Alcaraz grows against Paul and aims for medals

From the boxVirginia tells Carlitos to change his expression. “Like that, like that!” the mother draws with her hands, asking her son to smile and enjoy himself because that way, as we know, everything goes much better. So the Murcian, an obedient boy, puts aside his anxiety, tension and that endless soliloquy —“Come on, come on! Cheer up, man!”—, and re-energizes himself to get out of the hole he has gotten himself into in the second set. Once the request is met and the turn is made —how right mothers always are—, everything changes and the anguish becomes the ideal breeding ground for the Spaniard to reverse the dynamic and finally triumph, not without suffering: 6-3 and 7-6(7), in 2h 01m. He is there then, one step away from the medals and, why not, two away from becoming the youngest Olympic champion. In his debut at the Games, the player from El Palmar is already in the semi-finals, where he will face the Canadian Felix Auger-Aliassime (6-4, 6-7(8) and 6-3 against Casper Ruud) on Friday (13.30, Eurosport). Before that, he worked tirelessly and worked up a generous sweat on the centre court.

Because Paul is not one of those players who speculate. With a very defined pattern of play, order and right, very direct and based on a remarkable serve – not so much in terms of power as direction – the American does not offer any cracks and at 27 years old he is heading towards an interesting professional maturity. He is growing and approaching the top-10 of the circuit, crowned at Queen’s this year and already consolidating himself as a rival preferably to avoid. Always with his finger on the trigger, he does not usually think about it and when he lets down his guard he responds with determination. He does not ask. He knows all these virtues of Alcaraz, who reduced him at Wimbledon – despite losing the first set – and tries not to give him rhythm, very applied at the beginning and tangled afterwards. Everything goes smoothly, but as soon as one lowers the intensity a bit, Paul runs over. And so the mess begins.

The Murcian proposes the linearity of these days and in parallel tries to overcome the fatigue he is dragging, but ends up falling into the treacherous whirlpool that the pulse draws in the second set. It has been a marathon this last month and a half, with hardly any respite. Pick and shovel and double ration since landing in Paris. After being proclaimed champion at Roland Garros he went to Queen’s, then to Wimbledon and after two days of rest he started the march again to readapt to the sand and arrive as fit as possible for the Games. This time there was no visit to Ibiza, only rest at home. And once embarked on the Olympic adventure, 21 years in the accreditation, a lot of seriousness and a lot of determination, extra legs and lungs. There are already seven matches in six days. But there is no complaint, he says. It is like that.

“It is what it is, we are tennis players and we are used to this type of situation. The doors to medals have opened. You have to fight and accept it. You have to give everything you have inside in every match.” And so, accepting it, he has successively reduced (doubles aside) Habib, Griekspoor, Safiullin and now Paul, the latter always being tough to beat. He is not one to give up easily.

The American looks for the gap, but the Spaniard reacts to the incursion with force. Seriousness, hierarchy and serve. It’s not a bad formula. When push comes to shove, stripes. Despite his youth, Alcaraz handles the distances of the tournaments with precision and doesn’t let himself be absorbed by the circumstances. He assumes and processes them naturally, and after an emotional afternoon with Nadal, a cat and mouse duel with Paul. The American is a cruiser. Whatever happens, he doesn’t let up, always balanced; neither too high nor too low. He’s a diesel. He knows how to find the Spaniard’s nerves and after the youngster’s accurate start in the first set, he responds forcefully in the second. However, in the same way that he has to disperse and get tangled up, the player from El Palmar has developed an astonishing ease to escape the fire, and from 3-0 and 4-1 against, he goes to 5-5. Only the extraordinary react like that, getting up and hitting.

The final turning point then occurs, the one that tells Paul that he has no escape. Bad idea, allowing Alcaraz to take a breath and grow, not finishing him off. There is a reprieve, so the Spaniard, cylinders, foreshortenings and faith everywhere, climbs onto the rocket and sends a message: throw it to me wherever you want, I’ll get there. Again, Bolt. The Chatrier is speechless. Alcaraz returns with a backhand, out of frame, and then makes a wild ride after a stroll through the Champ-de-Mars, Pigalle and Belleville; he then reaches the right side and connects a winner that leaves the American staggering, who still answers until the final stretch. But the scene repeats itself again, and Alcaraz climbs back onto that unique rocket that teleports him from one side to the other by pressing the button, meteoric, as if it were easy. Of course, it is not; 23×8, the dimensions of a tennis court. And from every corner comes the winner, who hunts down another seemingly unreachable drop shot, makes the final decision and raises his fist: Olympic history, make way for me.

When push comes to shove, Alcaraz takes the plunge.

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