IT TAKES BALLS TO PLAY TENNIS (can I say that?)

OK, I admit it, I live a life of privilege.

I got to see the Australian Open men’s final stoush last night between Novak Djokovic and Rafael Nadal. Ringside. First row Rod Laver Arena, I could have spat on the head of one of the ranks of 100 photographers courtside.

It was a corporate thing, so I also had to sit and chat with businessfolk, but that wasn’t too irksome. And the joke is I’m not really a tennis fan. I mean, I don’t dislike the game, but I’ve never played it and I only know the big names. I’m a tennis fan the way some people become figure-skating fans during the Winter Olympics, or ocean yachting fans during the Americas Cup challenge, or road cycling fans during the Tour de France.

But there I was and I watched history being made. 5 hours 53 minutes, 5 sets, 2 tennis greats battling it down to the last ounce of strength. I thought Rafa would combust, I thought Novak would collapse, but they went at it like warriors. And no tantrums or rudeness either.

To my untutored eye, Novak is a better and more skilful player, but Rafa has the heart of a lion and doesn’t know how to quit. Novak kept hitting to Rafa’s right, and Rafa, being a lefty, kept doing these weird backhands which often went out of control or had too much spin on them. But then Novak would attempt a smart-arse drop-volley thing and get himself out. So the pattern was: Novak wins point, wins point, wins point; Rafa fights back, gets point, gets point, gets point; then deuce. Then advantage Rafa, then deuce; then advantage Novak, then deuce. Then these long, long rallies until the decider. And then they would shake themselves and start up the power again. It was truly awesome.

Every cliché has been written about this match by now, and I will add a few more. Towards the end of the 4^th set which went on forever, when everyone was expecting Novak to win the deciding point and the game, I thought Novak was going all Slavic and despondent while Rafa was getting more Spanish and fiery; in the 5^th set, Rafa seemed to even strut a bit, G-d knows where he got the strength. But then Novak reached inside and pulled out enough to win, immediately collapsing onto his back on the court and then impressively tearing off his sodden shirt and tossing it into the audience, unfortunately on the other side of the court from where I was sitting.

A couple more observations:

If fans alone could make competitors win, Rafa would have been a shoo-in. I was 2 metres away from what sounded like the entire population of young Spanish women waving Spanish flags and screaming VAMOS!!! ARRIBA!!! And other Spanish words of encouragement which reminded me of Speedy Gonzales and thus made me smile even while I was being deafened.

The Ballkids. Who doesn’t love the ballkids?  Like little gazelles, so quick and leggy and graceful, trembling in anticipation of the next ball casually flicked towards them by the tennis god, leaping to offer a towel, to load the balls onto the champion’s racquet, scampering here and there, so disciplined and eager. Such a delight.

So Novak won and Rafa lost, but really, nobody lost, and tennis won. I’m sure Rafa went back to his dressing room and wept and threw things, but it’s far from over for him and there will be other games which he will win, so Rafa, see you in 2013, unless you actually do combust between now and then.

I could become a tennis fan yet!