Cameron Norrie at the semi-final hurdle and Novak marches to Wimbledon Final.
It goes without saying that Cameron Norrie did his utmost to reach a Wimbledon Final. In fact he restored our faith in British tennis. Since the departure of Andy Murray in an earlier round, British tennis must have resigned itself to the fact that we'd have to wait another 75 years to win the most high profile and socially important date on the sporting calendar. The men's singles has never enjoyed such a high profile since none of us know when. But yesterday you began to believe that those high days of summer at SW19 could still take pride of place in our sporting consciousness.
Sadly, Britain came tantalisingly close to producing another men's singles Wimbledon winner but then Norrie was facing perhaps one of the world's most accomplished tennis players and there were moments during the opening set when Novak Djokovic was extremely flawed, wobbly, jittery and vulnerable. Realistically Norrie should have been back in his locker room much sooner than he did. This said much for the complete dominance Norrie exerted over Djokovic in an amazingly one sided first set.
Privately there must have been a part of us that wanted Norrie to wipe the floor with the classiest tennis all court player at the moment. It could be said that he took the tall Croatian to the cleaners quite comprehensively in the first set, powering his returns from Djokovic's first service with a single minded ruthlessness, an almost dramatic intensity and a bloody minded callousness that always threatened. Britain elevates its sporting heroes to the highest plateau when all seems lost. Norrie almost found a platform of his own.
But then reality came crashing into the Centre Court and most of us were happy to admit that Norrie had shown enough gallantry and really didn't need to apologise. He was, after all, only 26 and there's plenty of time, time to compose different tactics, even more surprising approaches to the net and even more subtle variations that will leave most of another discerning Wimbledon crowd speechless with astonishment. He still has time and, for yet another typically patriotic Wimbledon audience, this will have to suffice.
So here we were at the spiritual home of British tennis. The umpires sat high on their new, gleaming chairs, the score board was ticking over quite efficiently and there was a sea of panama hats wherever you looked. The bright summer sunshine reminded us of Wimbledon glory days gone past. Essentially Wimbledon is the official definition of summer in England; all polite manners, graciousness in defeat, naturally partisan when a Brit wins, effusive in its praise of the opponent and full of adulation for the winners.
Yesterday Wimbledon was perhaps resigned to its fate, tolerant in the face of adversity and, more or less prepared to accept that class and experience would inevitably tell. After all, Djokovic has done it all, winning most of the Grand Slams, travelling the global circuit in the sure knowledge that he can still win the big matches with some assurance and comfort. The years may be catching up on him and the twinges could require more medical attention in the long term but the Croatian once again gave an exemplary display of stunning craftsmanship. The ball, at times, almost had a mind of its own.
You found yourself wondering whether Norrie would ever kick on after the first set, building momentum, taking the game away from Djokovic point by point, game by game. But the man born in Johannesburg, South Africa, who once had connections with New Zealand and whose parents were Scottish and Welsh, couldn't quite muster the energy and resourcefulness that might have been crucial.
And yet after an explosive and dynamic first set, Djokovic woke from his early morning nap but not before Norrie had gone through a remarkable combination of powerfully whipped forehand returns, punishing first serves, authoritative back hands predominantly double fisted but never afraid to use just the arm and the natural follow on with high shoulders. Then there were the discreet drop shots, yet more impressive forehands that were blasted forcefully at Djokovic before the cunningly delivered slices, the gentle dinks over the net and then galloping across the court to play the cross court diagonal shots that whistled past the Croatian.
Now Djokovic brought out another set of watercolours, a mixture of masterpieces and brilliant exhibition tennis, shots of varying degrees of power, real assertiveness, cleanly delivered fluency and decisive control. With the onset of age, the shrewd selection of his forehands made it impossible for Norrie to read the Croatian's mind. Now the British great hope for the future lost his sense of direction. The Djokovic ammunition had now become lethal. Norrie knew the match would inexorably slip away from him. And it did.
After Djokovic had lost the first set 6-2, he would now level up the match with a handsome second set victory wrapped up with a convincing 6-3 set. By now Norrie began to look overwhelmed and stage struck, the ball now no longer obeying his command and the traditional writing was on the wall. There was a renewed sense of purpose and conviction about the Djokovic game that hadn't been evident in the first set. Djokovic returned some of Norrie's strokes masterfully and conclusively, bewildering rallies that seemed to last for an eternity, now finishing in miraculous drop volleys, winning games he had no right to get a racket on and ferocious forehands that resembled bullets at times.
Now Djokovic closed out the third set with yet another compendium of classical passing shots across and down the tramlines, winners laced with huge intelligence and a sensitivity of touch that rolled back the years quite frequently. The wrists were rolling, world class oozing from every pore. Soon Djokovic had thundered his way towards the end game for Norrie, the old days were coming back and the Croat fairly raced to victory in the third set 6-2. Norrie was vanishing like a late night star in the sky. There was no way back for him and after a blistering barrage of shots heavy with top spin and slice, volleyed beauties that Norrie probably didn't see and the full Djokovic artillery.
The patient crowd, now basking in the gorgeous sun and heat of a balmy Wimbledon afternoon, felt as they had just witnessed one of those matches at Wimbledon that none would have objected to had it finished at midnight. Some of us wanted the match to go on for much longer. But there was no specific time frame and everybody had feasted on this meal with a ravenous appetite. Djokovic promptly won the fourth and final set 6-4 and by now the Wimbledon champion had shown exactly why this was the case.
The Croatian had reached another Wimbledon Final and Britain briefly sighed with disappointment, acutely aware that their man Norrie would definitely be back at SW19 again last year. After all Andy Murray, with admirable perseverance, eventually won the men's singles. It was Friday afternoon, the rush hour was underway and the gentleman from Croatia had declared his credentials. A men's singles title is yours for the taking, Novak Djokovic. This could be your Sunday.
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