court drop shot. Soon we saw an odd scenario – rare and awkward. Nadal – the snaring bull, so often imposing and dominant – was on his back feet, confused, out of sorts, a bit adrift, looking (dare we say it) average. In a flash Nole collected the second set, 6-1. Historians quickly informed us that no player had come back from two sets down to win Wimbledon since Henri Cochet in 1927.
Ahh, thought Nole, I can relax.
Wrong!
At the changeover between the second and third sets the two men put on new shirts and soon they began to read from a new script. In an inexplicable flash, Novak’s form floundered. The gluten free, seemingly error-free Serb now served up generous portions of fishy flubs and gifted the third set to Nadal, 6-1.
But Djokovic’s mother knew that her son’s Davis Cup win had empowered Novak to “play without fear.”
Djokovic joked, “Well, if my mother says that, then it’s like that … Mother knows me better than I know myself.”
No kidding. Again hitting out, his strokes kissed the lines. Nadal scored a key let chord winner, but it was but a brief respite in the Serbian storm and at 5-3, 40-15 when a Nadal backhand drifted long, Novak’s long-awaited dream came true. The game’s best showman since Agassi, fell on his back and chewed on some grass (which he said tasted great). He bent over in disbelief, twice cross himself and heaved four Head rackets into the stands.
Later he said, “I managed to achieve a lifetime goal… to make my dream come true, all in three days … It's just an incredible feeling I'm never going to forget. This is the best day of my tennis career…For these kind of days, I was practicing every day, being dedicated… Any athlete in the world dreams of being No. 1. So finally when you really do it … when you know that you're the best, it's just an amazing achievement…Winning Wimbledon, looking at my box, 20 people, [the] closest people to me in my life being there, supporting me, getting to share that moment and that experience with them was incredible…Remembering those days of hard work that we put into [it] in Germany and back in Serbia when I was eight, nine, ten, eleven years old, the dreams that I had. It's really beautiful. This success makes you rewind [to] the old days, makes you come back to your childhood and remember what you've been through…Look, it wasn't an easy way, but I guess that's necessary in order for you to fight for what you want to achieve. We all know the situation [was] in our country, how it was with the wars and things like that. It was definitely difficult to become a tennis professional, with tennis being not one of the most popular sports in our country. [We] didn't have any history. But then in the end of the day…that's something that we needed.”
Tennis didn’t need the man who chewed the blades on Centre Court to gift us such a stunning triumph.
Still his win gave those who love the game plenty to chew on. For tennis is now in a golden age of sublime brilliance provided by three distinct European performers. The ethereal Swiss genius who is said to be the best of all time – Federer. The increasingly reflective Spanish gentleman who brings ferocity on court and dazzling humility off court. And a sizzling Serb, the boy of dreams who descended from the mountains to become a marvelous man of magic.
