This time yes, Rafael Nadal celebrates with rage. He deserves the afternoon. Finally he recognizes himself, he finally feels like a tennis player. He has beaten the eleventh best player in the world in a visceral episode, and his body—beyond the toll it will take when it cools down—has endured. “No, I’m still not the same as before. It takes time. But there have been moments of good level and I have been able to do positive things,” he says. Majestic display with the backhand, a lesson in pride against Alex de Miñaur (7-6(6) and 6-3, in 2h 02m) and extra life in Madrid, where he will meet on Monday with the Argentine Pedro Cachín, 29 years old and 91st in the world. A few hours before he had smelled the scent of goodbye, but nothing of goodbye. Not now. “I have had many difficult months, waking up with the hope of living an afternoon like this. It means a lot to have been able to play the entire match, last week (in Barcelona, against the same rival) I couldn’t do it,” said the winner, who rebels against destiny and rebels against all the elements, incandescent, very excited, among the fury of a dedicated mass: whatever happens, Nadal will fall like Nadal.
It’s a big day at the Caja Mágica. The endless queue that forms at the access through Paseo de Perales and the traffic inside anticipates that it is not just another one. The atmosphere is charged with emotion and a feeling of nostalgia due to the fear that this could be the last time, Nadal’s last parade through the Caja Mágica, another of the sacred spaces of his career. It is a quarter past four in the afternoon, the roof of the center is closed and the stands cheer with extra strength from the moment the Mallorcan enters the court with his racket bag on his shoulder, accompanied by the guerrilla melody of Pirates of the Caribbean: “Raaaaaaaaaa! Raaaaaaaaaa! “Raaaaaaaaaa!” 14,000 people standing, artificial lighting—night sensation—and national exaltation; the classic choreography at the Madrid headquarters: “Long live Rafa! Long live Spain! Long live the king!”. The public presses and makes the wave.
He speaker Remember that Nadal has been a professional for 23 years, the same age at which the new generations are making their way today, and also that he has won everything. He was crowned five times in Madrid, a most contradictory scene. No one has triumphed more times than him in the capital, five, but the height and the slight increase in the speed of the ball in the context of the San Fermín neighborhood take away from his tennis performance. He does not arrive this time in the best conditions, but as Carlos Moyà anticipated the previous afternoon, the duel was going to be different from the one he and Di Miñaur recently played in Barcelona. Contained (and repressed) that day — “today was not the time to die,” he said in his farewell to the Godó —, on this occasion he has a good part of the artillery on the table. It’s another rhythm, the whips return.
The heat of the stands emboldens him and invites him to step on the accelerator quickly, while penalizing De Minaur’s temporizing tennis. The Australian, a diesel that hardly changes gears, unalterable whatever the circumstance, encounters a different competitor. It is Nadal in combustion, with adrenaline through the roof, knife in hand. Despite the physical risk, he draws the drive and hits hard with his backhand, opening the track and looking for the corners at the bottom. This is another story. Now yes, it’s him. It is recognized. He sees the option and there, in that very appetizing position, he unleashes his true nature. The temperature rises when you scratch the first break and he definitely lights up when he interprets that a ball from his rival has gone long (as it has) and stops, and the referee does not grant him the Hawkeye review, understanding that there has been no instant request.
An acoustic downpour rains down on the judge for two very long minutes in which the Spaniard argues and recriminates him. The anger is monumental. “So if I stand up and mark the boat, it’s not for you. challenge“, says Nadal hotly. “What you have to do is ask for it quickly,” reasons the man, Fergus Murphy, trying to temper the situation. He will be remembered here. The Caja Mágica suddenly transforms into the Bernabéu. Whistles and more whistles. “Tongo!” is heard from the crowd. “We have to continue,” asks the Irishman. And Nadal insists: “It’s your decision, but it’s a bad decision.” “Ok, call the supervisor, please. “I don’t want to continue playing.” “No, come on, Rafa…” At the next point, the Spaniard focuses on the referee and raises his finger when the ball comes out, ironically, but he is unable to prevent De Minaur from stealing his serve later. The reprimand continues when he goes to the chair to catch his breath and the scene definitely serves as a spur for a high-voltage afternoon in which Nadal carries everything he has today. Felipe VI applauds, on the front line.
“If possible! “Yes-it-can!”, cries the Madrid center, which witnesses an exchange of breaks, Nadal’s sealed with a violent backhand pass that further fuels the flame. Progressively, everything is adapting towards that type of close-up scenario that he likes so much, the terrain of the epic, although the length and mileage are not very convenient at this point. The pulse is also leaning in his favor from the emotional angle and the inaccuracies are taking over the insipid proposal of the rival, who gives up the tiebreaker of the first round – Nadal closes on the fifth attempt – and by the time he wants to react, he has already gotten into a Mr. hole. Indeed, there is no way out. He pales. The champion of 22 majors does the sawing, continues to prevail from the trenches – 16 winners and 20 unforced errors, compared to the Australian’s 18 and 33 – and hits as soon as he enters the second set. From there, wind in your favor, control the distance and celebrate: Goodbye? Not today. Nothing of that, he expresses with his tennis. It’s a Saturday with extra life.
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