Carlos Alcaraz is repeatedly asked why, why these twists and turns are necessary, which he himself tries to correct, but which are repeated. And the Murcian is self-critical: indeed, the disconnections are there, apparently inevitable, but, fox that he is, he turns the approach around. And now who can beat me, if even entering the lion’s den I stay on my feet again? Certainly not Ugo Humbert, French and left-handed, 26 years old and 16th in the world. He is good. Praiseworthy is the courage and the desire to debate until the end, rebellious, but also surrendered, the Frenchman, like Aleksandar Vukic four days earlier and Frances Tiafoe two days behind. They tried, which is no small thing: 6-3, 6-4, 1-6 and 7-5 (in 2h 58m). The winner is now in the quarter-finals of this Wimbledon, where he will face the American Tommy Paul on Tuesday, who was unbeatable for Roberto Bautista (6-2, 7-6(3) and 6-2, in 2h 02m). Anyone who wants (or can) stand in front of him is warned. The champion continues to grow.
And it is explained, having reached the penultimate round of a Grand Slam for the seventh consecutive time; full, therefore, since she was crowned at the US Open in 2022. “Playing against left-handers is always a bit complicated. At Queen’s I played my first match against one [sobre hierba, Jack Draper, ese día verdugo] and I learned a bit about those cuts that they can make. I felt great today, I think I played at a great level, I tried not to think that I was left-handed and to impose my own style,” he answers on the court, referring immediately to the climax of the afternoon. A Ferrari at full throttle sparkled to seal the second set. Mouths dropped. “I tried to fight for every point in all the places I was on the court. Give myself every opportunity to be there and show my opponent that it doesn’t matter what he does, I’m going to be there. That’s me. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose, but I’m always going to fight for it.”
Despite the lapse, Alcaraz maintains the tone of recent times, since he began to gain momentum in Paris, and competing in this way, even with these detours that he has been having, many fans imagine that it will not be easy for someone to make him bite the dust. The days go by, he counts stations and knows how to escape from the tunnels that he enters from time to time; a pending issue, a powerful virtue at the same time. The adrenaline rush of Friday against Tiafoe is followed by another up and down with Humbert, the Frenchman brave and neat, but equally inclined. He can play better or worse, but he knows how to resolve the tangles and that is worth gold. The idea, then, expands and gains strength; he may be more or less fine, but he prevails by force. He said the other day: “I try to make them not want to play against me, to scare them.” And the rival observes, arms akimbo after the first jolt, and sighs: what is happening here.
The downpour from the storm clouds in south-west London hits hard against the acrylic roof of La Catedral, where at times it is difficult to hear the voice of the chair umpire. Literally. On the other hand, the growing murmur that is generated in the stands when Alcaraz’s right-hander gains inspiration and unleashes those lightning-fast shots, so characteristic of the house, is perfectly audible. The mechanics are delightful, the execution violent. The Murcian already has the break in his pocket and then, the 0-30 against is reduced to nothing with a restorative, sharp burst of services, in the style of those that the old specialists – a few modern actors – proposed to put out fires. Pam-pam-pam; open, to the T, to the body. “More wood, it’s war!” said Groucho. And on to something else. The margin of progression with the serve is generous, but at 21 years of age, the interpretation and the directions he draws must already be taken into account.
“Amazing, I guess…”
After an hour, Humbert desperately presses on, with good judgment but knowing that the escape is doomed to only one path: all or nothing. And the Frenchman launches himself, brave and resilient, but with each attack he finds a denial, slam, slam, slam and slam; four options for escape. break Alcaraz saves in the second set, he is the leader, and that cross-court forehand that seemed definitive reacts with an extraordinary backhand pass, legs and firm racket, academic twist and the ball shaving the inside of the lime during the trajectory. In case anyone had been left without dessert. Strawberries and champagne, and applause and ooohhhs very long in London, where the boy from El Palmar suddenly turns into a flash of lightning that appears here and there, legs for everything, exuberant in the ride. Does he get there? He doesn’t get there, impossible; it can’t be, too difficult. But he believes. Carlitos, all faith.Unbelievable, I guess“Incredible,” he says. And that race alone is worth the entry fee, the obligatory £150 to enjoy today’s event.
Wimbledon is illustrated on the nets: “Alcaraz won this point.” And the frame shows the defeated tennis player, on the grass, before Humbert then opens towards the opposite corner and the rocket gets back up and also arrives, and he keeps up the sprint to catch the volley immediately after and return it again; overwhelmed, the Frenchman ends up returning it long. It can’t be, he says to himself. How the hell did he do it? But that mobility is unique today. He is a tennis player, but surely he wouldn’t be a bad athlete. The story seems like a fairy tale, until another one of those turns comes and he enters that winding territory that he usually visits; perhaps the schedule, perhaps the siesta. And the one in front, proud, has quality, touches the ball well and grows. He snatches the serve four times in a row and closes the third with a parallel backhand that falls plumb on the line. And there, in that moment of confusion, but well known, Alcaraz looks at his opponent. boxHe screams first and then denies: no, not like that.
And things could be much worse because Humbert, 4-3 ahead, has a 0-40 lead. It turns out that the message that Alcaraz spreads about how difficult it is to knock him down has already penetrated the Frenchman’s spirit, who is disjointed at the end. A little smile, now yes. The best medicine. That first right-hand pass doesn’t go in, but he calibrates better and shoots the next one with more spin and more height, fantastically drawn; he angrily harangues the crowd at the centre, who applaud the exchange of slaps and recognise the hegemony of the Spaniard, still unable to get the formidable middle point out of their heads: he is not Usain Bolt, but he comes from Murcia. And his name is Carlos.
“ONE THING IS DISCONNECTIONS AND ANOTHER THING IS NOT FIGHTING”
AC | London
Alcaraz told reporters that he is looking better and better, but that when it comes to grass, movement is essential. “And this year I am moving very, very well. I have started to slide even earlier, and that gives me confidence when it comes to defending,” he said. He also said that he is feeling the ball in his shot and that he is happy with his returns.
“The sensations,” therefore, “could be compared to last year, although anything can happen.” For example, the dreaded disconnections. “They are still there, obviously,” he readily admits; “but disconnections are one thing and not fighting for them is another. Obviously, one of the big things I have to improve are those disconnections, so that they happen as little as possible or last as little time as possible.”
And he goes on to say: “In the third set he broke me and raised his level in a way that perhaps kept me from fighting. Or maybe I got carried away a bit by the way I was playing and didn’t see any room for it. But disconnections, which still happen to me, and not fighting the matches, are totally different things. I always try to fight every game, every point. And whatever happens, happens.”
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