Something Like Armageddon

by Pete Bodo

Somehow, we all knew, or hoped, that sooner or later it would come down to this—sooner being the Madrid Masters, later the Italian or French Open. We could have predicted it when Novak Djokovic tagged Rafael Nadal in the final at Indian Wells, we became convinced when, stealing some of the iron-man thunder that usually belongs to Nadal, Djokovic scored a final-round knockout of Nadal in the big event in Miami.

And truth be told, sooner made more sense than later (tennis in general is very friendly to The Epic, V. 2.2, 3.4, 11.2). You could feel that in the air in Madrid this week, feel it as the two best players on the planet at this moment marched in something like lockstep toward what is going to happen on Sunday, which is something like Armageddon. World No. 1 Nadal and No. 2 Djokovic will play the Madrid final tomorrow, and by the end of the day one of two remarkable streaks will have ended. Either Nadal will be 37-1 in his last 38 matches on clay, or Djokovic will be 33-1 in 2011. Someone will wind up very sad. The other guy will breath a deep sigh of relief and wonder if they'll have to go through all this again in Rome, and then Paris.

In other words, they marched under a canopy of the inevitable, ensuring that this will be like some other monumental battles Nadal has played in the recent past. Those were against a guy with great hair, tomorrow's will be against a guy whose head is like a Chia pet but whose heart no longer buckles the way it sometimes did in the past, even when he hammers away at it with his fist.

You want an inkling of what it might be like Sunday? The last time these men played in Madrid was 2009, and they produced a match that makes the all-time Top 5 list of many pundits'. That one was a semifinal, won after 243 minutes (4 hours, 3 minutes) and a score of 3-6, 7-6 (5), 7-6 (9) by Nadal. Can they top that show?

You just watch.

The sense of inevitability leading up to this pairing was underscored in the semifinals today, in which Nadal struggled against his original and still favorite rival, Roger Federer. Nadal won, 5-7, 6-1, 6-3, and it was as if Djokovic then decided that he, too, would have to experience some perilous moments just so nobody could say, when the dust settles on Sunday, that he was fresher than Nadal.

Djokovic was heavily shelled by Thomaz Bellucci, who was playing in his first Masters Series semi, for a set-plus, but he survived the bombardment and, like his opponent tomorrow, won going away: 4-6, 6-4, 6-1.

In Nadal's semi with Federer (who ever thought a meeting between these two would feel like an undercard battle?), the all-time Grand Slam singles title champion started terribly, spraying balls all over the place. Serving the very first game, Federer had 40-30, went for the ace, and missed—but barely. I couldn't help but think that in another time and another place, Federer would have made that ace and somehow it would be clear to one and all that we were in for a titanic battle.

Alas, Federer threw in a double-fault and played an awful deuce point and there was the break. You could almost hear the collective groan of the crowd. I wondered, How does Rafa feel, seeing the guy who once struck mortal terror in his heart play like this? I know he's a competitor and all that, but doesn't he at some level feel . . . sorry. . . for Roger?

Whatever it was that then inspired Nadal to play almost as poorly in the very next game (I doubt it was pity, but I wouldn't rule out unconscious sympathy) allowed Federer to marshall his resources, and he made the most of it. His game improved, enough for him to win the first set. Thus stung, Nadal lifted his game and Federer faded.

Is it just me who thinks that these days, Federer is behaving like a wounded cougar? He's hurt and backed into a corner. He doesn't have whatever it is that spurs the cat to abandon all caution and confidently  leap at his enemy's throat, all claws and hissing. Instead, he waits, lashing out now and then with a paw. That killer instinct seems shaken and damaged. But there in his corner, the wounded cougar is still extremely dangerous and capable, and must be approached and subdued with extreme care.

Bellucci, the other losing semifinalist, presented a wonderful contrast. Riding the best streak of his life and seemingly in possession of the confidence, determination and aplomb that never jelled to become a perrmanent feature of his competitive make-up, Bellucci took the game right to Djokovic. He put the No. 2 seed through his paces and threw a scare into him when he won the first set and broke serve early in the second.

But the pull of destiny—as well as Djokovic's all-bases-covered game—prevailed. When you've won 32 matches in a row, you've earned the right not to panic when down a set and a break, and you've learned that the entire tide can turn on a forehand here, a service return there. Nadal has the right to feel like he owns the red-tinged world. Djokovic is entitled to believe he owns the universe, at least until Nadal—or someone else—cuts him down. In a way, the surface has nothing to do with it. And that, I believe, is going to be Nadal's biggest problem and challenge tomorrow.

Never mind that Djokovic has never beaten Nadal on clay. When you lose a third-set tiebreaker 11-9, you've played just as good a match as the other guy. Never mind that Nadal leads the head-to-head by an impressive 16-9. That was then, this is now. The most impressive quality in Djokovic recently has been his. . . energy. His Nadal-esque ability and willingness (and perhaps even desire) to play as long a point as the other guy wants, without giving ground. Djokovic and Bellucci played a 34-shot rally yesterday (and many that went 20-plus strokes), and Djokovic won the point. You kind of knew he would.

What I said up above about the two men marching in lockstep toward this final is true metaphorically, but not quite accurate when it comes to how the men arrived there. Apart from the Federer match, Nadal has had it pretty easy. He wasn't even obliged to play his third-round match against a man who can give him all the trouble he wants, Juan Martin del Potro (Delpo pulled a hip muscle in the previous round and ran the white flag up the pole). Rafa didn't give up more than three games per set until the semi.

Djokovic, by contrast, has played back-to-back three-setters, which can take their toll in the compressed Masters format. But Djokovic has looked absolutely impervious to fatigue these past few months, and it's unlikely he'll feel heavy-legged tomorrow.  You get the sense that Nadal has been waiting for this match, or not allowing himself to wait for it (which pretty much amounts to the same thing), since the last two Masters events. He's entitled to feel that his moment, the moment of payback, has arrived.

But let's face it, Djokovic has been forced to wait a whole lot longer, if not for payback then for validation. He knows what so many are saying, the same thing they've said for seeming ages. That Nadal on clay is a different animal altogether. That on his game, he's virtually unbeateable. That certainly seems true, but a guy who's undefeated so far this year has right to challenge the assertion. It seems that at long last, Djokovic is prepared to deal with what might be the ultimate challenge in tennis—taking the measure of Nadal on clay.

The match will belong to the guy who can take control of the baseline and force his opponent to yield ground. That's as close as I can come to a prediction.