The French, Paris and Chatrier live an endless deja vu. Different actor, same stamp. From the outgoing king to the incoming prince, passing through those other Spaniards, ten in total, who also left their mark on the great temple. earthling. The deep, artistic and guerrilla footprint of Carlos Alcaraz is already recorded in the history of Roland Garros, who hits, fights, suffers, resists, gets up and, finally, wins, thus rounding off this last great work based on guts; recovering, let’s say, on the copper sand before Alexander Zverev, the German giant surrendered because there is no way to control that boy’s overflowing tennis and he understands with resignation, what remedy, that what has to be, will be, and what has to happen , happens. The climb, this track and the epic is unstoppable: 6-3, 2-6, 5-7, 6-1 and 6-2, in 4h 19m. From New York to London, and from there to the Bois de Boulogne, 16th arrondissement. Cement, grass, sand. All the boxes are now unlocked; No, this time, without a harrowing immersion in the well.
It was sensed and presumed that the Murcian could do great things, but perhaps not so quickly. He is 21 years old, but history already tells us that no one had ever conquered the three surfaces so quickly, with such precocity or surely with all that ease. The 21st century, or nomadism and adaptation, there is no other option. Rafael Nadal did it with 22, the Swiss Roger Federer with 27, the Serbian Novak Djokovic at 29. Only seven chameleons They had achieved it. And there he shines now, a total tennis player, winning genetics. The finals, he said out of hand on Friday, “are not to be played but to be won,” and today forces us to an exercise in extreme competition. But another trophy travels to El Palmar, Murcia. Happiness there. It is half past seven in the afternoon, the cold wind is blowing and the sun, always at odds with this city, is fading. He receives the Musketeers’ Cup for the first time, from the hands of a certain Björn Borg. The Swede conquered six, four of them successive. It’s not a bad example.
“We have had a hard time in the last few months with the injury. [en el antebrazo derecho], returning to Madrid and I didn’t feel well. The following weeks with many doubts, coming here to Paris without training much… So I am very grateful for the people I have around me. I know that each one gives me their heart to make me improve and grow as a player and person. I call you a team, but you are a family,” says Alcaraz, The Last Conqueror, seductive since it stuck its head in among an elite that has recently discovered a new version, surely the most appropriate to take over a territory that requires as much shine as sweat. The clay, terrain of strategists and working souls, the pick and the shovel; virguerías, yes, but also a lot of paddling, a lot of head and a lot of rolling up one’s sleeves. Descent to hell. “Get down to their fighting level!” Ferrero says, fearing that everything could go wrong. And so it happens. Good weather, more than two very long hours of gale and convulsions. Only suitable for very robust minds.
The duel is in the second set and has taken a radical turn. Alcaraz comes from a neat, relatively placid opening until the rival’s deep shot becomes indigestible and that authority disappears to lead the situation into a very ugly, very hostile, extremely inadvisable scenario. Clay and its motto: enjoy suffering. Either that or nothing. The opposite means a fall. And everything gets blurred. He misses a clear volley, gives up the break with a double fault and he stumbles between errors, too many, repeat offenders, 14 in this range. “I can’t go back with that ball, I have to catch it quickly! “I can’t, I can’t, it’s crazy!” He addresses the boxes. “Don’t get hot! Trust! Trust yourself! ”Asks his coach, who detects the delicacy of the moment and tries to revive him, because in front of him is Zverev, emerging, and the adverse wave is getting bigger and bigger. Liters and more liters of cold blood come from it.
“It looks like a hard court!”
However, the boy is overcome by excitement. And, unusual for him, he complains, protests all the time and complains to the chair umpire after making a false maneuver on the baseline, when he was hit by a ball from Zverev. There is no fun, there is disapproval: “It’s clay and it looks like a hard court. Is incredible! Incredible!”. He loses focus, he can’t, his advantage disappears (4-2 up) and after conceding two breaks, he reproaches himself, very tense: “You can’t play like that…”. He shoots at an angle and a lot of high balls, let’s see if the German slows down a little, he loses clarity and doubts, but nothing at all. He reengages Sasha entering like a torpedo and charging with determination, but with head; Mr. player now the one from Hamburg, more temperate and with a better record. He usually remembers that injection of sacrifice that David Ferrer gave him in his day and he does not turn his face, firm to what is his, predisposed to what previously cost him so much.
Alcaraz started again with an advantage in the third, but once again he came back and went uneven in his favor, two one up. The Spanish, cornered. His legs and adductors hurt and he requests the assistance of the physio, who when picking up his pants for the massage discovers a bandage on the upper area of his left thigh. He does not escape the right from cramps either. The Grand Slams, marathon long-distance tests that require extra, a lot of heart, that genuine courage that the Murcian shows to right himself and, as it should be, because there is no other way, to get out of the tremendous predicament by leaving everything behind. “Bite, bite!” And the roller coaster continues. And there he goes forward, backhand topspin, break, more Resurrection and savior turned in his favor. The battle was exhausting, more crude than beautiful. “Smile, smile,” she recommends, drawing the boy’s mouth. joker the one who knows his body best, his physio, Juanjo Mazinger Dark. But he grits his teeth. This time he plays like this, friend.
There are days to show off, others simply to fight. And his first coach, Carlos Santos, the same one who accompanied him for the first time in Paris when he was a child, says that it is not a good idea to lock yourself up with him to play five sets. He endorses this episode again: 12 challenges, 11 victories. Zverev maintains his form, does not falter, but pays dearly for the slip, with two bad volleys and a double fault that give Alcaraz an advantage in the final stretch. The Murcian has suits for everything, whether he dresses as Federer in London or Nole in New York or Nadal in Paris; The key is, fundamentally, knowing which one to wear. Already invested in the Philippe Chatrier, covered in sand, he hugs his people and Carlos and Virginia, a dreaming family, cry with emotion. “You are amazing. And you are only 21 years old…”, the German, who misses another train, dedicates to him. Tempus fugit. “All the support you have given me since I was a child is spectacular. When school finished, I ran to turn on the TV and watch this tournament, and now I am raising the trophy in front of you, so thank you very much for this whole trip,” concludes the champion, while those present wonder: How far in the hell will he go? ?
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