The Moment comes at the start of the third set. Nobody in tennis can spot a Moment like Novak Djokovic. The Moment is where he lives, breathes, puts gluten-free food on his family’s table. What happened before was irrelevant. You can rattle and bully him. You can pummel him off Centre Court for an hour, as Jannik Sinner has done. Djokovic will still prowl the chain-link fence all evening, probing it, waiting for the one gap wide enough to let him squeeze through. The point of greatest weakness is where he finds his greatest strength.
Sinner’s at 30-30 on his own serve. A defensive backhand from Djokovic sits up invitingly in mid-court, pleading to be dispatched. The world No 1, utterly impeccable to this point, swings a giant fist at the ball and somehow sends it flying in the vague direction of Tooting Broadway. The crowd yelps in shock. Next point Sinner nets a weak forehand, Djokovic raises a fist of defiance, and in the space of a few minutes – plus a few extra for the now-traditional Djokovic treatment break – this particular Italian job has had its bloody doors blown off.
