Bill Simons
Early this morning there was an earthquake. All of tennis felt the jolt. On a Melbourne court, the game’s war-weary elder once again shocked tennisdom.
Novak, more gaunt than ever, with deep lines in his face and battle scars in his psyche, emerged triumphant over a young foe in peak form. Jannik Sinner, the best hard-court player in the game, had won 23 straight hard-court matches and 19 straight at the Aussie Open. The two-time defending Aussie champ is the world No. 2 and was the favorite to win in Melbourne.
Beating the aging Serb wouldn’t be that much of a problem – right? Sinner was a whopping 17-2 betting favorite, and he’d whipped Djokovic five straight times. As for Novak, writers had brushed aside his singular legacy. Sages dismissed the Serb’s chances. And for good reason. Old man Djokovic – a half-step slower and too often frail and vulnerable – had repeatedly faltered deep into recent Slams. He hadn’t won a major since 2023. There was always a reason.
And this year in Melbourne, he again seemed to be a beaten man.
In the quarterfinals, the stylish Lorenzo Musetti was milking the GOAT. But, up by two sets, the Italian suddenly imploded with an adductor injury and pulled out. Earlier, Novak had reached the quarterfinals when Czech Jakub Mensik also withdrew. Novak quipped that he should have been packing to go home. Twice the tennis gods had smiled on him.
You don’t win Slams with just luck, but good fortune matters. And tennis sanity soon returned to Rod Laver Arena when, early in the first set, Sinner broke Novak with ease and marched on to win the opener 6-3.
Clearly, this would be a one-way affair. Sinner, with his youth, size, laser shot-making and imposing serve would prevail in straight sets.
Then again, shock results by tennis’ senior citizens are a staple of the sport. Jimmy Connors thrilled us at the 1991 US Open with the most celebrated run ever by a washed-up, over-the-hill legend. Martina Navratilova won a mixed doubles Slam at 49.
And don’t forget that in 2017 the supposedly done-and-dusted Roger Federer returned from knee injuries to beat Rafa and win the Australian Open. In 2022 in Melbourne, Nadal showed his old-man grit when he came back from two sets down to defeat the US Open champ Daniil Medvedev. And in 2024 Djokovic had his best moment when he beat Carlos Alcaraz to win Olympic gold in Paris.
But Nole’s 3-6, 6-3, 4-6, 6-4, 6-4 win, which came after the hobbled Alcaraz outlasted Alexander Zverev in five compelling sets, was one for the ages.
Novak, the game’s greatest craftsman, called on all his wisdom. His savvy isn’t subtle.
He wouldn’t be denied.
His forehand, particularly down the line, was on fire. He ran his Italian foe, 14 years his junior, from Southbank to Flinders Lane. Nole’s movement still astounds.
Sinner scored far more aces than the Serb. Still, Novak’s serve was his friend.
At times, the 38-year-old seemed out of gas and out of sorts. He grabbed his battered ribs and barked at his box. The man who went against the world – and the weight of science during COVID uses adversity as a tool – sudden injuries, icons claiming he’s too old, writers dismissing his once glorious dominance, raucous crowds adoring his foes.
Plus, the clever veteran knows how to reset – and when to coast. The pedal doesn’t always have to be to the metal. Use the crowd, your experience, all you’ve got – “Just win, baby!” Djokovic is the game’s best mid-match manager ever. Today the man famous for shaking off match points in Slam finals found himself out on many a precipice Plus, the clever veteran knows how to reset – and when to coast. The pedal doesn’t always have to be to the metal. Use the crowd, your experience, all you’ve got – “Just win, baby!” Djokovic is the game’s best mid-match manager ever. Today the man famous for shaking off match points at crunch time in Slam finals found himself out on many a precipice.
Here’s a warrior who knows how to raise his level. Time and again Novak tapped into his inner Houdini. He gives new meaning to the word resilience. Break points don’t phase him.
Nole’s feel-good victory drew instant reviews: “This was epic.” “What a masterpiece.” “The best semifinals day ever.”
This is why we love sports. These stories inspire us.
And I reflected on what inspired me about Nole’s story.
•••••
When Novak emerged, I felt a jolt of recognition—not of his tennis, but of his against-the-grain mindset. In my mid-twenties, while many chased MBAs and mortgages, I was hitchhiking. I was drawn to uncertainty, to improvisation, to roads without schedules. Discovery was my text.
I gravitated toward the margins – India for its spirituality, the Galilean hills for their biblical pull, and the Balkans for something sharper: pride and grievance, resilience and suspicion, forged far from Europe’s comfortable centers of power. In 1971, in a remote Transylvanian village, a family welcomed me as the first American visitor since World War II. They slaughtered their prize hen, then proudly showed me their most treasured object: a hulking television blasting The Untouchables. Warmth and hardness lived side by side. Contradictions shape the people who grow up inside them.
Decades later, a spindly Serbian kid named Nole shook tennis off its moorings. He played as if nothing were owed to him and everything had to be taken. Raised amid sanctions and war, he carried a brooding sense of being underestimated. He didn’t enter a neutral world; he entered an established order, and disruption followed.
Djokovic was always complex—kind one moment, raw the next. The most serious man on tour was also the funniest. When I interviewed Federer, there was wonder. When I shook Nadal’s hand, I felt might. When I locked eyes with Djokovic, I began a journey.
He had no safety net. His parents ran a pizza restaurant in the mountains; three courts were built below it. In 1993, master coach Jelena Gencic spotted the lean six-year-old and sensed something special. She gave him a love of ideas as much as of tennis—classical music, poetry, visualization, belief. “I want to be No. 1,” he’d tell anyone who’d listen.
The family then moved to Belgrade – fighter jets were above and bomb shelters were below. Novak stood in bread lines at dawn. At twelve, he left for Niki Pilic’s academy in Munich, riding trolleys with his grandfather, learning early that effort was not optional. Money was scarce. His father once put ten Deutsche Marks on the table, announcing, “That’s all we have.”
Success was survival. Focus ran deep. That early exile left its mark—an appetite for adversity and a refusal to bend to the crowd. As Janko Tipsarevic later told me, Djokovic’s greatness came because, “He wants to be the best of all time and nothing else, and is willing to do whatever it takes…Nothing else satisfies his hunger. You saw this with Lebron, Kobe, Ronaldo and Muhammed Ali. If they are not the best, they want to commit suicide.”
He arrived on tour as an interruption, not an heir. Crowds were unsettled. In a sport steeped in hierarchy and unspoken codes, he brought defiance, humor, mimicry, and a sense that the script itself was negotiable. Federer and Nadal came from an ordered world that cradled tennis. Djokovic did not.
He won his first major at the 2008 Australian Open, then stalled. His body betrayed him. Physical breakdowns and questions about his heart followed. After a harsh clash and a locker room incident with Andy Roddick on all his ailments, a reckoning began. A Serbian doctor urged radical dietary and fitness changes. Gluten, dairy and refined sugars were banned. Novak didn’t just get fitter; he reimagined how an elite athlete might recover, think and live.
Still, something was missing. At the 2010 French Open, up two sets against Jurgen Melzer, he unraveled and wept. A reset would come through patriotism and purpose. Leading Serbia to its first Davis Cup title late that year transformed him. His confidence surged. From late 2010 into early 2012, he produced one of the greatest runs the sport has seen – 41-0 to start 2011, three majors, and the No. 1 ranking. Belgrade erupted – 100,000 came out to cheer.
Pat Cash put the Serb’s year in perspective: “Just think, a couple of years ago Djokovic was defaulting and quitting in matches. We all said this guy doesn’t have heart. Wow, has he turned his career around. Not many saw that coming. This season puts him right up there alongside the best who ever played.”
Novak’s game blended elastic defense, lightning speed, uncanny anticipation, flawless technique, ruthless returns, the best backhand of his era, mind-boggling splits and mental fire. Andy Roddick put it simply: “First Novak takes your legs. Then he takes your soul.”
The achievements came in waves. In 2015 and 2016, he not only won Roland Garros for the first time, he held all four majors at once. In 2024, he claimed his coveted Olympic gold. His longevity amazes. There is so much to relish in his career: three majors in four different years, ten Australian Opens, winning records against his greatest rivals – I could go on.
But there were shortfalls, too – a shocking US Open default, early losses, repeated injuries, near-misses like the 2021 US Open final. Turmoil was part of his DNA. As Jon Wertheim observed, Novak is so balanced on court, but when he isn’t playing, he often finds himself in awkward places.
While his idol Pete Sampras said, “I’m just a tennis player – nothing more, and nothing less,” Novak leaned into causes, politics, and player governance, co-founding the Professional Tennis Players Association to challenge a system he felt exploited lower-ranked players. During COVID, his resistance to vaccination mandates turned him into a global lightning rod, culminating in detention and deportation from Australia in 2022. Supporters saw principle; critics saw obstinacy. The debate transcended sport. Recently Novak supported Serbian student protesters. But the establishment bristled, branding Novak a “false patriot.” Serbia’s beloved icon fled to Greece.
My own reporting eventually collided with his orbit. Against this backdrop, my own reporting began to intersect with Djokovic’s inner circle. For years, Novak and I shared a quiet but genuine rapport. He seemed to enjoy—perhaps even welcome—my asymmetrical questions about decision-making, journeys to Bali, or his inner life. They enlivened dreary pressers.
But I opposed his COVID stance and questioned his loyalty to allies facing serious misconduct allegations. After that, access disappeared. Power in tennis often operates through silence.
Still, my respect endured. His humor, kindness, curiosity, and longevity mattered to me. And, yes – he’s pretty good at tennis.
The GOAT debate eventually lost its mystery. Djokovic didn’t chase records; he tripped over them. Twenty-four Grand Slams, every major at least three times, 40 Masters titles, seven year-end championships, 428 weeks at No. 1, and winning records against all his rivals. The boy who once lived on ten Deutsche Marks earned more than $190 million.
And yet, one record still looms. Margaret Court’s mark of 24 major titles has proven astonishingly resilient. Serena Williams had eight chances to pass it and didn’t. For the ninth time, Djokovic is now trying to surpass it.
In the meantime, two questions hover. Is he the greatest athlete of our era? Is he the greatest seeker tennis has ever known?
As amazing as Novak’s records are, what draws me to him the most isn’t the numbers.
Djokovic is a seeker. He has worked on his inner pathways as rigorously as his external game – meditation, breath, prayer, diet, spiritual study, learning to let go and to be present. He asked big questions. Yes, we are all conscious spiritual beings. But who am I? Why am I here? What do I want to become? First Novak took small steps, one day at a time. Self-care was a gift. Mindfulness mattered. Dark moments teach—but don’t linger there. Consistency was key. He forgave those who bombed his twelfth birthday party, but he didn’t forget. He used whatever tools helped –meditation, prayer, yoga, conscious breathing, movement, diet, spiritual study, learning to let go and be in the present.
At first Novak felt his big ego was the enemy. But he learned to embrace it, ride its waves, even control it. It was the frightened child within, a defense against emotional pain. When all else failed, nature without a phone was his refuge.
Ultimately, Novak softened when he needed healing, then returned with grounded clarity. He healed the hand that held the blade and kept wondering.
Federer gave us grace. Nadal gave us ritual and will. Djokovic showed that consciousness expands—and that the journey never really ends.
I like that.
