A Look Back on Djokovic’s French Open

by Vijaya Chandrasoma

I watched the final of the French Open a couple of Sundays ago, and was enthralled to see current World No. 1 Novak Djokovic beat the gallant Dane, Caspar Ruud, runner-up at this event last year, in straight sets to claim his 23rd Major title, a record which now can only be broken by himself.

In an era where we have been lucky to enjoy the effortless grace of Federer and the indefatigable courage of Nadal, the consummate superiority of a complete tennis player was on display at Roland Garros.

Perhaps he – and no one – will excel the grace and charm of Federer’s game. Perhaps no one will ever parallel the sportsmanship of Stefan Edberg, the Swede who won six Grand Slam men’s singles, two each of Wimbledon, Australian and US Open titles, in the 1980s and 90s. Being a quintessential serve and volley player, the red clay of Roland Garros did not suit his type of game.

It’s entirely possible that Carlos Alcaraz, who was beaten by Djokovic in the semi-finals, will fulfill the incredible talent he has already shown and break all records, one day in the future.

Much has been made of the long bathroom break Djokovic took after the second set of the semi-final, when Carlito was showing signs of distress caused by cramp. A break that many implied that Djokovic used as a means to further upset the rhythm of an injured man. Be that as it may, physical condition is an essential part of the game, so surely a 20-year-old should not be suffering from cramps after two hard sets, when a 36-year-old looked supremely fit to continue.

As Djokovic himself said, “I don’t want to say I am the greatest….because I feel it is disrespectful towards all the great champions in different eras of our sport that was played in a completely different way than it is played today. So I feel each great champion of his own generation has left a huge mark, a legacy, and paved the way for us to be able to play this sport in such a great stage worldwide”.

A statement of grace and humility, from a man for whom the best may well be yet to come. As lead coach Goran Ivanisevic, himself a Wimbledon Champion in the 1990s, said: “Novak has in his body has many more slams”.

His main rival, Carlos Alcaraz, the World’s No.1 till Djokovic beat him in a semi-final marred by injury, was magnanimous in his defeat:

“Many people want to create controversy about Novak’s bathroom break. But no, I don’t believe it influenced anything. The physical demands Novak placed on me (in the first two sets) had an impact. Ultimately, I couldn’t hold on physically. And I don’t blame him for closing the match.

“It’s not easy to play against Novak, you know. Of course a legend in our sport. If someone says that he gets into the court with no nerves playing against Novak, he lies”.

For me, for now, Novak Djokovic reigns supreme, the world’s complete tennis player. Until Wimbledon in a couple of weeks.

I have been following tennis since the 1950s, the days of Pancho Gonzales and Frank Sedgman, great players who were not able to compete in the Grand Slam events because they were professionals, ordinary human beings who had to earn a living, usually by coaching and exhibition matches. I had the great good fortune to attend such an exhibition match in 1959 at the Wembley Stadium in London, when Segura and Sedgman played Gonzales and Trabert. I was dazzled by their wonderful tennis, although they were mainly kidding around. I still remember Pancho Segura placing a half-crown coin where the center service line meets the service line(I hope I’ve got that right), and Pancho Gonzales, who had a wonderful serve, sent the coin flying every time.

In those days, no prize money was awarded for the qualified amateurs, who were reimbursed for their travel expenses only.

The tennis scene has changed beyond recognition since the advent of the Open Era in 1968, when all players, amateur and professional, were allowed to play in the four Grand Slam events, Wimbledon, the US Open, Roland Garros and Australia.

The prize money for these Grand Slam events has now reached staggering levels. When Rod Laver beat Tony Roche to win the first Open Wimbledon title in 1968, he was paid a mere 2,000 pounds sterling, which in today’s US dollars amount to approximately $25,000.

The total French Open prize money in 2023 was 43.9 million Euros (US$47 million), with the winners of the men’s and women’s singles titles, Novak Djokovic and Iga Swiatek, taking home princely purses of 2.3 million Euros (US$ 2.46 million) each. Even a first-round loser was paid 69,000 Euros (US$ 74,000).

In the late 1950s, I was a student in London. I never saw the French Open live, but was a regular at Wimbledon, originally and grandly named the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club. The total cost of a day at Wimbledon during the tournament – travel to Wimbledon by tube, a ticket to watch the tennis in many courts, with a British snack best described as substantial but tasteless, cost under a couple of pounds – Rs. 30, well within the budget of Ceylonese students in London. We were allowed a lavish monthly allowance of 45 pounds – Rs. 650 – by the Exchange Controller, an amount more than sufficient for us to lead most comfortable lives in England.

The only match at Wimbledon I remember to this day is one in which Nicola Pietrangeli of Italy and India’s Ramanathan Krishnan, both touch players, were pitted against each other in one of the early rounds in the late 1950s. Wonderful tennis of elegance and nuance, touch shots and finesse I enjoyed at courtside, a match forever etched in my mind. I cannot remember who won, which is hardly surprising, as, using the modern technology of today, I learnt that these two wonderful players had never competed against each other at Wimbledon.

Which goes to prove the old adage: the older we are, the better we – and our memories – were! Ah, how well-timed were our cover drives, how accurate our backhand volleys, how much prettier were the girls who reluctantly agreed to date us. Selective amnesia is a wonderful feature of one’s memory.

At school, I was an above-average tennis player, who, with an exceptionally talented partner, won the junior doubles title for Royal at the Public Schools Championships in 1956. I was a member of the tennis team at Christ Church, during my brief career at Oxford. We played against many colleges in Oxford and Cambridge, but the only match I remember was the Christ Church encounter against the OULTC (Oxford University Ladies Tennis Club). We were thrashed by some very fine lady players, but more than compensated in making new and attractive friends.

On my return from England, I continued playing club tennis on a regular basis, most often at the then exclusive, mainly white, Queen’s Club where, in those bad old days, natives had to be “invited” to join. Inevitably, I incurred the wrath of my paradoxically proud Ceylonese though Anglophile father, by accepting this invitation. I participated in many of the Club’s tennis tournaments, the highlight being a win in the Club Men’s Singles final, where I beat an Englishman, a Cambridge Blue, no less.

National Champion at the time, P.S. Kumara, also a club member, swears that I had begged of him not to enter the aforementioned event. This was an extremely insignificant title in his eyes, and being an old friend, he complied with my plea. But he went on to spread a scurrilous rumor that not only had I persuaded him not to participate, but, in my capacity as tennis convenor of the Club, I had “nobbled” the draw to ease my path to the final. Again, due perhaps to the above-mentioned selective amnesia, I remember only my win, and nothing of my friend Kum’s concocted calumny.

I also loved to travel to the “outstation” clubs, like Bandarawela, Talawakelle, Dixon’s Corner and so many others, where the members, mainly planters (and more likely, their most attractive wives), organized wonderful weekend tennis tournaments. The hospitality of our hosts was boundless, the dances they organized on the Saturdays of the tournament, entirely on British lines, beyond enjoyable. I well remember such an event in Udapusselawa, where, after the dance ended around 5 a.m., our planter host treated us to a breakfast of kippers and onions at his home, a meal I hadn’t enjoyed since my student days in London. After which, as I had qualified to play the later rounds, I was expected back at the club courts at 10.m., seriously hung over and miserable. But the hair of the dog* usually did the trick.

My greatest achievement in tennis was at Ratnapura. The late Bernard Pinto, also a National Tennis Champion in his day, paid me the honor of inviting me to play the men’s doubles with him at the club tournament in his hometown. Thanks to Bernard’s consummate skills (he instructed me to retreat into the sidelines after I served and hopefully returned serve), and leave the rest to him. We (really Bernard alone, for the most part) won the final with ease, but I had the last laugh when I persuaded the announcer at the awards ceremony to call the results thus: “Chandrasoma and partner win the men’s doubles 6/2, 6/2.”

I will try to make up for indulging myself writing about a sport I love (rather than my regular rants about the man I loathe) by presuming to provide the reader with some information about the French Open. Specifically, the origins of the naming of France’s premier tournament after Roland Garros, a French World War I hero. And the story behind the widely displayed phrase in the stadium “Victory belongs only to the most Tenacious”.

Officially named ‘Internationaux de France de Tennis’, the French now use the name Roland-Garros in all languages for the French Open.

In 1927, for the first time in history, the French beat the United States in the Davis Cup. To celebrate this monumental win, the French built a new, 20-court stadium in Paris in 1928. The French decided to name their new stadium after Roland Garros, a pioneer of military aviation and the nation’s most highly decorated, fighter pilot in WW I. He was tragically shot down by the Germans in 1918. He left a legacy of intelligence, bravery and honor, traits the French Open looks to emulate.

The phrase “Victory belongs only to the Persevering”, which is displayed prominently in the stadium, is a quote attributed to Napoleon I, which Roland Garros made his own … “so much so that he inscribed it on his planes’ propellers”. The French considered it a statement of admiration for the quality of tenacity, the attribute expected of all those who participate in the French Open, the Roland Garros tournament.

*Hair of the dog. This phrase is drawn from an ancient cure for a wound caused by a rabid dog bite. A clump of hair from the same rabid dog was placed on the wound, hopefully resulting in relief. Similarly, when suffering from a hangover caused by excessive consumption of alcohol, the ingestion of a small amount of alcohol is supposed to provide relief from the original cause of the malaise.