Whether Novak Djokovic is playing hurt,as in injured,or playing hurt,as in playing up his injury,he’s hurting everyone else.
At intervals,Djokovic feels his hamstring. The rest of the time,his opponents are made to feel hamstrung. However much or little pain he is bearing at his end of the court,it’s doubly painful at the other.
On Monday night,it was Alex de Minaur,who was brave but outclassed. On Wednesday night,it was Andrey Rublev,a better-equipped player,the No.5 seed,a serial quarter-finalist. It didn’t matter.
On current indications,Djokovic’s going to flex and flinch and frown his way to a 10th Australian Open title. It’s only two matches away.
That’s not to say or suggest he’s a drama queen. He clearly has an issue. It just means that even as he advances,his disposition on court is more agitated and aggravated than usual. He’s a perfectionist. He doesn’t like to be made to feel uncomfortable on a tennis court.
This is not Derek Redmond at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics,tearing his hamstring off the bone in the 400 metres,but limping to the line anyway on the shoulders of his father. This is a twinge to the most commonly hurt muscle in sport,catching every now and then,limiting Djokovic in some aspects of his regimen,annoying him,but expertly managed by specialists between matches and manageable on the court.
Djokovic manages it – it attests to his genius that he can trim his game to fit – but that does not mean it does not irk him.
So it was that the supreme player of this time grimaced and groaned and growled and all the while drove Rublev into the court.