Ending Here.

The World Tour Finals

Novak Djokovic [1] def. Roger Federer [2]

ESPN television coverage of the final match of the Barclay’s World Tour Finals —the Finals final— got underway with a steadycam shot of the players’ walk through the stadium tunnel. Before emerging into the supersaturated blue-blackness of the Molecular Arena, Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic passed through an entryway filled with a theatrically roiling fog of carbon dioxide and underneath a lintel ominously, and vaguely, marked with the phrase, “IT ALL ENDS HERE.”  But before Djokovic and Federer crossed the threshold, into the place where all endings happen, there came the sound of rhythmic drumming. It was a taut, pulsating sound; a suitable overture to a much-hyped bout of mock combat. To continue with my Lord of the Rings motif-of-the-tournament, the O2 Arena echoed like the fortress of Helm’s Deep in the moments before the Battle of Hornburg commenced.

Inside the stadium itself, the electronic metrical thumping was accompanied by the clapping and pounding of thousands of enthusiastic human limbs. The sound was visually amplified by the LED image of an emergency-blue human pulse that charged around the circumference of the stadium, and lent the introductory ritual an eerie, weirdly medicinal, tension. One could be forgiven for thinking that the Serb and the Swiss were about to take to the court, not to play tennis, but to bludgeon each other with their racquets, aided by armies of The Fighting Uruk-hai, and that the last man left standing, be he ever so drenched in Orc blood, would be crowned the victor as well as ‘The Player of the Year.’

Match commentators began debating which athlete would be hailed Player of the Year exactly one hour and eleven minutes into the match, at 5-6 in the first, and not long after Novak Djokovic collided with the surface of the court just behind his own baseline. The Serb received medical treatment for a nasty abrasion to his forearm, causing a near five-minute delay in play and requiring the ESPN crew to pay extra attention to their contractual chatting obligations and fill all the spaces between words with other words. After earnestly chiding Djokovic for failing to let go of his racquet during his baseline dive n’ roll (‘You’ll poke your eye out!’), Cliff ‘Cliffy’ Drysdale, Brad ‘BG’ Gilbert, and Patrick ‘the other’ McEnroe had nothing better to do than think up yet another title for tennis players to covet and media outlets to market. The sport already boasts awards for ‘racing’ to the year-end No. 1; for winning the World Tour Finals final; for being the most popular; the most likely to succeed; teacher’s pet; best dressed; and the cutest couple. Clearly, we needed one more. 

In defense of the Three Commenteers, it should be noted that 2012 is the first year in many in which the identity of the Player of the Year is not entirely obvious. Three of the big four divided the Masters titles evenly amongst themselves (generously donating the extra to David Ferrer). For the first time in five years, Andy Murray does not hold a single Masters Series title, but he does feed his dogs off two runner-up platters, and has his Olympic laurels on which to rest comfortably. Perhaps most importantly, the last time the four slam titles were split four ways was back in 2003 (Agassi, Ferrero, Federer, Roddick). Since then, Player of the Year was simply the de facto title granted to whichever athlete dominated the tour most thoroughly, which tended to coincide with winning the lion’s share of slam titles (mostly Federer, sometimes Nadal, occasionally Fedal—if you’re a fan of the modern habit of coagulating related celebrities into one solid ego mass (can it get better than ‘Tsongberd?’)—and, of course, Djokovic in 2011).

As is so often the case when distinctions do not manifest themselves obviously and on their own, we human beings like to create them, usually with the assistance of official supporting documents such as trophies, certificates, and even the occasional farm animal or car (hood inscription included). Since the No. 1 and No. 2 players in world seemed to stand nearly shoulder-to-shoulder in 2012, it is only natural that the competitive sporting world would want to make an artificial distinction between them. In a polarized world, there can be only one alpha dog with a trophy-vase. But as a decisive tiebreaker match, the World Tour Finals final was slightly less than resoundingly and authoritatively final.

Had Roger Federer finished the match the same way he started it, and had Novak Djokovic still won, it would have been a match worthy of all its points, every single streamer affixed to the gladiola-sized trophy-vase, plus three or four monogrammed Fiats. As it was, the smallish automobiles will be held in storage until next year. The match was quite good-enough, but it failed to approach the performances either man put forward to earn his respective slam title. Roger Federer started the match with the same style as he finished his previous round against Andy Murray, holding serve easily, breaking early, and looking generally mighty and masterful in the approved Federerated style. Whereas Novak Djokovic looked like the ritual pre-match drumming had addled his nerves, and his backhand.

But as the first set wore on, Novak Djokovic settled into his natural defensive rhythm, excelling particularly on his return of serve, and Federer’s game began a slow regression toward the mean. Overall, both men played closer to their best in the first set than the second, taking it to a tiebreaker that saw Federer save the first set point with net-play so achingly stylish that the Brad Gilbert insisted the British crowd rise out of their seats to applaud, which they happily did. (Actual translation: ‘Ya got ta get up!’) Not to be outdone, Novak Djokovic followed soon thereafter with a sleek cross-court forehand winner that was slightly less difficult than Federer’s shot, in terms of required-wizarding-levels, but was setup by his potent return-of-serve and happened to win him the set, rather that merely prevent him from losing it.

In the second set, Roger Federer jumped out to an early lead, only to lose it, and his forehand, on his way to losing the match. Novak Djokovic was not without his own internal battles in the second set, and with the grand exception of an exquisite final point, the match found its way to a nervy, startlingly quick finish. But it was a match fairly, if narrowly, won. By a score of 7-6, 7-5 —96 points to 95— the No. 1 ranked player in the world was crowned as the Champion of Champions, and declared to be the Official Unofficial Player of the Year.

As good as Novak Djokovic has been in 2012, he has not quite reached the rarefied heights he scaled in 2011. Last year, Novak Djokovic’s aura was one of infallibility. This year, some of the old human troubles have returned, namely in the form of half-baked batches of unforced errors. Djokovic lifted his tennis as far as it needed to go to win the tournament, but he never needed to break through the atmospheric barrier. He remained mostly earthbound and recognizably human. But still, when watching Djokovic defend his baseline like his human life depends on it, he can look otherworldly. It is as if he has no bones, instead he is all sinew and uncoiling springs, allowing his body to bend with a lightning-quick, and disquieting grace. This season, as a competitor, Novak Djokovic has been at his most impressive when teetering on the brink of defeat. Roger Federer spent a good portion of Monday’s final up a break, he even served for the second set at 5-3, yet, as in Australia and Shanghai, Djokovic was at his spring-loaded best when pushed up against it. Poor Jelena Ristic was left to worry her rosary beads for (or were they just plain worry beads?) for many a break of serve on Monday.

In my favorite spectator moment of the day, after Novak Djokovic slid into a near-split to send the match-winning forehand dipping past Roger Federer, the Serb celebrated in front of his camp by letting loose one of his (patented and trademarked) primordial bellows, and his girlfriend, gazing back at him with neotenized eyes and candid smile, roared right back at him. It was a sight to warm the heart of one and all—with the possible exception of Roger Federer. 

Near the beginning of the match, back when Djokovic was still all nerves and easy errors, one of ESPN’s commentators remarked that he wasn’t sure Roger Federer ever panics, ‘It’s not in the vocabulary.’ It is true that the expression on the Swiss champion’s face is often inscrutable from one point to the next, but all anyone had to do this week was look in his eyes to discern an extensive, and poignant, emotional vocabulary. The vulnerability was right there, just beneath the surface. It was far from the 31 year-old’s best week of tennis. Andy Murray certainly did not play his best in the 31 minutes it took him to lose the second set of his semifinal match. And Rafael Nadal did not play at all. 

The  2012 season has ended, a worthy champion has been anointed under the traditional rain of blue scraps of wood pulp, but I confess to being pleased that it comes to a close at what feels like mid-chapter. I make no bones about being ready for the off-season break, but I am not at all ready for ‘it all’ to end. Not here. There is definitely more to this story. And also, there is Davis Cup. 

So ... see you Friday?