spintrebuchet-blog

[spintrebuchet-blog]

The Other Guys

In all of my previous posts, I may have been a little guilty of harping on the Big 4. But, in this piece, I will present you three of the most interesting characters on the pro-tour, outside of the quantum quartet. 

Kei Nishikori

Naaaah. Just kidding! 

Don’t get me wrong, I like Kei. Both as a human being and as a tennis player. But, man, he is boring.

If I had to compare tennis players to popular drinks, I’d say Federer was a glass of Pinot Noir, because of his grace, and Nadal would be a pitcher of lava, because of his intensity. Without any doubt in my mind, the drink that comes to mind when I think of Kei: soy milk.

Blandness personified. And, I should reiterate: he is a really good player, famous for upsetting the big kings in their guarded empires. He defeated Djokovic, who was the top seed, at the US Open in the 2014 semi-finals. He beat Andy Murray there in 2016 (also in the semi-finals). He came painfully close in beating Nadal in Madrid. The guy can play. 

But, he’s just not blockbuster. Not to worry though! Kei, if you’re reading this, I have outlined six steps for you become interesting. 

When you’re in Miami, give Nelly a ring and get a pair of iced out grillz. (Top and bottom).

Next time you hit an inside-out double handed backhand, scream out, “Kamehameha!”. 

Dye your hair white and get pixelated highlights for the stark contrast. (Just try it out for me). 

Fire Michael Chang (his current coach). Go solo for a while. Lone wolves are cool. 

Make a few guest appearances on anime shows. (Seriously, man. You’re an icon in Japan. You’re almost as big as David Hasselhoff in Germany! How has that not already happened?). 

Take your jaguar out for a spin in and burn some rubber on the streets of Tokyo, with some of the legendary drift kings. (Make sure you moon every single speed camera and get those photographs for your Twitter account). 

There’s still time for the US Open. Almost six weeks. Once you have completed these steps, the crowds in Flushing Meadows are going to be calling you, ‘Bae Nishikori’. Until then, you have some work to do. 

1. Gael Monfils

He made that jump on asphalt. That’s hard. A lot. I wouldn’t even attempt that unless it was on a giant bed. 

But, that in an essence is Gael. He is widely considered to have been one of the most athletic players to have come into tennis. His fitness coach says that he nearly went became a track and field runner. Therefore he remains one of the biggest unfulfilled prospects this sport has seen. He almost 28, and he has never one a grand slam. Forget trophies, he’s never even made it to a semi-final. 

Let me present him differently. Monfils would have been the cool kid in school. Naturally gifted who potentially could ace everything. Instead, he prefers the relaxed vibe of the school’s art department rather than the humdrum of studying.Perhaps knowing that he could never live up to the hype; he has made peace with this choice. He isn’t a bully. In fact, he’s a distinguished member of the student body. He does not get into any trouble. Reputation intact without any scandal. He simply prefers the path of creativity over the rush hour highway frequented by the Big 4. It’s all a matter of perspective. 

Here’s La Monf, entertaining his home crowd in Paris during one of their many rain delays. This was back in 2014. 

2. Fabio Fognini 

I genuinely wonder if Fabio models himself after Sonny Corleone. This bombast from Sicily always brings in the show whenever he’s on court. 

This compilation might be the best snippets you could find of him. (The second last one is probably the best. I love the whirlpool of melodrama that he flies into when a line-call goes against him. 

Married to the 2015 US Open women’s champion, Flavia Panetta, he hoisted the trophy up proudly as if it were his own, back in 2015. He views himself as the kalamata olive in a mayo salad. He views it his critical duty to bring in the flavor. 

Tennis is a popular sport in Italy. With an ATP Masters 1000 (in Rome), there are many fans waiting for the next homegrown grand slam winner. The last time was back in 1976, when Adriano Panatta won Roland Garros. I wonder if that pressure is one of the reasons as to why Fabio gets into so much trouble with umpires, linesmen, players, etc. (He once threatened Layani (an umpire). He almost came to blows against Rafa. And, he set fire to the Easter Bunny. Perhaps, I embellished one of them). 

He’s that kid in high school who’s parents and grand parents were all distinguished scholars, and finds himself living under their daily shadow. I actually knew someone like that and he’d regular vent out that frustration by pulling the most extreme pranks on students and even teachers. And, just like him, Fabio’s a troublemaker. 

As the song goes (by Olly Murs): 

You're a troublemaker, you're a troublemaker 

Trouble troublemaker, yeah, that's your middle name, oh oh oh..

I know you're no good but you're stuck in my brain

Don’t try to understand him. Revel in his madness. 

3. John McEnroe

McEnroe. Winner of seven grand slams and one of the most prominent tennis commentators. However, as of late, he is gaining notoriety for making provocative statements. 

Allow me to provide you with some of his finest hits:

He alluded that Djokovic might have had extramarital affairs, like Tiger Woods, which culminated in his performance drop. (Ridiculous. Based on nothing and with today’s paparazzi, we’d have known by now).

He said Serena Williams would be ranked #700 if she played on the men’s tour. (Asinine. She’d absolutely be in the top 5).

In his opinion, Andy Murray – current world number one, is a distant fourth among his peers in the Big 4. (True but unnecessary).

Keep in mind, these are just from the last two months.

He was notorious for his catchphrase: “You cannot be serious!”

This would be unleashed upon the referees who gave him bad calls.

It’s hard to think of another tennis player who had such a temper. 

I am reminded by a quote by the great writer, Mark Twain.

 “Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured”.

In all fairness, Twain never played tennis. 

1984 was his chance. The clay dominator of that time, Bjorn Borg wasn’t playing that year. McEnroe came in as the top seed. He was the favorite. He made history but not the way he wanted. He blew a two sets to love lead against Ivan Lendl in the French Open finals, back in 1984. This was the only time in the Open Era that anyone had lost with such a lead, in the finals of a Slam. It was the closest he ever came in winning that title. With just five points away from the finish line, he got mad at a bad call made by the linesman on his serve. He lost his composure and his momentum. 

To his credit he has a good sense of humor about it. On his show on Eurosport, he interviewed a younger version of himself. 

Old McEnroe: Let me give you one final piece of advice when you're playing this Czech guy in the 1984 French Open final. When you're 5 points away from winning the tournament - don't assume it's over!

Young McEnroe: You’re a joke. Do you think I'm stupid enough to the lose match from that position? You cannot be serious.

Old McEnroe turns to the camera, completely deadpan, and says, “I wish I wasn’t”.  

[spintrebuchet-blog]

Wimbledon is here.

 An emerald swale exists in London where dukes would play in the past, and immortals dominate it in the present. I bring you – Wimbledon. This is the holy grail of tennis.

(Center court with the roof closed. That’s Nigel, by the way. My espionage sensei. He used to work in the Mi6. Great guy. Although, he cheats at canasta).

There is a whiff of sentimentality and wistfulness to this place. As a staunch romantic, I am averse to both, but here...I make an exception. Let me prove it to you. In 1880, it started as the ‘Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club’. Over the passing years, croquet lost fashion (unsurprisingly) and its name was omitted from the front billboard. This did not last long as nostalgia kicked in and brought back the word.

I’ve been to the Center Court many times. It is especially beautiful after the rain. Water droplets bring out a sparkle from the grass. The burst of zest is overpowering and all one has to do is just surrender to them. Astronomers say that the Earth was once bathed in stardust, but I wonder if this place got a little more than others. Everything about Wimbledon is just right. . There is not a single sponsorship label to be seen. No pump-up music. Not one cheerleader. And, the result? Dogmatic commitment from players that churn out matches that are both gritty and sublime.

Plus, how good these strawberries and cream look? 

Wimbledon use to have a pigeon problem until 2002. Then MTB, sent in one of my colleagues - Rufus. 

Now. It is time for me to address the Big 4. 

Andy Murray - the Dreadnought of Dunblane - (Slam Count: 3. Rank: #1). 

Yeah, it’s been that kind of year for Murray. He came as the top seed at the Australian Open, for the first time in his entire career. Everyone expected him to storm his way to the finals. Instead, he lost to a crafty Misha Zverev in the fourth round. 

Murray...what happened, man? Just overnight, you lost your mojo. Last year, by this point, you had reached two slam finals and were coming into Wimbledon as the second favorite, to Djokovic. 

Recently, McEnroe commented that you were “a distant fourth” among the others of the Big 4. This is your chance to prove him wrong. Wimbledon is the starry diamond of all the jewels of the ATP treasure trove.

Remember this: you’re number one. You have got the ranking and the seeding. Sure, the rhythm hasn’t been great from the last six months. But, keep in mind, how many more years do you see ahead? You’re already 30. This might be the last time you’ll have the number one seeding at Wimbledon. Winning this title would put ahead of Wawrinka, in the slam count, and rightfully so.  

I am reminded of a passage from Paradise Lost. 

“In dubious Battel on the Plains of Heav’n, And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?  All is not lost; the unconquerable Will; And study of revenge, immortal hate,  And courage never to submit or yield: And what is else not to be overcome?”

When looking at Murray’s most recent highlights, notably from his semi-finals in Paris, against Stan Wawrinka - where he was up two sets to one, you just notice the sense that he is playing too passively. 

There is a Scottish saying which I wonder has gone to Murray’s heart:

 "Whit's fur ye'll no go past ye”. This basically means, ‘What will happen, will happen”. 

Andy, you need to drill that cynicism out of your cranium. I want to see Andy play with the same fervency, that he used to. I am talking about Braveheart times Nessie. I want to see that same demented perfectionist blast scorching aces down the tee. Remember, the same weapon that you destroyed Federer with, back in the finals of the Olympics back in 2012.

Nevertheless, Murray, I shall leave you be and wish you luck with a saying from your Native Scotland - Long may your chimney smoke. 

(Oh, and when you do get on a roll, and steam your way through the first week, which I’m sure you will; after demolishing your opponents, quote the great Demoman, “Oh, they’re going to have to glue you back together...in Hell!”. 

Novak Djokovic - the Djoker - (Slam Count: 12. Rank - #4). 

Nole has been rusty all season. He looked decent in Madrid, but losing in the finals of a Masters 1000 to a rookie, shows that he hasn’t gotten his clutch gene back. 

(Doesn’t Eastbourne sound like a cool name for a spy? Oh, just give it a though. M summons Bond into her office and says, “007, allow me to introduce your new partner. Meet Eastbourne”.). 

Anyways, back to tennis. Playing at Eastbourne would have meant that he would not have any rest before Wimbledon, unlike his rivals who had time to recharge their batteries. But, Nole’s main concern is rhythm. It reminds of me a Smithsonian documentary that I once watched. A cheetah, living in the sandy dunes of Namibia, was at risk of starvation. Just to keep it’s heart pumping, it chased down a measly rat and ate it. Eastbourne is a tiny tournament, with a mere 250 ranking points on offer, yet his decision to play there shows us that the Serb is still hungry. 

Roger Federer - the Maestro - (Slam Count: 18. Rank - #5). 

One wonders what Roger did during his six month sabbatical. Did his team make him drink daily smoothies made out of rare healing fruit, slabbed with ice from the Swiss Alps? Whatever they did, it has certainly worked wonders. He has returned – rejuvenated and motivated as ever.

Don’t forget - he is 35.

At this age, players have usually retired. If they are itching to compete then they do so on the senior tour.

But, Federer remains a true freak of nature. Watching him sweep past twenty year olds, one wonders how many years he has in the tank.

This year already, he has won the Australian Open, completed the Sunshine double with crowns from Miami and California, and remains odds makers second favorite to win here.

There is Sherlock Holmes line that I am reminded of when I watched Federer play his second round match yesterday.

“A man is no happier than doing what he does best”.

Federer’s back on grass. He’s in his element. A crocodile in saltwater. The entire grass court season is three weeks. And, perhaps because of that, only the best of the best have taken home the golden trophy. (That isn’t a figure of speech. The Wimbledon trophy is actually golden).

The famed Carthaginian general – Hannibal, once proclaimed, “God has given to man no sharper spur to victory than contempt of death”.

When you look at the veterans from the Big 4, compared to the youngsters like Tomic who recently said he felt bored – at Wimbledon, you can’t help but think that they greater motivation, the closer they reach to the end.

Agassi recently said that Federer could possibly play for another five years. That would make him forty. Never done before in the Open Era. But, I have come to learn that with the Maestro, you never make the error of betting against him.

Numerous champions across the years had publicly expressed their belief that he would retire soon. From, Borg, to McEnroe, to Wilander. They all expressed their love for the champion but also conceded that father-time remained undefeated.

What I love the most about Federer is that he is an expert tactician. One who is never shy to re-examine and be adaptable. This psychological agility saw him snap up Stefan Edberg as his coach in 2014, who encouraged him to employ the vintage technique of serve and volley into his game. This, combined with a new, larger racquet, saw him return to the finals of Wimbledon, where he waged an epic five-set battle against Djokovic, which he narrowly lost, and improved his ranking from sixth to second.

In 2015, he parted ways with Edberg and brought in Ivan Lbijucic – a veteran player (albeit slamless), to bring a gutsy, streetfighter mentality into his game. He made it two grand slam finals and saw him dominate the North American hard court season with a technique called the SABR. (An acronym for ‘Sneak Attack By Roger’).

Roger’s main goal, ever since 2014, has been to win another Wimbledon. It reminds me of when Hannibal’s generals told him that it was suicide to cross the Alps. 

His response was, ““I will either find a way, or make one”.

Rafael Nadal - El Matador - (Slam Count: 15. Rank - #2). 

Chop. Chop. Boom! 

That was the sound of Nadal dellvering a supermax masterclass in Roland Garros to win his tenth title. I thought Stan played as well as he could, for a mere mortal. But, Nadal at the French Open is a force of nature. It’s as if he has metaphysical allies. The rules of gravity and magnetism bent towards his favor and helped him rout out his veteran opponent. Such was the toll of the match, Stan lost in the very first round at Wimbledon. 

He lost in the fourth round to Dennis Muller. A disappointing result, especially given that he came back from two sets down to level the match. It’ll hurt him for a while, especially given that this might have been his last best chance to win Wimbledon. But, this should fuel his fire for the US Open and finish this year as number one. 

All white uniforms and nothing but brilliance to blight out the competition. For glory! Onward!  

[spintrebuchet-blog]

Nadal - La Decima, c’est la uncroyable!

It hasn’t been easy being a Nadal fan over the last few years. He hasn’t won a grand slam, since he held off Djokovic back in 2014. Three years is a lifetime in the fast moving world of tennis.

It was such a measure of his drop off, that his rival in 2015 was not any other member of the Big 4. It was the thirty-ranked, troublemaker from Italy. Mr Fognini. They faced each other four times that year and shared two matches a piece. Perhaps, the biggest of them was when they squared off in the third round at the US Open. Tiger Woods was in attendance, quietly supporting his fellow fourteen-time slam winner (albeit from a different sport). 

Nadal was up two sets to love at the US Open. His record was a magnificent 151-0, at such a dominant position. And, then Fognini did the unthinkable. He started to turn the tide against Rafa. He leveled the scoreboard, by winning the next two sets. When the fifth set arrived, the American commentators were sure that Nadal was going to pull out a deus ex machina and club his way to victory. Math was on his side. Sweat-streaked, Nadal played too defensively and paid the price as Fognini played to win. 

I’ll let that sink in for a moment. 

That was something that nobody had ever done to Nadal in a Grand Slam. Not Federer. Not Djokovic. Not Murray. None of them, in their primes, were able to accomplish that feat. 

But that was then. Things are different now. 

Nadal never left, but the sizzle has returned. Defying all the odds makers, he made it to the finals of the Australian, beating Nishikori and Raonic, along the way. And, then came the finals. Who expected Federer to be standing on the other side of the net? The two titans locked horns and fought. If it were an episode of Dragon Ball, I’d have expected lightning bolts shoot down from the skies and the court reduced to rubble, scorching the impressed eyebrows of the twenty thousand crowd of hollering Aussies. 

Federer triumphed in five sets, in a match that might regarded as one of their top-3 matches of all time. Federer picked up the trophy and even graciously said that he would have gladly accepted a draw with his old nemesis. (Some have doubted the honesty of his comment, but I am inclined to believe him). 

We are now into the second of the French Open. The business end of the second Grand Slam of the year. The crown gem of the clay season. 

(Behold the Philippe Chatrier stadium). 

This surface is extremely taxing on the body. Keep in mind, that the great Federer chose not play any clay tournaments because of fears of an injury. (I don’t quite agree with his decision, but that’s just because I would have loved seeing him sliding across the clay, keeping his socks immaculately tidy, defying the rules of fabric. 

But that just outlines another fundamental difference between the two of them. Federer draws energy from the crowds and channels them into his shots. I am reminded of Goku’s spirit bomb. When you watch one of his elegant backhands, you just get the sense that a daffodil out there donated a measure of it’s chi to make that happen. But, Nadal’s different. His brand of patented expressionism digs deep into his marrow and churns out pulverizing forehands that would have reduced said daffodil, wearing a RF logo, to mere ashes. 

Lets talk about what it’s all about now: legacy. Yes. Nadal’s openly spoken about his desire of wanting more slams than Pete Sampras, with whom he is currently tied with at 14. He played all of the major clay court events from starting from Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Madrid, and Rome. He won the first three tournaments and was only stopped in Rome by crafty Thiem, in the quarter finals. Zverev then took the trophy in the finals from Djokovic. 

All celebrated the young upstart’s success, but none were fooled. Nadal was the undisputed favorite for Paris. (Oh, and to go off on a small, culinary tangent, these are lovely madelines that I found in my hotel. A healthy breakfast is essential for espionage). 

One of my favorite books is the Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho and the signature line from that book reads as following: 

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it”. 

It’s a nice line. I do like it. But, let’s be real. In life? I doubt that. Before you accuse me of cynicism, let us rewind the clock back by one year. Nadal had arrived last year with trophies from Monte Carlo and Barcelona. He was seen as the only one possible to defeat Djokovic, who was invincible. And, what happened? Did we get to see that duel? No. Nadal had to withdraw before his third round match because of a wrist injury. 

(Whilst in Spanish, this detailed graphic published by the Spanish newspaper - El Mundo, gives us a look at his injuries. And, keep in mind, that’s only up until 2014). 

I am reminded of the tragic character from Greek mythology - Icarus, who burnt his wings because he flew too close to the sun.

Did Nadal burn himself last year by playing too much? Maybe, but he’s always played with a jammed schedule. That’s another of his signature traits. He grinds it out every single day. Icarus flew towards the sun because of hubris, but Nadal took to the blazing red clay, because he is an obsessive. Right there, underscores the cruelty of the universe and it’s utter lack of regard for this. So, there’s a score to settle, on the cosmic scale. 

Many Nadal fans are inclined to believe that without his injuries, he would have surpassed Federer’s slam total. I am not too sure. It’s his desire to hurl himself at every single shot, at full conviction, that made him a champ. 

I’ll be honest here. Even though I love Federer for his grace, Djokovic for his intensity, and Murray for his defensive prowess; I love Nadal more than all of them. Why? Because he just never quits. Even when down a break point, he’ll reach into the depths of his magma-like spirit, and subjugate his opponents to bruising levels of topspin. Agassi described him as a “brute”. He is such an anachronism in that regard. Despite his on court fire, he has never sworn or broken a racket - ever in his long career. 

His uncle and coach, Toni Nadal, regards being a gentleman as a more important quality than winning a tournament winner. It’s rare to find such class in sport. With the recent addition of Carlos Moya, as a consultant, many are quick to attribute the Spaniard's resurgence of form to him, but I’d avoid doing so. (I’m writing a separate piece on Uncle Toni). 

As I write this piece, Nadal is only a few a hours away from playing Dominic Thiem, in the semi-finals. A very good, young player from Austria. This youngster beat Djokovic yesterday, in the quater-finals - in straight set. The first set was an extremely close tiebreaker. He won it on accord of his bazooka backhand, which pushed Novak to the brink and beyond. In the second set, he broke Novak’s serve early and won it (6-3). Firmly ahead on the scoreboard, in the third set, Dominic launched a furious assault on the veteran from Serbia, and won five consecutive games and raced to the changeover. Stunned, Djokovic wiped his brow and arrived on court, waiting for the inevitable. This is where I would have liked a compassionate quick-kill for the old champion. But then, I saw something I had never seen before, with just four points needed to win the match, whilst his opponent waited for him to serve it out; Thiem picked up a banana and chewed on it, slowly. Only one word comes to mind, and it’s not Potassium, and that is - impudence. 

I want Nadal to take his cue from another creature of fire - Charizard, and unleash a tennis equivalent of a seismic toss. I want Nadal to convey this message, ‘Nobody destroys Djokovic on clay, besides me’. 

Let us hope that Nadal triumphs over this young upstart, he would then face the winner of the other semi-final (Andy Murray versus Stan Wawrinka). I don’t mind either, to be honest. Wawrinka won the French Open in 2015, so I believe that would be...cathartic. And, Nadal has never played Murray in a slam final, which seems overdue. 

A while ago, the Spaniard was compared to Sisyphus. In case the tide does start to turn against him, I want him to imagine the tennis ball the size of a boulder and smash it across the milky way to remind the universe that he’s far from done, and that debate to be the all-time GOAT hasn’t been settled yet. 

Not only would it be special if Nadal won a tenth title at the French Open, it would be unprecedented. I’d like to quote the gregarious French commentator, Henri Leconte and his famous line whenever the Spaniard hits his bolo-punch forehand  - “C’est l’ uncroyable!”. Number 10 or ‘La Decima’ would be regarded as one of the greatest records in sporting history. 

[spintrebuchet-blog]

The Djokovic Paradox: Reigniting a burnt out comet and the super Serb’s new nemesis

Legionnaires and Centurions! Gather around! The Finals of the Rome Masters we just finished and now we have arrived at the French Open. The Clay Slam. 

Back in Rome, Zverev faced off against Djokovic...and won. I’ll let that sink in for a moment. The master of masters 1000′s was beaten, in straight sets, by a talented rookie playing his first final at that level? Yup. That actually happened. 

“Poor is the pupil who does not surpass the master”

A famous quote attributed to the most storied polymath of all time – Da Vinci. Remember this.

Djokovic hasn’t been playing great this year. Everyone’s been reported on this and unfortunately if you were to google the words, ‘Slump’ and ‘Djokovic’, it would appear a million times (309,000, to be precise).

I’ll confess to you: I’m a Rafa fan and from 2015-2016, my sister (who is probably the biggest Novak fan) tormented me with texts, dripping with sarcasm after every one of Rafa’s seven losses against the mighty Serb.

Flashback

Location: Caja Magica. Also known as the Magic Box.

The sun blazed above the Caja Magica stadium. Clad in my burgundy suit and tie, I was in attendance. My Beretta was holstered, just in case I received the text from the mysterious tennis benefactors (also known as the MTB) to shoot Ille Natase. Far too magnanimous, she was and called off the hit (That was an insiders joke that only tennis junkies would understand). Anyways, no point letting a good ticket go to waste, so my bottom eagerly clung onto the comfortable seating, and I sipped my lemonade. 

Nadal, came onto the court first, because he was the lower seed; but most odds makers favored the Spaniard because of his good form. The Spanish crowd cheered him on fervently. I’m not going to make this about the King of Clay. (Don’t complain now. I’m writing a separate piece on him).

There’s something about the sight and feel of red clay that reminds me of the gladiators of the Roman Empire. Sipping my drink, I surveyed both of them. Nadal looked determined to snap his seven match losing streak against the mighty Serb. That fervent obsessiveness was in his eyes and you could see it. (On related news, my tour guide, got me some roasted cod. Quite scrumptious). 

Then came Djokovic. The higher seed. There were some cheers for him, but he was hardly the crowd favourite in the strongly partisan crowd. Don’t expect that to faze him. He managed to feed off the hate that spilled from the American crowd when he played against Roger in New York in 2015. But, he wasn’t in that same rhythm anymore. His box lacked his old-time backbone – Marian Vajda. The match ended after two hours. There was no sarcastic text from my sister. Nadal had finally snapped is seven match losing streak against Novak and has galvanized his status as the undisputed favorite for the French Open. 

(Head’s up: I’ll be tangoing between the second and third person. I’d like to address Novak directly here). 

You have a winning record against Federer and Nadal. (23-22 & 26-24). History can never be erased. Numbers are objective. Muscle memory can kick in anytime. It just takes six matches. Every supernova needs just one spark. All know this. Nadal, of all people, dismissed Spanish reporters of your so-called slump. No one expected the bombastic vintage throwback to 2007. Federer and Nadal are on your tail again. You thrive off rivalries. They’re back. Becker said it himself last year that one of the reasons you cooled during the second half of 2016, was because “your rivals were not there”. 

If it weren’t you, Nadal probably would have passed Federer’s Slam total by now. But, you took this game to a new level. Even a diehard Nadal fan would concede that. You’re one of the Big 4! Tennis’s equivalent of the Justice League! (That reminds me, why don’t more tennis players get into movies? Am I the only one who would love to see a buddy cop franchise with any one of the Big 4, alongside Shaq? It’d be ridiculously fun). 

And, now let us get to the matter of your new nemesis. It isn’t Federer. You haven’t faced him this year, and he is miles ahead of you in the Barclays Race to London. Nor is it Nadal, who is noisily gunning for the number one ranking again. You faced him this year just once…and lost. But, it’s not him either. You were beaten twice this year…by…Nick. I suppose on court, you could consider him to be a rival. He has beaten you on the tangible tennis court. Nevertheless, tennis is a psychological sport - so it’s not him either. (Has my preamble gone longer than needed? Almost there).

It’s Boris Becker.

Yes. You read correctly. A six time grand slam winner. Former world number one. The Baron Von Slam from Germany. The old mentor. He’s gotten inside your head. With not-so cryptic tweets directed towards to you after your defeats, he really does take extra relish in rubbing salt in your wounds.

The silent message: You were a winner when I coached you; and a loser without me.

(During happier times)

And, the thing is…don’t hate me for it, but I do find all this drama to be…deliciously entertaining.

Becker once famously said, “I am not God. I am far from perfect”. Tennis players, retired and current, tend to be extremely diplomatic in their opinions. Even politicians are rarely as politically correct. Not Becker though. Right from the start of this year, he has dropped such shade on his former protégé, that Regina George would have been impressed.

Becker expected Djokovic to keep him by his side as they chased Federer’s slam total. Becker’s vindictiveness probably was no more reflective when he praised Novak’s dethroner at Indian Wells, Nick, with the following tweet:

“Hope my man, Novak, is watching”.

(In my mind, that’s Becker’s expression through that match in California. I love the fact that Becker has such an appetite for melodrama. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s fond of Shakespeare. He’s openly admitted that he never wants anyone to surpass his prodigal breakthrough at Wimbledon at the age of 17). 

I wonder if on some level, Becker wants to motivate him, to use his criticisms to spur him to his old self. Or, maybe, it is coming from his Id and not his SuperEgo. I am reminded by a line by the great Augustus, “I found Rome a city of bricks, and left it a city of marble”.

If you think my theory is too far-fetched, then wait. I have proof. It was reported in numerous sources that Djokovic’s new super coach is going to be Agassi. Becker’s old nemesis. The guy who managed to read his Blitzkrieg serve by the way he would stick his tongue out on each ball serve. Has he found an ally in this psychological war against his former mentor? 

You brought Becker to help deal with your tangible nemesis – Nadal. And, this time another super coach. Your silence to Becker’s quotes could be interpreted as magnanimity. But, I’d like to quote one of my favorite video game characters, GlaDOS,

“We have both said a lot of things that you are going to regret”. That’s GlaDOS laying it down to Wheatley in Portal 2, and then proceeds to banish him to the Moon. 

The silent message he has sent: ‘Time for an upgrade’. Open Era experts would all concede that Agassi had a better career than Becker, being one of only two individuals with a career golden slam (Nadal, being the other).

Imagine if you made to the finals at Roland Garros. I know, I know. There are many obstacles ahead. Besides, Nadal, there’s Thiem, who is showing good form, plus the likes of Zverev, Wawrinka and Dmitrov. Plus, there’s Krygios. But, a key part of sport psychology is visualization. Just imagine if you were there again. Wouldn’t it be quite satisfying to repeat the Guga heart across the Phillipe Chartier Stadium again?

Becker’s going to be watching. 

Surprisingly, Becker sent out a tweet, praising Novak’s move to hire Agassi. A diplomatic touch, perhaps?

There is a Spanish song by the band – Gotan Project – Epoca; this springs to mind, particularly the first verse. 

“Si desapareció

en mi aparecerá

creyeron que murió

pero renacerá

(which translates to)

If he disappeared

I would believe

That he died

but will revive.

There’s more history to be written. There are more memories ahead. Do me a favor and just don’t lose to Krygios because then both me and my sister are going to be bummed out. Nadal’s ranked fourth and he just missed out on being the third seed (to Wawrinka, by a hundred points). 

This means the two of you could possibly face each other in the semi-finals. Just like the good old days of 2013, when the two of you dueled in what many regard to be the greatest clay-court match, ever. 

The legendary skier - Shane McConkey, once said that “there’s no better feeling than that moment before you take off”. It’s time to hit the ignition again. Slap that crosscourt sliding backhand – a thousand times if you have to. You destroyed Thiem in less than an hour at Rome. Zverev’s serve left you undone in the finals at Rome. But, that’s not a Grand Slam. In a best of five setter, I’d say experience trumps exuberance. 

I can understand the hiring of Pepe Imaz, with his quasi mantra of ‘Love & Hugs’. And, Becker’s strict coaching regime reminds me of J.K Simmons from Whiplash. But, we have months of hindsight now and lets admit it together, that Pepe’s nuttier than a squirrel’s snack box. Anyways, good luck with Agassi. Idemo!