If you didn’t like tennis after watching this match then save yourself, because you’ll never like tennis in your entire life. A match which is beyond any number of adjectives and superlatives in any language on Earth, a match completely ineffable and too big for a random tennis fanatic like me to write about. But still there’s something inside my heart which urges me to talk about it, to write about it, to share with the entire world. The Australian Open final, between the two bravehearts at the pinnacle of men’s professional tennis, proved to be an event which will be etched in the memories of every single human being who bore witness to it. A contest which will be inscribed in sports history books as one of the greatest ever encounters between two superhuman tennis gladiators.
At two in the afternoon on a fine Sunday in New Delhi, I sat down with enough snack supplies and beverages to fulfill my needs for the next 5-6 hours. From all the experience I had mustered from my seven continuous years of following tennis, I was sure that this would be a long one. A really long one. World No. 1 and Prince of Serbia, Novak Djokovic had enjoyed his best year on the tour last season, winning 3 out of the 4 Grand Slams and proving to be invincible and a cut above the rest for a major part of the year. On his opposite court stood the King of Clay, the greatest athlete of his generation, Rafael Nadal. Both players had justified their billing as the top two seeds, making their way into the grand finale after overcoming their big rivals, Andy Murray and Roger Federer, respectively, in the semis.
Although, somewhere in his mind, Nadal might have remembered the six straight final defeats (including Wimbledon and the US Open) to his only nemesis on tour but, given the mental firewall he is, also knew that there wasn’t anything to choose from between him and Novak and just like the Serb, he had an equal chance of lifting the coveted Norman Brookes Challenge Cup. Djokovic had scraped past Murray in a pulsating but feet-numbing contest that had stretched over 5 hours just two days previously. Rafa had to be the fresher of the two, getting an extra day to recover. He too had experienced a similar situation in 2009, but this time it was Nole who was at the wrong end.
The match began in much anticipated fashion, both players playing some hardcore tennis from the baseline, exchanging ferocious groundstrokes, both hesitant to step forward and content with playing to their strengths. The one thing that struck me was how deep Rafa was sitting and I soon realized that the Spanish Armada had come out with a clear game plan to sit back and defend. Grind it out. Something all Rafa fans had been so used to, something that he did with utmost calm, agility and endurance. Novak’s murderous forehand and backhand drives were certainly making life miserable for the Mallorcan, but Rafa was not to be bogged down. He rallied, he conquered, striking first blood with the first set.
Fast forward to the fourth set. Novak came back hard on Rafa in the second and the third set. His shot-making was sublime. He was murdering most of his forehands, hitting them with all the power he could summon, like there was no tomorrow. The fourth set was a decider in itself. Rafa-Nole meetings had never gone into the fifth so Rafa had to grab something special out of the bag to defy history. And that’s exactly what he did. Rafa’s uncanny and inhuman resilience and agility came to the fore as he pressed on the accelerator, taking the game to Djokovic. And there I was, shouting and cheering every point that Rafa won, those pain-staking rallies which culminated in a brilliant pass or sometimes, unfortunately for one of the two, with a over-hit shot. Rafa was coming into his own, jumping into the air and shouting ‘Vamos!’. A sight one so often associates with Rafael Nadal.
Nothing could stop these two now, not even a slight rain delay. By now, I was feeling exhausted and out of energy just by looking at the sheer strength, stamina and energy on display at the Rod Laver Arena. My father, mother and sister, none of whom ever watched tennis, had slowly gathered around me, eyes glued to the screen. They were bewildered and astounded by these two supreme athletes and the kind of tennis and fitness they were showcasing. The groans kept getting louder, so did the center court crowd and so did I. Halfway through the fifth set, the match headed into its sixth hour and the clock in Australia went past one in the morning. Astonishing and breathtaking.
I had no nails left on my fingers. Rafa had broken Nole’s serve and images of the immediate future started flooding my mind. Rafa crumbling on the mat, tears rolling out, lifting his second Australian Open trophy. But, before I could blink my eyes post that dream, it was back on serve. Djokovic had broken Rafa back. How much more would these two have to endure, I thought, feeling their pain and mental agony. But, none was looking to relent. Novak was showing signs of fatigue, but what about Rafa? Was he even born on this planet? They say Manacor, I say Mars (or some other planet where they drink magical elixirs).
5-5 and no tie-break in the last set. 2008 Wimbledon final, I thought. Rafa had seen it all, from the soul-shattering 2007 defeat to Roger on the fabled greens of London which made him cry with grief and disbelief in the locker-room shower to the magnificent revenge victory in 2008. He had even gone through an equally harrowing time in Melbourne three years ago. After a phenomenal, blood soaking semi-final win over Verdasco, Rafa had thought about giving up, but sheer adrenaline had taken over his pain as Rafa took his maiden title in a historic final. Adrenaline was what kept Novak and Rafa going.
Silence had engulfed my house. It had never been so tense, not since the 2007 T20 World Cup final. I feared the worst, God showed me the worst. Rafa’s serve broken. Djokovic to serve for the championship. How could there be a winner and a loser after all this? How in the world could anyone see himself finish second-best after 6 hours of brutal war. Rafa failed to convert a break point. Novak won the next three points. The last one with a forehand to Rafa’s left, the ball evaded the Spaniard and the Serbian was on the floor. My hands in my head and tears started rolling down. Before I could see Rafa’s face, the screen was black. My thumb had pressed the power-off button, almost in reflex.
I turned it back on after regaining my senses after a few minutes to see Rafa holding that shield and thinking what might have been. Rafa, the humble and down-to-earth guy he is, greeted everybody with a ‘Good morning’ and rightly so. Well, my Monday morning wasn’t going to be any good. It was going to take a lot of time for this to sink in.
Rafa, losing always hurts and a defeat like this is hard to accept. You gave everything you had out there, stretched every inch of muscle, used every ounce of energy and there wasn’t much more you could have done. But there’s only thing I would like to say to you. There wasn’t one winner who strolled out of the stadium that day. There were two.
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