Djoker & the dark arts: Can 23 Grand Slams make him the king of the court?

The question of separating the player from the person continues to confront Djokovic

It seems odd to say this now, but when Roger Federer breached the 20 Grand Slam mark at the 2018 Australian Open, it appeared unbeatable. It so happened though, the GOAT (if you dispute this, then do not read any further) just walked through a door, and because he was so well-mannered, held it open for others to pass through. 

That Australian Open was one with many strange happenings, which, at the time, seemed to portend a different future for men’s tennis. Federer beat Marin Cilic to win the title, and seemed to have got his mojo back. Rafael Nadal retired due to injury against Cilic, and looked to be done – perhaps for good. And the third cog in this brilliant golden generation of the game, Novak Djokovic, ended with a loss in the third round of what was his comeback after a period of injury.

It wasn’t the loss itself that rankled, but the man he lost to and the manner of it itself. Djokovic was beaten by South Korean prodigy Chung Hyeon — blasted by him in three straight sets. Rewind the tape and look at that match now, and what stands out is the gameplay of Hyeon — his elasticity, court movement, down-the-line backhand and sheer stamina, an eerie copy of the man across the court. Hyeon made it to the semi-finals, and in subsequent interviews embraced the fact that his game resembled Djokovic’s, saying that he had modelled on him in his childhood. He seemed destined for greatness, and many even anointed him the direct successor of the Serb himself. 

Djokovic probably took it personally. He is known to be touchy, deeply emotional about his image and fiercely combative when facing criticism. There are stories about how, in his early days, he embraced the role of the clown — the Djoker — and did skits on court because he never felt as adored and respected as Federer and Nadal. 

On June 5, 2023, Hyeon marked his comeback to professional tennis after two years away due to injury by taking to court in the Surbiton Trophy. The tournament is a backwater event, and was only in the news because Andy Murray had decided to skip the French Open to take part in it. He was doing so to prepare for Wimbledon. Hyeon lost to Murray in the first round in straight sets. 

A day later, the man he was anointed to replace cruised into the semi-finals of the French Open. 

This isn’t a new story insofar as these three giants of men’s tennis are concerned. This isn’t even unusual in sport, where the narrative about the next king is always juicier than the current king. And in that vast savannah, that melee of competitive greatness, Novak Djokovic now walks alone, the king of the jungle. He walked through the door Federer held open and now sits in the palace Nadal built for himself. This is how kings are crowned — not through narration or procession, but possession and force. 

Mr Elastic finally has his 23rd Grand Slam, streaking ahead of Nadal and — despite the danger of predicting sports — for the foreseeable future cementing his lead in gold. For once, there will be no shadows where Djokovic walks. For once, the applause would not be qualified and controlled. For once, he was up on his own — the winningest player of all time in the men’s game.

Which brings us to the GOAT thing. Shall we? Must we? Can we drop this young boys’ debate about numbers and titles for a while? It’s understandable. Everyone has a favourite men’s tennis player, and likes him very much for vague, adjective-heavy reasons. The stats may or may not back this up. Sure, Djokovic has more Grand Slams – and who is to say this number won’t swell to 30? His biggest rivals, after all, are both retired or on the verge of retirement. And he has better head-to-head records against the big dogs, but for some this isn’t enough.

To think about it objectively as a brand, Djokovic™ is a faulty product. It’s effective, efficient, and, to some extent, the best product in the market, but aligning yourself with it is akin to dousing yourself in petrol and standing outside a nightclub. Sooner or later, someone will flick a cigarette that hasn’t fully burnt out. Djokovic is seen as a faulty human being, one whose faults have only magnified as his aura has grown. It’s like the peeling of an onion, but in reverse. With every Grand Slam arrives a Djokovic special designed to leave a bitter aftertaste for many. 

This, after all, is the man who was dancing in a nightclub at the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic. A man who subsequently refused to take the vaccine — and still has not – and instead said he was very careful about what he put in his body, and the vaccine was not it. It was a position the alt-right embraced and loved him for, and fanned him for more. When he was denied entry into Australia for that stance, he used his position as a global tennis superstar to turn on the Australian state and file an appeal. He had been detained by a nation notorious in the way they deal with immigrants. However, instead of channelling some focus on that and perhaps to earn some sympathy, he chose to make it all about him. 

This is a player who, at the French Open this year, essentially advocated the erasure of Kosovo with a message for the camera when he had won his first-round game. A man who refused to back down from his stance till being told to do so by the French sports minister. Me, my body, my rules, my views, my titles. 

Any arguments about separating the man from his tennis fail simply because his tennis is a product of who he is. There are very few tennis players — perhaps even athletes — on this planet so easily capable of feeling hard done by, outraged and discriminated against like Djokovic. It could be as small as a contentious line call, and as serious as being denied a visa to play in a country. There are few who feed off that sense of outrage, and the misplaced sense of alienation better.

For Djokovic, drama is the ultimate drug. The more the people turn on the king, the more the king slides, digs his heels in and unleashes that killer backhand.  

And for now, as we await the arrival of another usurper, a rebel who can storm this palace, Djokovic is all that remains. You can shout all you want, but you will only be shushed. To say that this is the Djoker’s world is no longer sociopathy. It is the orthodoxy.