Other sports are not like tennis. It is distinct since it is a completely solitary sport, with the exception of doubles. Golf is an individual activity as well, but it’s not an exhausting one physically. This is evident from the fact that elite sportsmen can and do play golf while smoking cigars and 20–30 kg over their ideal weight. Tennis offers a unique show every few years: an athlete who has dominated the sport displaying their age and physical deterioration in front of an audience, pitifully exposed due to the sport’s physical punishment and individual nature.
Athletes are all people. Conversely, this technique can be hidden in baseball, cricket, or football. During the last twenty minutes, the aging striker begins to make an impression. Shorter stints are utilized for the pitcher or bowler who is getting a little too old, while younger players handle the donkey work better suited to young knees and supple Achilles tendons. Professions endure. The age creeps up on you. Nevertheless, not in tennis.When it comes to tennis, there is no locker room, dug-out, or changing room where you can temporarily hide from the always watching, Tolken-like eye of time. Until the game is over, the participants enter the court alone and remain there, exposing themselves to great danger.
This now-familiar sequence was repeated during the Wimbledon final between Novak Djokovic and the younger Carlos Alcaraz. A match that was predicted to be fiercely contested turned into a one-sided crucifixion as the once-dominant Djokovic lunged forward in time. Cruel torture in the basement on TV. We often witnessed the ball flying past Djokovic while he was head down and grunting in the background. He was rambling at times and making odd, seemingly bewildered movements. Staring into nothing, vacant. Tough Stalingrad resolve needed to just hold out. utterly incapable of even considering breaching that of his rival.
The tragedy has a depth of opera. At one point, Djokovic was receiving support from Alcaraz’s mother as he valiantly and ultimately won a point. The audience applauded after he served them well, much like a sozzled lottery winner who would now be able to sleep for the night. However, that didn’t last. As point after point was lost, Djokovic looked expressionless. Twilight of the Gods below, his wife biting her lip, their daughter playing, oblivious to the Wagnerian torment. Once more, Djokovic’s serve broke, and he nearly hurried back onto the court to meet his harasser’s serve. Desperate for it all to end, a Sunak is racing towards doom.
As he unintentionally wins a point, there is a brief revival. Snarling and snapping like the Djokovic of a week ago, only younger. Then the escape to shelter from the carnage above ground into the empty bunker inside his thoughts. He moves in the direction of his chair, knowing deep down that the ball went out, but he challenges the umpire’s call to be reviewed. Only with three championship points does Alcaraz look plainly outmatched and on the back foot. The match can be won three times. With only his own anxiety as an opponent, he loses them all. Strangely, he doesn’t seem eager to defeat his opponent. wary about stepping into the post-Novak world. Before he does
During victory parades after conquests, Roman emperors were tasked with having a servant stand by them and murmur “momento mori,” which means “you too are mortal.” In some way, this is the message that these last matches of a renowned tennis player are trying to convey to us. serving as a constant reminder that nothing lasts forever, everything has an end, and brilliance is transient. Since things cannot be changed and may not even be reason for fear, this is the way they are. Watching the game was the ever-younger-looking Tom Cruise. Novak was probably the one whispering in this emperor’s ear, saying the same things that the populace cheered and threw at them throughout the Roman emperors’ reign.