By Chris Oddo | @TheFanChild | Friday June 6, 2025
Paris – A great champion met his match tonight in Paris. It wasn’t necessarily Jannik Sinner, the world number one from Italy, who did him in.
it wasn’t anyone, in fact.
Just the winds of time blowing through the sport.
Did it even matter that Novak Djokovic lost tonight’s semi-final against the top seed? Or that he no longer matches up as favorably with the rising elite of the sport?
It depends on perspective. Anyone who heard the crowd roar in support of the 24-time major champion could make the argument that Djokovic’s mere presence in Paris made this Roland-Garros fortnight far better than it would’ve been otherwise.
Every time he plays Djokovic obliterates the record books. Just Wednesday he became the oldest semi finalist in Paris since 1968.
With nostalgia creeping in, we watched the Grand Slam king battle Sinner in his Record 51st Grand Slam on a perfect, crisp Parisian evening.
The greatest player who ever lived? That we can even ask that question speaks volumes.
And there he was, in the flesh. His mannerisms. His unmistakable athleticism. The sound of his strain as he tried to keep up with a relentless 23-year-old phenom.
NOLE! NOLE! NOLE!
The Friday night faithful came out in full. They were dressed well, in business suits and classy attire, fresh from putting an end to their work week in Paris.
The roof open, the setting sun casting its light and illuminating the east side of Chatrier with a golden glow.
They came to see him in the fading light. They came to be wowed, as they always have. But this time there was a tinge of something different wafting through the tribunes.
Evanescence.
Djokovic won the point of the match in the second game of the second set, a rally with more twists and turns than the left bank of the Seine, followed by howls that shook the rafters of the ancient Stade.
“Just a great sense of gratitude for the kind of support that I received tonight,” Djokovic would later say. “Was incredible. I don’t think I have ever received this much support in this stadium in my career in big matches against the best players in the world. So very, very honored to experience that.”
Never mind that Djokovic lost the next two points in that game. The 15,000 who came to clay Mecca on Friday were there for a glimpse into the past; a chance to reconnect wiith that ineffable Djokovician goodness.
It was there! That mind-boggling everywhere-at-once glory that he can play with, when he forces you to feel the effort and the energy he’s putting into it.
Sinner said it well after his win. “It’s amazing to see him still playing this kind of level he produces, and the physical shape he’s in,” he told reporters.
At 2-1 in the second set, this scribe wondered to himself how cool it would be if we just stopped time right there, like they do in the movies. Djokovic, mid split-step. His legs flexing, his back arched perfectly, the racket caressed in front of him, perpendicular to the red clay.
Can we just live in that moment for a while? Enough with the eras ending already.
And in that frozen moment, can we believe that Djokovic could win this match and defeat Alcaraz in the final and steal away with his 25th major? Can we just hope, however fallible the hope may be, that he still has that in him?
He almost did tonight. But almost is a few too many kilometres from a miracle.
In reality, the time doesn’t stop. This isn’t a movie, though those are certainly coming. Time marches on, and so does Jannik Sinner, who handled everything Novak threw at him on Friday and returned it with interest.
Djokovic was so switched-on in this match, and the crowd regaled the great champion with their best Friday night theatrics. There were chants. A Mexican wave. Gasps and groans as he traded blows with the Italian, earned and squandered set points in the third.
Djokovic was turn-back-the-years good. Even he-could-win-Wimbledon-next-month good, but the Italian was better: here-comes-the-future-like-a-bullet-train better. Sinner was confident, electric, composed, creative – invincible – and he put an end to the party in three hours and 17 glorious minutes.
The best that 38-year-old Djokovic had to offer was handled and rudely spit back like a mid-court smash.
Ah, but never mind Sinner. Never mind which player moves on to play Alcaraz in Sunday’s to-die-for final at Roland-Garros. We have tomorrow for that, and another decade to fete the new faces of tennis, at least.
Friday night in Paris was about the Djokovic experience. Raise a glass to two decades of unfathomable excellence. The end is nigh, but not here yet; whatever happens for the rest of Djokovic’s career, if it is anything like tonight, will be something to remember.
Enjoy it while you can.
“I don’t really know what tomorrow brings in a way at this point in my career,” Djokovic admitted, before saying he’s fired up for Wimbledon. “I am going to keep on keeping on.”
Music to our ears.
