Key events
Alcaraz wins the toss and, as per the current vogue, elects to receive. I’m not surprised he wants to ease himself in with a game he doesn’t have to win, and the two men pose, arms around, for a photo at the net. Djokovic is affecting – and, no doubt feels – overwhelming confidence. Alcaraz still hasn’t shaved, presumably because it’s bein hametzarim, the three weeks – the period between the walls of Jerusalem being breached and the destruction of the temple.
Here’s a colossal tune in that regard.
I’m pleased to note that my post-McEnroe and Martina childhood favourite, Stefan Edberg, is in the house. In terms of gear, only Andre Agassi comes close.
Here come our players!
Big Suze in the house!
And here’s Freddie Windsor in 1996.
Also going on:
And there’s been a development at the Rose Bowl!
Regular readers will also have heard me whining about illness, so here’s what I learnt from a GP mate this morning: if you’re feeling nauseous, eat salty crackers.
On which point, regular readers will be wondering where Calvin Betton, our resident coach, has got to with telling who’s going to win and how, but wonder no more because here he is: “Will hang on how well Alcaraz attacks. Novak will basically set his stall out then dare Alcaraz to win the match. He’ll hit to a length and move him around. If Alcaraz attacks well I think he’ll win. But I think Djokovic will probably win.”
On which point, I say this a lot, but tennis has the furthest to go in terms of explaining the technicalities of the game with a pro’s eye. This pod does this better than anything else I’ve heard or watched.
Email! “So here we are, another Wimbledon final,” says James W. “I will take Djokovic to win, just, (7-5 in the fifth set). Pretty sure Alcaraz wins the first set. If not, It’s Djok in 4.”
There are very few outcomes that’d surprise me, but but Djokovic in four looks good. I’d expect him to win the first though, because Alcaraz is more likely to be nervous, especially given what happened in Paris.
Talking of Becker losing to Doohan, here’s a Joy of Six from the vault taking in that and other upsets.
Ah man, we’re watching footage of Pat Cash winning Wimbledon – what a moment that was. I remember him saying that when Boom Boom lost to Peter Doohan – imagine the double defending champ playing on Court 2 these days – he knew no one left in the draw could beat him, and explains now that he was a pioneer in terms of having a team, who he went to greet at the moment of victory.
This made me laugh.
I can’t speak to this specific instance because i didn’t see it. Novak doesn’t come to my mind when I think of this rule, BUT some players I can think of extend/delay grunts A LOT on big points to put you off and it needs to be called more by umpires. https://t.co/OKZygbVO3I
— Taylor Fritz (@Taylor_Fritz97) July 14, 2023
say his name taylor say alcatraz
— 🌱 (@nnakalinskaya) July 14, 2023
Nah his is consistent and if he ever extends it it’s when he blasts a winner so doesn’t matter 😂
— Taylor Fritz (@Taylor_Fritz97) July 14, 2023
An apology: those of you who were following us on Friday might recall a riveting chinwag about how best to consume challah – I was, indeed, called a heretic for suggesting one might use it for a sandwich. For that, I feel no sorrow whatsoever, but I did omit to say that it is (also) tremendous when dipped in the sauce of whatever meat you’ve cooked.
It’s raining in SW19, but for now, the roof remains open.
Preamble
Afternoon all and welcome to Wimbledon 2023 – day 14!
Obviously we all say this every year, but what a fortnight it’s been … and what a fortnight it still is. Because what we’re about to see has the potential to be one of the great matches.
Though excessive hyperbole is my job – to the extent I’m even using the tautology “excessive hyperbole” – please be certain, these are not words I use lightly. But contextually and actually, Carlos Alcaraz [1] v Novak Djokovic [2] is as compelling, thrilling and downright spectacular a match-up as exists in sport right now, and it’s ours, all ours.
Let’s begin with the context. Though Alcaraz is just 20, he’s very clearly a generational talent, a bouncing bundle of joy and aggression with a forehand like a sonic boom and a drop shot to marry your daughter. A month ago, he was a novice on grass, but since then has won Queens and rinsed his way to this final, perceptibly improving with every match. He’s also already won his debut biggun, at last year’s US Open … except missing from the field was Djokovic, prohibited from entering America because of his anti-vaxx stance. So today is his chance to expunge that asterisk from in the minds of all those who know just how ridiculous his opponent is – or, in other words, everyone.
Djokovic, meanwhile, is seeking his fifth consecutive Wimbledon – that’d give him a share of the men’s record, with Bjorn Borg and Roger Federer, Martina Navratilova holding the women’s with six – his eighth in total, which would again give him a share of Federer’s leading mark and put him one behind Navratilova. And, already out alone as the, er, most winningest man in majors history, a triumph today would put him beyond Serena Williams and level with Margaret Court on 24 titles. Oh, and he’s also on for a calendar year Grand Slam; it’s a lot.
Which is to say that men’s tennis has, over the last couple of years, become a sometime benevolent dictatorship, Djokovic the ageing autocrat taking ever greater pleasure in squashing youthful exuberance and optimism. Triumph and happiness are for him alone.
Generally speaking, dominant champions are good for sport, raising the levels of those around them and drawing the eyeballs of those keen to see if, finally, they can be bested. The problem here is that Djokovic is 36, and by annihilating the competition now, he is also compromising anything we might see in the distant post-him future. How can we get excited about a new big noise when they’re orders of magnitude quieter than the previous one? Other hand, though, there’s nothing sport, and individual sport in particular, loves more than a rivalry, and if Alcaraz can give us that, a surprise golden age is already upon us.
So, if that’s the contextual, what of the actual? Well, when these two met in the Roland-Garros semi-final, we were treated to some of the most devastatingly fascinating tennis imaginable, a battle of skill and will, of instinct and intellect, of fibre and charisma.
Djokovic, a biological freak hewn from elasticated iron with a sadistic computer for a brain, is the most mentally impregnable sportsman of our time. His defensive flexibility is hilarious, his offensive precision revolting, and somehow, in the autumn of his career, he’s sneakily become one of the greatest servers we’ve ever seen.
Yet, after two sets of their sensationally wondrous French Open semi, Alcaraz was in the ascendancy, his terrifying power and shocking touch giving Djokovic all he could handle. Except shortly after that, the stress of forcing himself to that level caused his body to break down, he cramped up, and was beaten down.
That seems unlikely to happen today. Temperatures in London are cooler, rallies on grass are shorter, and if there’s one thing we’ve learnt about the world number one, it’s that he learns – and quickly. If anyone can hit through Djokovic, Alcaraz can; but if anyone can repel Alcaraz’s hitting, Djokovic can. This could be epochal.
Play: 2pm BST
