Novak Djokovic might just have produced tennis’s greatest curveball yet.
Even by the standards of his Melbourne theatrics, encompassing 10 titles and one lurid deportation saga, the enlistment of Andy Murray as his coach is a bolt from a clear-blue sky. It counts as the ultimate late-career Hail Mary: will it be the dream move, or will it blow up in their faces? Either way, it promises addictive viewing.
At first glance, the idea of Murray as Djokovic’s mentor seems a gimmick, the type of stunt that icons pull to amuse themselves in off-season exhibitions. Except this experiment is heavy with consequence, with Djokovic running out of chances at 37 to break a tie with Margaret Court and win a record 25th major title.
His decision to tap into Murray’s wisdom in conquering that final frontier is no mere coincidence. Their paths through life are, as he sees it, intertwined.
It is not so much the fact that they were born only seven days apart as the sense that each has helped define the other.
Who was across the net when Murray won his first major and his first Wimbledon? Djokovic. And who was the opponent when Djokovic completed the career grand slam? Murray. They have a mutual telepathy when it comes to channelling volatile temperament into competitive defiance.
Where better to test this shared understanding than Melbourne Park, the place where they contested four finals in five years?
You can see why, on paper, the tie-up appeals to both men. Murray needs greater fulfilment than being a gentleman of leisure in the Surrey stockbroker belt, aimlessly hacking his way around Wentworth.
Djokovic, on the other hand, requires fresh impetus ahead of potentially his final season, a kindling of the fire as he attempts to surmount the age gap to Jannik Sinner, 23, and Carlos Alcaraz, 21, the two fearless wunderkinds who have usurped him at the summit.
The Serb was alarmingly flat in losing to Sinner in this year’s Australian Open semi-finals, as if stunned by the Italian’s power.
It is difficult to envisage any such listlessness under Murray’s tutelage. On the contrary, the coach’s likely message is that if Djokovic can turn the tables on the next generation once – as against Alcaraz in the Olympic final – then he can do so again.
The doubt is whether Murray can stay calm enough as a sounding board for Djokovic to deliver. His own coaching team required the patience of Job to deal with his mid-match outbursts, as he lacerated them for everything from poor shot selection to not applauding him loudly enough.
Djokovic is no saint in this department either: just ask Goran Ivanisevic, whom he berated furiously in Melbourne in January for failing to look at him. Is Murray the type to sit in his box and accept similar treatment with good grace? Not unless he has undergone some Damascene conversion since retiring.
Celebrity coaches are hardly novel in these settings. Murray savoured his finest results under Ivan Lendl, the inscrutable eight-time major champion who appeared, even amid the convulsions of the 2013 Wimbledon final, as if he would rather be playing golf back home in Florida. It was Lendl’s poker face that offset his pupil’s histrionics and made the relationship succeed.
Murray is, to put it politely, more of an open book. Yes, his tireless encouragement made him a wonderful Davis Cup team-mate. But in the egocentric world of grand slam singles, raw emotion on the sidelines can be a hindrance. Murray needs to suppress his wilder instincts, to recognise that stoicism can be a virtue.
Djokovic is paying Murray the most sincere compliment in calling for his counsel. He has little time to waste, and he has reached the stage where he feels his only option in preventing another Sinner-Alcaraz clean sweep at the majors is to lean on his former adversary.
Unlike career coaches, Murray understands how to shape matches through sheer force of will. He showed it in Australia only last year, when he was yelping in agony at the back of the court. Making light of his metal hip to frustrate Thanasi Kokkinakis with a series of staggering retrievals, he flipped the match on its head and secured victory at a little past 4am in an almost empty arena.
That unquenchable thirst is what he needs to revive in Djokovic. Ever since that Olympic gold in August, Djokovic has lacked his usual intensity, as if realising at some level that he has completed his sport.
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Murray is the figure who can remind him that there is still more history to write, still more distance to put between him and everybody else.
How poetic it would be if it all came together with a record-extending 11th Australian Open triumph.
Murray has reason to believe he is cursed in Melbourne: no other player, male or female, has competed in five finals at the same major without winning. He, too, has an itch to scratch, and who better to do it with than his once-implacable rival?
The Telegraph, London
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