Watching Wimbledon this week, I witnessed the most remarkable sight.
A kid was playing a senior player in the tournament. His opponent slipped on the grass, twisting his ankle. The boy immediately ran to his side and knelt beside him until a medico arrived. That kid was twenty-one-year-old Carlos Alcaraz Garfia, known affectionately as Carlitos.
Carlitos began his professional career at fifteen. By the time of this match, he’d been ranked #1 for 36 weeks in 2022, until injured, and beaten Novak Djokovic, the most prolific player in history, at Wimbledon in the previous year. And he did it after losing 1-6 in the first set, surviving a 25-minute game with 20 deuces, eventually defeating the champion in his own backyard.
The boy-wonder has brought a breath of fresh air to the sport. Carlito leaves an impression of a child innocently playing with toys among grown-ups. Don’t be fooled. His “toys” are a deadly combination of power strokes converted in an instant to whisper-soft drop shots. He has the uncanny ability to change his style of play in seconds, leaving his opponent flat-footed. His shots are eye-catching: a high lob return scooped out of the farthest corner of the court over a 6’4” opponent at the net, having a spin that lands the ball with hardly a bounce; forehands and backhands equally devastating. The list goes on of his miracles on court. All the while, his smiles never recede nor his genuine praise of his opponent when beaten.
In fifty years of spectating, I have seen geniuses in the game deliver the most impossible of shots—astonish and bewitch their fans—yet never win a major tournament. In my youth, Ilie Năstase was a wizard on court—a showman nonpareil. Despite his brilliance, Năstase held the number 1 spot for a matter of a few months in the span of the 20 years he served the profession. These days, my heart goes to Gael Monfils, now in his last days on the circuit, also with 20 years under his belt. Once again, a player with all the dazzling shots with flair in abundance, never reached beyond the semi-finals in any grand slam tournament.
It seems that consistency, discipline, and basic shot-making knock flair and genius out of the park.
That tenet applies to our lives throughout.
Take me and my 40 years of dedication to Scrabble.
Last Thursday at my club, I played AECIDIA and TEPALS. Neither word was challenged. My score for the two turns, over 120 points. I still lost. Why?
Despite having ample time (we play with chess clocks), I couldn’t be bothered to track my opponent’s remaining tiles. Instead, I played BUBO, which appealed to me. My adversary placed all his remaining tiles (R,I,E,S ) on the only spot available( under a C), which I could have blocked, then won the game at the next turn. But it wasn’t my style.
If I had stuck to the basics, I could have won a myriad more. Would I have been any happier changing my ways to become a champion?
Today, Carlitos seems to have it all—the joy and the success.
As with millions of others, I loved cheering Federer on for the same reason. Roger, you can breathe a sigh of relief. Now you DO have someone worthy of taking your mantle.
