History was always going to be made in the red dust of Roland Garros
this week, but that inevitability didn't make the moment any less
dramatic or draining when it finally arrived.
In fighting through the exhaustion, emotion and cold drizzle to win the French Open 6-4 6-3 2-6 7-5,
Rafa Nadal ensured that this time it was he, not his electric adversary
Novak Djokovic, who required the record books to be erased and
re-written.
Seven French Open titles, by the still remarkably tender age of 26,
puts Nadal alone in the Parisian pantheon, clear of a record of Bjorn
Borg's that once looked impossible to surpass. Djokovic, stoic in damp
defeat, must wait another year at least to join those elite players who
have held all four Grand Slam titles at the same time.
If it rained on Rafa's parade in Paris,
it was an equally unexpected coronation for those watching rapt
court-side or glued to the battle via their televisions in the UK.
A French Open final hasn't been delayed until the Monday since
Ilie Nastase's stroll to the title in 1973, which may explain the empty
seats around Court Philippe Chatrier at the resumption.
Neither was the match quite - quite - the eyeballs-out, all-time
classic most had hoped for. Those frequent rain delays made it feel like
watching a great film interrupted by breaks for TV adverts and prime time news, the narrative disrupted and the tension dissipated just as
the plot was threatening to sweep us away as it had during the Australian Open final five months ago.
Maybe we have been spoiled by that near six-hour Melbourne marvel.
The peaks, as we have come to expect of these two remarkable men, were
as lofty as ever. But that the match was lost on a double fault was
perhaps fitting when the unforced error count was the key statistic that
separated the two.
Djokovic almost matched Nadal in clean winners (34 to 39), first
serve percentage (59% to 62%) and total points won (116 to 125). He was
more ruthless on break points. But in shipping 53 errors to the
Spaniard's 29 he created the openings that a competitor like Nadal does
not give up.
Free points, when facing a player with Rafa's armoury, equate to suicide. His forehand alone is enough to trigger surrender.
On days like Monday, when it cut and chopped Djokovic to pieces, the
gasps of astonishment in the crowd were mixed with shrugs of Serbian
sympathy.
It is a frightening weapon, a horror to scare children to sleep and
give grown men nightmares. At the same time it is a thing of beauty,
admired and cherished by everyone except the poor unfortunate facing it
down across the net.
That it was the result most wise men expected, despite Djokovic's top
seeding, should not detract from the magnitude of Nadal's achievement.
His magnificent seven at Roland Garros means he now has 11 Grand Slam
titles overall, just one behind Roy Emerson, three behind Pete Sampras
and five away from the record of 16 held by Roger Federer.
How many more French Opens can he win? Time and form remain on his
side. Three years ago only tendonitis looked like stopping him, but even
that debilitating knee condition looks to be in check, if not beaten.
He dropped just one set en route to this latest triumph, and that on
Sunday as the heavy rain tethered his topspin forehands temporarily to
the wet clay. Since he first set foot on these famous courts he has
amassed 52 wins and only one loss, a half-century that neatly
accompanies his 50 career singles titles and $50m in career prize money.
Borg, his predecessor as the king of clay, was a fitting icon of his
era - long hair, tiny shorts, a laconic rock star pin-up for playboy
times.
Nadal is equally symbolic of our own age: a player at hyper speed in a
non-stop world, physique carved by obsession, a dominance built on
power and ruthless application of superior strength.
As he celebrated on Monday by climbing up into the crowd in search of
his uncle Toni, his vanquished opponent sat upright in his chair,
staring intently at the plasters on his fingers rather than the
cavorting up above.
Djokovic will see these as crumbs, but in extending Nadal to almost
four hours he had given him his toughest French final yet. To win eight
games in a row against the best player ever to step foot on clay, at his
peak, is a little miracle all of its own.
He will also know, once the immediate disappointment fades, that
Paris was just another chapter in a rivalry which should illuminate the
men's game for many Grand Slams yet to come.
Five times these two have now met in the big finals. Even after this
defeat Djokovic leads the series. With his Wimbledon crown to defend in a
fortnight's time he may not have to wait long for his revenge.
For those of us on the outside, watching spellbound as another layer
is added to a rivalry that already has so much, there is delight in what
has gone before and relish at what may follow.
These are momentous times for Nadal, but they are also remarkable for
men's tennis - for its quality, its depth and its triumvirate of
complementary heroes at the top of the rankings.
If all three of Nadal, Djokovic and Federer will leave the game among
its all-time greats, on Monday it was another storied band whose ranks
Nadal symbolically joined.
The trophy that he raised with tears in his eyes, the Coupe des
Mousquetaires, pays tribute to the four Frenchmen who lit up world
tennis 80 years ago.
Jean Borotra, Jacques Brugnon, Henri Cochet and René Lacoste, 20
Grand Slam singles titles between them, were immortalised in sporting
myth as the Four Muskeketeers. In Nadal, they have their D'Artagnan .
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