The 23-time Grand Slam champion may have mellowed, but he is as determined as ever to win his favorite title again. He will play Carlos Alcaraz on Sunday.
Six months ago, having just won the Australian Open one year after being deported from the country, Novak Djokovic collapsed in the arms of his family and his coaches in a moment of strained ecstasy.
He had drawn even with Rafael Nadal in the race for most Grand Slam singles titles. When he finally took the lead last month, at the French Open, he fell onto his back in the red clay of Roland Garros and then called winning that tournament, his 23rd Grand Slam title, his version of scaling Mount Everest. He donned a warm-up jacket emblazoned with the No. 23 and jetted off to the Azores for a hiking vacation with his wife.
To be in the presence of Djokovic these past two weeks is to be around someone who, at least when he is not working within the confines of the grass tennis court, is almost unrecognizable from his previous self. Gone is the pugnacious battler carrying around a career full of angst. His default facial expression, something like an inquisitive scowl, has been replaced with a relaxed grin.
Walking on the streets of São Miguel or the grounds of the All England Club, from the practice courts to the locker room, he no longer stares mainly at the ground, moving purposefully past the passers-by. He stops and chats. He poses for a selfie and to sign an autograph. After a moderator cuts off his news conferences, he insists on sticking around for an extra question or two. When his day is done, he returns to the home he is renting close by for dinner with his wife and their young children.
It really is very good to be Novak Djokovic right now, and it got a little bit better on Friday, when Djokovic easily handled Jannik Sinner, the rising Italian star who is supposed to be one of the special talents of the sport’s next generation, 6-3, 6-4, 7-6 (4).
The final point was a microcosm of the match and nearly all of Djokovic’s Grand Slam matches lately — a spirited rally in which Djokovic is thoroughly dialed in, ending with another opponent’s dreams crushed with a final backhand into the net.
Cue Djokovic’s fist pump, his pounding the grass, his waves to the crowd.
For the moment, he has stopped making declarations about Serbia’s long-running territorial conflict with Kosovo, inserting himself into a pitched and occasionally violent 700-year fight, or political battles over public health and personal freedom.
Sure, the fans pull for his opponents, especially early on, when the beatings begin and perhaps some charity applause or any kind of support will extend the match a bit and bring a little more value to the Centre Court ticket that might have cost a week’s salary.
