Over the 74,301 years he’s been playing tennis, warming to Novak Djokovic hasn’t always been easy. And the man himself knows it, frequently bristling at sleights perceived, imagined and real, his 24 grand slam titles unable to replace the basic need to feel loved.
What we all learn from Djokovic, though – what even Djokovic himself can learn from Djokovic – is how to execute the perennially torturous business of loving yourself. He knows exactly who he is, exactly what he’s worth and exactly what he needs, which is how he comes to be exactly where he is: in yet another major final, his 38th.
To do as he’s done – reaching this stage for the first time in 18 months, aged 38, having outlasted Jannik Sinner, 14 years his junior, in the semi-finals – is an act of self-love barely believable in its intensity. Playing tennis is really, really hard. Practice is repetitive and gruelling, so too the travel, and the mental toll of putting a body and a life through that, with a young family at home and a wider world believing his time has gone – risking defeat for victory, to opponents he would once have devastated – is a lesson in trust and respect, curiosity and hope, a fearless desire to back yourself no matter what. May we all learn it well.
