The US Open starts Sunday and Novak Djokovic, the most accomplished men’s tennis player in history, will be going for his 25th Grand Slam title. I’ll be watching intently, and with a change of heart.
For years, I rooted against you, Novak. I did you wrong, and now I want to apologize. Let me explain.
My tennis hero, as he was for millions of fans, was Roger Federer, an irresistible player, graceful and creative, and a lovely person to boot. It drove me nuts when you beat him; you were just too damn good when I needed you to falter.
The match that hurts me most was the 2019 Wimbledon final—you against Federer, who was going for his 21st Grand Slam championship. He was 37, in the twilight of his career. You were 32, in your prime. Yet Federer was closing in on an improbable victory, needing just one of the next two points to defeat you for the title. A win would likely cement him as the greatest player of all time.
The entire stadium was rooting against you.
Federer blows his first chance. But there’s one more point to go. Federer’s wife, Mirka, buries her head in her hands. The play-by-play announcer has gone silent, except to whisper, “Breathe in, breathe out.” Federer rifles a fine serve, which you block back. Federer rushes the net, hoping to clinch the match with a volley. But you calmly slap a crosscourt passing shot out of Federer’s reach to tie the game. The electric buzz fades from the crowd. My heart crumbles. Play continues, and by the end of a grueling four hours and 57 minutes, Djokovic is the champ.
