Just five games. And to think we thought our Aussie battler had an equal chance.
Madness.
There was no contest in the Novak Djokovic obliteration of Alex de Minaur – how could there at 6-2 6-1 6-2 – but no one will be asking for their money back.
Tennis Australia, if it dares, can throw in a serious price hike for Djokovic’s remaining masterclasses at Melbourne Park this year and even the most miserly should stump up.
“It was the best day of the tournament,” Djokovic said.
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We can’t say we weren’t warned.
When Andrey Rublev, on beating Holger Rune, did his mandatory winner’s chat on Rod Laver Arena shortly after 6pm, he told TV’s John Fitzgerald that he wished he was in the other quarter of the draw.
Novak is one hell of a next opponent, he said, before a flood of other Djokovic eulogies.
Fitzgerald should have stopped the Russian there but, correctly, reminded him that Djokovic in the next round was not yet an absolute, that the Serb had to overcome an Aussie first.
Embarrassed, Rublev remembered there was another round still to be played.
A few hours later Alex de Minaur was thrown from the tournament and everyone knew exactly where the Russian was coming from.
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Novak Djokovic for 10 Australian Open titles this Sunday? For 22 major titles and then 23 come Wimbledon in July? Put your house on it and your neighbour’s. The Serb is that good.
Rather than deriding our Aussie for failing to keep pace with Djokovic, we might better reflect on the genius of the 35-year-old Serb.
Like his 1990s equivalent Pete Sampras, who arguably never achieved the all-consuming public acclaim he merited, Djokovic has taken his sport to new and uninhabited fields and somehow done it on the quiet.
He does not have the panache or muscle of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal but has steadily bricked his way to the top.
Point after point he stands in the middle of the court just behind the baseline and booms forehands and backhands to the far corners, his opponents helpless.
Oddly it is not always thrilling, but it is always brilliant and was the same template for every one of the 126 minutes on Monday night.
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It was only the outcome we’d hoped would be different as just before play began, spectators scrambled around like ants outside on the way to their seats, purpose absolute. This was the main event, the showdown, the payback.
Inside the house was full save for several spaces in the six rows or so of padded, prime seats in RLA’s Royal Box equivalent, a china-plated dinner somewhere nearby presumably still being served.
Without the sun but the roof still open on a clear day, RLA feels larger at night. It felt like Melbourne but the night felt bigger than that too and so it proved.
The strapping around the Djokovic left thigh was slimmed down – it was OK he said afterwards – and as a propping up attempt, did the job to perfection. We would not have expected anything less.
“I have been taking a lot of pills to mask the pain,” Djokovic said. “No, not those kind of pills, anti-inflammatories.”
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Games one to five went with serve – cracking baseline rallies routine – before Djokovic stepped up matters to break to love in the sixth game. He followed by holding serve to love and the set was done.
De Minaur was puppy-like in his enthusiasm but Djokovic had come in several levels up on his previous dIsplays this AO, second week syndrome, the business end of the fortnight.
The platitudes, indeed homage at times, to his enduring love for Australia go on yet the feeling that his deportation a year ago is all the motivation he needs is enduring. He has not flown to Australia to go home without the Sir Norman Brookes trophy.
Thirty five minutes in and the first set was done. The VIPs, perhaps sensing this was to be a quicker night than previously thought, had now filled their best seats allocation to bulging.
This was a night at the opera more than a day at the races, green-and-gold cheer squads curiously absent and the atmosphere was bubbly more than boiling over.
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De Minaur turns 24 next month and is a fine player, top-20 material and perhaps a little more if he can touch more gravitas. It is not in his wherewithal though to challenge Djokovic. Indeed, who can?
Demon skipped about on winning a rare point in an attempt to hype up the crowd while Djokovic chose the less frenetic route and merely peered back from across the net, energy conservation absolute.
Although Djokovic had stepped up, even his serve seemed relaxed, 11 bounces first ball, seven on the second, forcing the pace always, rarely straying from the baseline.
His injury narrative should stop now. Players are rarely 100 per cent fighting fit and Djokovic simply falls into this camp. Nothing in his movement, other than a reconstructed play to move around a little less perhaps, hints at anything less than full dexterity and drive.
He broke again the second game of the second set and soon it was 3-0 and halfway over.
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There is a positive for Demon in that he might reflect on the 2019 final here when Djokovic brutally dismantled Nadal from the first point, the great Spaniard fortunate to come away with even eight games at that night’s end.
Maybe Monday night was payback by Djokovic for simply being a national of the country that deported him 12 months ago.
More likely, Demon, who scuttled about all night long, just came up against a man who wants to be remembered as the greatest player ever.
Which on this form, it is almost impossible to argue against.
