Novak Djokovic sits in his chair, and he stares straight ahead, with the blankest expression on his face, and it’s likely that before him, he sees nothing but, perhaps, an unfocused blur of color, like a Monet painting. See, Djokovic is not looking out. He’s looking in. How many times has Djokovic been in this place, sitting in a chair, crowd buzzing around him, scoreboard looking bleak, in desperate need of a break of serve? More to the point, how many times has he GOTTEN that break?
Novak Djokovic sits in his chair and undoubtedly sees the future.
The kid will give him a chance.
Well, of course, he will. The kid is special. Obviously. Novak knows that. Everybody knows that. The kid has been special pretty much all his life, ever since he was 3 years old, and already could keep a rally going against a wall for so long that observers couldn’t help but wonder if the wall would yield first.
But no matter how special the kid is, there are laws of human nature. This is the Wimbledon final. This is the fifth set. This is Novak Djokovic, winner of 23 grand slams, winner of seven Wimbledons, winner of 45 straight matches on this Centre Court. The kid is about to go out there to try and serve out the match that he and every other tennis player dreams about, and it doesn’t matter how special he is, he will feel the pressure, and he will face the doubts, and he will miss a couple of first serves, and he will make a couple of mistakes, and he will give Novak Djokovic a chance to get the break.
There are laws of human nature.
This, surely, is what Novak Djokovic is thinking.
The kid, Carlos Alcaraz, will give him a chance.