At the Semi Finals in RG '13: the headlines finally read - Nadal d. Djokovic.
After a whirldwind of a match lasting 4 hours and 37 minutes, just short of their historical 5 hours 53 minutes showdown in Melbourne in 2012, only one man could emerge the winner to move on to the finish line.
And that man was always meant to be Rafa Nadal.
Certain matches will always transcend our familiar definitions and labels, and this particular semifinal at Phillipe Chartier this year probably fell short of a few. It wasn't classic. It was not 'epic' either. It probably fell a little short of 'elegant' in more ways than one, particularly amidst the blindingly fast shots that zipped through the air and the 173 mph groundstrokes of Novak Djokovic that only one man could persevere and come through: and that one man was Rafael Nadal.
It was a particularly stressful match for me to watch, and halfway there, I forgot that I was watching a semifinal and not the real deal as I had been last year.
My heart ached when Djokovic played like he had ice in his veins during the second match, basically throwing it away, and lurched to 200 bpm when he seemed to suddenly regain his footing and come clean in the 3rd and 4th.
The final and deciding factor, was however, that the Djoker still has much of discipline and consistency to learn, at the end of the day. And eventually, my heart wept for what might have been, and all the hope that I had been harbouring throughout the entire match.
Perhaps more dramatic than should have been perceived, and perhaps it is such that one should never too much harbour only to have it crushed in front of your very eyes. But at the end of the day, I was clear about one thing: some things are just meant to be. Call it destiny, call it twists of fate, call it life.
Perhaps what made this defeat even more unforgettable was how much my tennis experience had changed over the past 2 years or so. I remembered the days of me and Lynn - when we would be within the same time zone and easy contact of each other when watching matches. How she would always understand this perhaps 'over the top' excitement.
Then I remembered how the last time a similarly epic encounter had occurred between these two men, there had always been that one person who would be sharing my nerve-wracking palpitations and cheering me on to never lose faith in my Djoker.
This year, it was JH who had to listen to my outbursts about this French Open semifinal - with a "What is wrong? Who is Djoker playing?"
And then after that, "What??? Since when was Djoker World No. 1????"
At the end: Nadal walked away with the trophy for the 8th time as expected.
Sometimes though, fate tugs this way rather than the other.
Next year, I will be there. And perhaps next year, it will be Novak Djokovic who will be the new King of Clay.
