Duds

In tennis, like in Novak Djokovic's Australian Open semifinal, sometimes the show doesn't go on.

MELBOURNE, Australia — There has been some great tennis at the Australian Open this year, to state the obvious. Novak Djokovic’s remarkable comeback win over Carlos Alcaraz and Madison Keys’ epic upset of Iga Swiatek should both be enshrined as all-time classics.

Tennis is often great…but not always. And when it truly disappoints, like it did on Friday afternoon at the Australian Open, it exposes just how fragile and unreliable of a product professional tennis can be.

Alexander Zverev, playing his typically attritional style of tennis, clinched an 80-minute first set in the first men’s singles semifinal when Djokovic missed an easy volley into the net on set point.

The cameras were showing fans in the stands cheering, but the commentator could see what was happening on the court and spoke grimly over the happy visuals: “I think this is it. This is it. It’s over. Can you believe it?”

Djokovic, who had injured himself in the first set of his previous match against Alcaraz, had abruptly ended the semifinal match almost before the cameras could even catch him doing it; it was as if he’d come to net, missed the volley, and walked over to Zverev to call off the contest, all without breaking stride.

When the umpire announced that “Mr. Djokovic can no longer continue play,” there were loud gasps, groans, grumbles and moans from thousands inside Rod Laver Arena.

Djokovic had packed his bags and was walking to the exit less than a minute after the last point had ended. Some in the crowd cheered him, but many booed. Djokovic turned and gave a double-thumbs-up on his way off, that seemed more than a little sarcastic in response to the boo birds.

Though I saw some skepticism about it after his win over Alcaraz, there’s no doubt that Djokovic was genuinely injured this week. Calling his injury a “muscle tear,” Djokovic said in his post-match press conference that he hadn’t been able to hit in the two days off he had between his matches.

“I didn't hit a ball since Alcaraz match, so until like an hour before today's match,” Djokovic said. “Yeah, I did everything I possibly can to basically manage the muscle tear that I had. Yeah, medications and the strap and the physio work helped, to some extent, today. But yeah, towards the end of that first set I just started feeling more and more pain. It was too much, I guess, to handle for me at the moment. Yeah, unfortunate ending, but I tried.”

Djokovic definitely tried, but I think he—and other players—can also be more sensitive to how jarring these sudden stoppages can be for ticketholders. People paid hundreds of dollars—even in devalued Australian currency, that’s a lot of money—for a ticket for this semifinal session, which only featured one singles match. And to slam on the brakes as abruptly as Djokovic did will cause understandable whiplash for all the passengers along for the ride in the stands, who might have not seen any indication that he was ailing in the first set, or even known that his injury on Tuesday was serious.

Even if hollow, I think some perfunctory, performative pageantry can be prudent for a player who is about to disappoint a crowd. Instead of speedwalking to the exit, first call the trainer over for a quick chat-and-prod. Maybe flex and grimace a bit. Something, anything, to give them a clue what’s happening before they’re suddenly informed that the show that had only appeared to have just completed its first act out of a possible five is actually over.

Tennis is uniquely precarious this way: few other major sporting events are so vulnerable to where the entire viability of a session—attended by thousands and watched by millions on television—can hinge on one muscle on one person’s body.

Djokovic discussed the unique nature of tennis a bit in his post-match press conference Friday.

“That's the beauty of one-on-one sport,” he said. “Individual sport is such that there is no replacement, there is no substitution. I could not go out now after first set and somebody comes in for me and then I rest for an hour and maybe come back or maybe come back for the next match and my team wins. It doesn't happen in our sport. If you in a way don't show up and if something is wrong, you're out. But that's, again, the sport we are part of. I love it. I think it has given me the opportunity to be here. So there's a lot to be grateful for and really proud of.”

Djokovic has, of course, thrived for decades under these conditions: his self-reliance, resourcefulness, and reliability has made him the best, the one-of-one, in this one-on-one sport.

But what can be a selling point for tennis can also be a cause for people to feel like they deserved refunds. Especially in late rounds of tournaments, a ticket is a risky investment—and that’s especially true for men’s matches at majors, since best-of-five can exact so much more carnage on competitors over the course of a tournament. The 2018 Australian Open men’s semifinals were particularly notable, in recent memory, for both being injury-addled duds.

Ultimately, this week, Friday’s ticketholders wound up paying the price for the great show Tuesday’s ticketholders got to see.

Are there ways to fix this inherent susceptibility to disappointment in tennis? It’s tough to say. I am intrigued by the idea of lucky losers re-entering the draw in rounds beyond the first, but that possibility would be ripe for manipulation and could cause more problems than it solves.

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Speaking of problems, Alexander Zverev being in another major final—the direct consequence of Djokovic’s injury playing out as it did—is disappointing in a different way for many.

It’s rarely discussed openly by most in the sport, but whether be they fans or even the various professionals working around the Australian Open in various roles, there’s a lot of glum, frustrated witnesses to his continued presence and preeminence in tennis.

I don’t think Zverev’s week-in, week-out results necessarily change much about his story or how the tennis powers-that-be failed to meet the moment repeatedly in the past several years. Even if he wins a major here, honestly, what’s done is done.

But even with the dust mostly settled in his cases, I know that his presence and preeminence has a real, painful impact for many people who do not enjoy watching him play, many of whom cannot bring themselves to ever watch his matches because of how strongly they feel about him. With Zverev in the Australian Open final, that means lots of devoted tennis fans will pass on watching a major final, and that’s just a bummer for the sport.

It’s hard to quantify how many people feel this way, of course, but I have heard from lots of them over the past few years. I even reported last year for Slate about a couple who successfully got Ticketmaster to refund their Australian Open tickets when he was scheduled for the night session they’d bought. I think all of those boycotts, feelings, preferences, and choices, whatever form they take, are entirely valid.

I’ve heard it described as a great “exhale” when Zverev loses at majors; with him into his second final in nine months, again many in the tennis world will be holding their breath until the last point of the men’s final on Sunday against Jannik Sinner.

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For more on the semifinals and a look ahead to the finals, I just recorded another episode of No Challenges Remaining with Tumaini Carayol tonight.

I hope to be able to integrate NCR more into the Bounces umbrella in coming months, but for now please enjoy this embed (or listen on your favorite podcatcher app of choice). Discussion of the Djokovic retirement topic covered in this post starts at the 27:41 mark.

Thanks for reading Bounces! -Ben