What is it with Novak Djokovic? At times you get the feeling the greatest player in the history of men’s tennis could walk out to face a vaping, white-shorted Phillip Schofield, or a Just Stop Oil pensioner on a wildcard, and this most gushing of arenas, a Centre Court that loves nothing more than to fawn over its champions, would still shout “Go on Phillip” or “Let’s Go Oil”, just to break the day up a little.
On a slow-burn Wednesday afternoon Djokovic did what he tends to do in these early rounds, easing his way up through the revs, refamiliarising himself with his grass‑court movements, the preternatural flex and twang on the baseline, the pitter‑patter dashes to the net.
