Put yourself in Jaime Faria’s shoes – lime green Jomas, if you want to know.
You’re a 21-year-old Portuguese tennis player who, until two days ago, had never won a tour-level match, nor even played in a major. You’re a qualifier.
Suddenly, you’re on the cavernous Rod Laver Arena, playing the man who holds legal title to the place. It takes almost the entire warm-up to read out Novak Djokovic’s list of exploits and they ring in your ears. Understatement in Australia died a long time ago.
Novak Djokovic blows a kiss during his win over Jaime Faria.Credit: Eddie Jim
He’s playing his 430th match in a major championship, a record. You’re playing your second. His coach is Andy Murray. Yours lost to Djokovic six times out of six in his playing days. Really, this should be played under handicap conditions.
You guess he must have been in this position once. He was, in 2005, playing eventual winner Marat Safin in the first round and losing 6-0, 6-2, 6-1. No wonder you can’t remember it; you were 17 months old. You were probably living in the curator’s quarters of a museum; your father was and is a professor of art.
You begin brightly enough. One 185km/h second serve surprises Djokovic, another at 215km/h aces him. You even get a break point. You’re hitting the ball hard and well, making him grunt and do that thing where he mutters to his box, but really at himself. But you’re two breaks down. How did that happen?
Whatever you’re doing well, he’s doing that little bit better. It’s been so for 20 years. That drop shot from the baseline to set up a break point: How did he do that? That clean forehand winner, short and angled, a mishit surely? Call it an educated mishit. Your dad is a professor of art, but you’re playing a professor of tennis.
The first set passes in half an hour and he’s won twice as many points as you, and all you can think is that it didn’t feel so one-sided out there.
You’re quickly behind the count again in the second set. You chase down a drop shot, take a tumble, and he asks after your welfare, but only after making sure to put away the winner. You miss a sitter and hear the crowd groan. At the change of ends, you take a peek as he stretches a hamstring. Is he hurt? But it’s just a Djokovic mannerism, a tic.
Then a remarkable thing happens. You nail a couple of big ground shots, land a backhand pass, outlast him in a rally, and break him. You hold serve with an exquisite drop shot and he applauds, and means it.
Faria had his moments against the 24-time grand slam winner.Credit: Getty Images
You break him again when he nets a simple put-away, and consolidate with a series of 200km/h-plus serves. You’re bossing the match now, working him around the court like he does, and he’s roaring at himself, and the crowd is with you, and you know Djokovic has never quite understood this.
So Djokovic changes tack, slowing the tempo, playing to keep the ball in play, testing your nerve, and breaks back. The rallies are longer now, and one ends with the pair of you trading volleys from mid-court, and the crowd “ooh” and “aah” and when it’s done, you exchange smiles – peer to peer.
You get to a set point, but his serve saves it. You can see that he’s tetchy as only he can be, annoyed when the lights come on unasked, annoyed by some in the crowd, but really annoyed by the course of the match. That’s your doing. At one point, a corner of the crowd sends up an encouraging chant for Djokovic, as they might for an underdog.
A ball clips the net and falls your way at the start of the tie-break. He levels with a rasping backhand return and you clap, like you’re the approving legend. You clinch the set with an exquisite drop shot and the crowd stand – to you. You’ve taken a set off Novak Djokovic.
It’s not peak Djokovic, you know. Last tournament, he lost to Reilly Opelka, ranked 293. In the first round here, he fell a set behind Nishesh Basavareddy, a qualifier like you. He’s 37, older than any man previously to win a major in the Open era. There’s a difference between vintage and old, and he’s old.
But. There’s always a but. Light rain stalls the match at the start of the third set while the roof is closing. It’s the circuit-breaker you didn’t need.
Djokovic is still grumpy. He’s warned for slow play and launches into another soliloquy. But across those 430 matches, he’s been in much worse corners than this. He’s a bit creaky, but he’s still Novak Djokovic, with all that muscle memory and the deed to this court in his back pocket.
And you’re still Jaime Faria – major newbie, five-set novice. His consistency on ground strokes wears down your serve and breaks it. You have one moment, teeing off from mid-court for a forehand passing winner and the crowd rejoices with you. You’ve won their admiration, but he wins the set.
The fourth set rushes by as quickly as the first. It feels different. If you thought you were playing your way into the match then, you’re being played out of it now. Did the closing of the roof help him? It’s a moot point. You get to one more break point, but not past it.
At the net, he’s generous. “The future’s bright for you,” he says. “Keep going.” He joins with the crowd in another ovation as you leave. Sometimes this can come across as patronising, but not now. To on-court interviewer Josh Eagle, he says, “I had to weather the storm. He was practically playing two first serves the entire match. He had nothing to lose.”
Chances are Djokovic won’t win this tournament, or any major again. The new wave keeps rising and threatens to swamp him, and you might even fancy yourself as one of them after today. You’ve shown that you belong here. But as many before you have found, the trick now is to stay. Djokovic did.
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