Bill Simons
MELBOURNE—Donald Trump wrote a book, “The Art of the Deal.” Roger Federer’s career has been all about the art of the game.
Now, Novak Djokovic’s path can be called “the art of the professional.”
In fact, says Jim Courier, Novak was “professional before he was a professional.”
When he was just a village boy, high in the Serbian mountains, he showed up for his first clinic in perfect tennis gear – hat in place, toting a flawless bag and, of course, a banana. Professionals eat bananas.
Bombs were bursting on his nation – still, the kid developed an explosive backhand. When he went off to a German academy, the young Latvian Ernests Gulbis teased him, “Lighten up, let’s party.” Ernests played. Novak mastered his trade and went on to win 11 Slams. Gulbis has reached one semi.
But it has rarely been smooth for Djokovic.
At first his family, in boastful “Nole” shirts, was loud and rowdy in the friends box. He suffered physically and Andy Roddick publicly mocked him for all his supposed wimpy maladies. The playful Novak delighted fans with hilarious imitations. But you don’t step on Superman’s cape – Federer and Sharapova bristled.
Djokovic has long labored in the shadow of the dreamy Federer and hunky Rafa. By comparison his game can seem, dare we say, mechanical. Compared to their over-the-top personas, the Serb can seem a bit charisma-impaired. Never mind that he’s the most dominant player in the game. He’s won five of the last seven slams. He’s prevailed in his last 7 finals. He dominates top 10 players, and is 94-6 since the beginning of 2015. He’s upgraded every aspect of his game, is the most dominant No. 1 since Jimmy Connors, and will, I predict, end up winning more slams than any of his foes.
His game has no flaws. He’s hard to out-finesse – just ask Frenchman Gilles Simon. Except occasionally on clay, you can’t overpower him. When he does have a bad day at the office (he stunk up the gym against Simon), he usually squiggles free – except in Paris.
Djokovic’s power jabs – deep, fast, fierce and hard to read – dominate from the baseline. He puts a fist in your chest and shoves you back. Then he yo-yos you – corner to corner. You’re putty in his hands.
When you’re near him you sense his might. His eyes bulge wide. His body crouches low. Sneakers shriek. Grunts pierce the air. His gumby core twists. His legs sprint. His racket whips – a tornado of force.
He has a linebacker’s explosive fury and the whiplash flexibility of a high-bar gymnast. This is the fierce, efficient, brutal world of a peerless champion in his prime.
These days we see a graceful Roger Federer gleefully prancing free, relishing a glorious twilight – no worries. But he’s fallen short in his last 14 Slams. Braveheart Andy Murray, for all his mighty intent, is clearly a notch below. Rafa Nadal is mired in some kind of existential walkabout, and tennis’ next generation just can’t break through. The Big Four, as Brad Gilbert suggests, has become the Big One.
Today is for Nole.
In Doha, Djokovic crushed Nadal 6-1 in their opening set – how devastating. He did the same against Federer in the Melbourne semis. Then he three-peated as he whipped Andy Murray, 6-1, in the first set of the final. When Murray expressed his frustration, Aussie Open radio noted, “There’s another scream from Murray – his wife will be doing that in a week or two.”
Then the father-to-be – whose father-in-law had collapsed in the stands a few rounds earlier – bravely battled back in an astounding 80-minute set. Humiliation was not an option.
But Djokovic is lighter, faster and stronger than Murray. Time and again he strikes first, and he’s a better defender. His serve is now a nasty, well-placed weapon. His mean returns pounce. It’s best to get your first serve in. And, by the way, duking it out with Djokovic in long chess-match rallies often leads to pain – checkmate. You don’t want to go there.
Still, the second set with Murray was breathtaking – a ferocious fury. Murray was fearless. His serve stepped up. “Win or lose,” noted Simon Cambers, “this is a great fightback.” The match exploded – a dazzling duel.
Again and again, Djokovic – the man who crafted perfect tennis strokes and shaped a perfect tennis body – blasted assorted cross-court backhand winners, seemingly from New Zealand. Analyst Richard Evans gasped: “My goodness me, have you ever seen tennis like this?” Broadcaster Chris Bowers suggested, “What we are watching is just unbelievable in the history of tennis.”
The professional – who’s gluten-free, who’s written a book on nutrition, who regularly uses an egg-shaped hyperbaric chamber for recovery, and who speaks of humility, karma and calm – was putting on a master performance. For all his focus on tennis, Djokovic is, along with Milos Raonic, tennis’ foremost Renaissance man. The boy who grew up listening to classical music and reading Russian poetry now chats freely about psychology, fate, fatherhood and the importance of personal happiness. One day he’s reeling off comedic riffs with the timing of a stand-up, while the next he’s trying to help thousands of Serbian kids, or going out to comfort Syrian refugees.
But, make no mistake about it, the 28-year-old is of little comfort to his ATP foes. After all, these days, “the art of the professional” is now on full display at tennis galleries around the globe. It’s a compelling show.
