I know he was never the fan favorite but as I watched him at Wimbledon, where he lost on Friday to Jannik Sinner in the semifinal, I couldn’t remember exactly what the knock was against Novak Djokovic.
Was it that he wasn’t as dashing and gallant as Roger Federer? Not as hunky and quirky as Rafael Nadal? Were we mad at Djokovic for beating the guys we’d become so attached to?
Was it that his homeland, Serbia, was less visited and much more complicated than Switzerland and Spain, lands of chocolate and sangria, not war and war crimes?
Yes, he has been hideous with a few umps. Yes, he refused to get vaccinated. Yes, a ball he hit in frustration struck a line judge and he fought to stay in the match. But I’ve thrown a fit or two in my day, and I grew up spending summers water-skiing, not racing to bomb shelters.
Some say he is a try hard. A striver. But what’s wrong with trying hard? Isn’t initiative, doggedness, grit exactly what we’re supposed to be imbuing in our children? Surely, at least in sport, it’s not unseemly to thirst for the top.
Especially when you reach it. While we were busy swooning over more compelling idols, Djokovic passed them both, grinding his way to a record 24 Grand Slam titles to Federer’s 20 and Nadal’s 22.
