Chapter 10: Nadal's Revenge
After seven straight losses to Novak Djokovic, Rafael Nadal turned the tide in the 2012 clay season.
People were all too eager to wonder if Nadal’s spirit had been broken after the 2012 Australian Open final. There was something to the idea—the 2011 losses had hurt badly enough, but here was a match in which Nadal had fought with all his might, fought in a way that altered the match completely, and he had still lost. It was possibly the best match he had ever played without winning. It was an almighty loss, an uber-loss, but a loss nonetheless. How would he recover from that?
While some might have taken the five-hour, 53-minute loss to Djokovic as a sign that their best was not good enough, Nadal was encouraged by his success in the match. He may have fallen short, but he had pushed Djokovic closer to the brink than he had in six tries the previous year, and to do that, he had done many things right. In their immediate matches after the 2012 Australian Open final, Nadal continued to attack earlier in rallies to avoid being locked in unfavorable crosscourt patterns. To the Spaniard, the match was more productive than anything. Before the 2015 Australian Open, he was asked what his favorite memory from the tournament was, and astonishingly, said it was the 2012 runner-up finish more than the 2009 title, since the near-miss gave him confidence he could hang with Djokovic again.
When I talked to Vidakovic about the rivalry, he marveled at Nadal’s eventual resurgence. “Funnily enough, I think Djokovic’s 2011 dominance revealed more to me about Nadal psychologically than about Djokovic,” he told me. “To lose to someone seven times in a row in finals? That’s insane. You’d never recover. If I lose to someone three times in a row in anything, like badminton, I will lose my shit, and I will probably never beat this person again.”
Nadal breaking Djokovic’s winning streak wasn’t the only change after the 2012 Australian Open final. That marathon battle marked a nadir in terms of the physicality of their rivalry. No one wanted to play a six-hour match. Even Djokovic, who had come out on top, couldn’t have been thrilled at how long he had been forced to play. It was time to start attacking earlier in rallies. Against most opponents, Djokovic and Nadal could be as passive as they wanted—five, 10, 15, 20 extra shots in a rally would surely hurt their opponents’ legs more than their own. But when they played each other, both men were equally capable of enduring destructive rallies. When the dust settled, they’d as banged up as their rival. The 2011 U.S. Open final had compromised both players’ bodies, and their very next meeting was almost two hours longer. Something needed to change.
While the best Djokovic-Nadal matches would always be attritional, the clashes would never again be quite so grueling. From here on, their games grew richer. They honed in on what tiny weaknesses they had and tried to exterminate them. They attacked earlier in points to save their legs in case they had to go for 35 shots on a big point. They understood themselves, each other, and the game itself more completely.
Yet that 2011-early 2012 phase was arguably the high point of the rivalry. Nadal and Djokovic were actively making tennis more difficult. Federer was the supreme shotmaker, but he had notable weaknesses in the return of serve and the backhand. In lacking a similar Achilles’ heel, Djokovic and Nadal had essentially doubled the size of every hole in their peers’ games, because they would stick out that much more against the flawless mirror of their own tennis. They had made the game more physical, more explosive. They had made the game wider through their use of angled groundstrokes—getting pulled outside the doubles alley by a sharp, arcing forehand crosscourt became strikingly normal. And when they played against each other, there was simply nowhere to hide. Sets could drag on for an hour and a half, games for twenty minutes. The 2011 U.S. Open final, which was, really, a rout in the end, lasted over four hours and was deemed by some as one of the best matches ever. Then the 2012 Australian Open final dwarfed its predecessor in every way possible.
In the end, it couldn’t last. The matches were simply too physically demanding, and Djokovic and Nadal had to adjust around the monster of attrition they had created. But it was ever so much fun while it lasted.
Clay typically represented a haven for Rafa, but in 2012, there was reason to be wary. Djokovic had won all four sets they had played against each other on the dirt in 2011. And having won the last three major titles, the 2012 Roland-Garros tournament represented a chance for Djokovic to win four majors in a row, a feat that had eluded Federer and Nadal.
As the clay season started, Nadal promptly demolished Djokovic 6-3, 6-1 in the 2012 Monte-Carlo final. The win wasn’t without an asterisk, though—Djokovic’s grandfather had passed away mid-tournament. After learning the news, an emotional Novak had enough in the tank to reach the title match, but against a Nadal who was sharp and eager for revenge, he was flat. Regardless of the circumstances, Nadal had his first win over Djokovic since late 2010.
The first momentous match of the new phase of the rivalry came in Rome. Djokovic and Nadal were still head and shoulders above the rest of the field, turning aside the consistent challenges of Federer, Murray, and Ferrer. Djokovic got Federer in his Rome semifinal and beat him 6-2, 7-6 (4), barely losing a point behind his first serve. Nadal was pushed to a tight tiebreak by Ferrer in his semifinal, but destroyed his countryman 6-0 in the second set.
Nadal’s new tactics came to the fore almost immediately in the 2012 Rome final, their 32nd meeting (to give you an idea of how amazing this is, they were barely halfway through what ended up being their total number of meetings, and they were just 24 and 25 at the time). With Djokovic serving at 15-30 in the first game, Nadal cut an angled crosscourt forehand return of serve, then bashed a forehand down the line into the open space. Djokovic—still a freak of nature defensively—neutralized the point, but eventually Nadal cracked an inside-out forehand, then went behind Djokovic with an identical shot, but at an even more sickening angle. The winner spoke to Nadal’s intent to be offensive as much and as quickly as possible.
Djokovic had chances in the first set, most notably at 5-4, 30-all on Nadal’s serve. The Serb went on the attack, forcing Nadal to play outrageous defense to stay in the rally. On the 21st shot of the rally, Djokovic hit a forehand down the line directly onto the sideline that was called out by the lines judge and promptly overruled by the chair umpire, meaning the point was to be replayed1. After such a grueling exchange that Djokovic had dictated, the wrong call was gut-wrenching and did no favors to his momentum. Nadal went on to win the first set 7-5.
The second set was more comfortable for Rafa, 6-3. His defense had been incredible throughout the match, aggravating an already error-prone Djokovic. Aside from the x’s and o’s, though, Nadal looked more confident. There seemed to be more purpose in his game, less reactionary play and more aggression. It was like he was drawing from the positive parts of the loss in Melbourne, attacking when the opportunity presented itself and patiently defending when Djokovic was on the offensive. For his part, Djokovic was more erratic than in 2011, at times getting worn down by Nadal’s defense. He may have been off his best, but it showed just how incredible the 2011 wins over Nadal on clay had been, and how perfect he had to be to replicate those results. His wins over the Spaniard at Madrid and Rome the previous year had been a breakthrough, but they were not the new normal.
The tournament that mattered most, of course, was Roland-Garros. Despite Nadal dominating the clay season to that point—aside from a freak loss to Verdasco in Madrid, which tried the onetime experiment of blue clay, he hadn’t lost a single set on the dirt in 2012—Djokovic could essentially erase those results by winning in Paris. And as luck would have it, he and Nadal met in the final.
Djokovic had been out of form early in the tournament, falling two sets down to Andreas Seppi and getting dragged to the brink by Jo-Wilfried Tsonga in the quarterfinals (he had to save four match points) but by the semifinals, he was imperious, avenging his 2011 Roland-Garros loss to Federer in straight sets. Nadal, as had become expected, marched to the final with ease.
From the first point of the championship match, a Nadal inside-in forehand winner that zipped by Djokovic, it looked like the pendulum was swinging in Nadal’s direction. He hit his forehand down the line with impunity; his defense forced Djokovic to swing out of his shoes, 2008 and 2009-style, to make headway. The first two sets were shockingly routine—though Djokovic broke serve twice in the first set and once in the second and there were a handful of rallies no other pair of players could have contested, the 6-4, 6-3 scoreline resembled a first-round match as much as a final between the two best players in the world.
Early in the third set, Nadal drove the knife in deeper. Serving to begin the frame, he was down 30-40 after Djokovic found the corner with a Hail Mary inside-out forehand. On the break point, Djokovic got in a deep return and followed it up by brutalizing a forehand down the line. Nadal’s legs blurred as he raced for the ball—one, two, three lightning-quick strides, then the long slide to follow, leaving a streak in the clay—and hit a deep forehand slice that reset the point. Djokovic tried to stay patient, hitting angles to Nadal’s forehand and peppering his backhand, but midway through the rally, Nadal took on a backhand that would typically be a neutral shot and violently yanked it crosscourt. He backhanded Djokovic’s short reply down the line, then emphatically bounced an overhead smash over Novak’s head to seal the point.
It was the perfect rally to demonstrate Nadal’s supremacy on clay. He’d repelled Djokovic’s offense, then from an even position, had dominated his rival with his weaker wing, the same backhand that Djokovic had extracted so many errors from in 2011. Nadal’s forehand has always been his calling card, all the more so on clay, but here he was showing off a new string in his bow. If anything, he looked better than ever. Within moments, he led the match 6-4, 6-3, 2-0. Djokovic’s 27-match winning streak at the majors, apparently, was going to come to an end in a straight-set thrashing.
Then the final took a turn. It started drizzling. The conditions dampened, the heavier clay dragging the ball down into Djokovic’s strike zone instead of the uncomfortable height just above it. Simultaneously, Djokovic started to go for broke, recognizing the near-impossibility of a win from his position. He broke back for 1-2, then dug out a tough hold for 2-all. The ball took a favorable skid off the baseline. Games ticked by: 3-2, 4-2, 5-2, 6-2. The match was back on.
At 15-all in the first game of the fourth set, Nadal serving, Djokovic won a 43-shot rally. “How many people can beat Nadal from the baseline like that?” asked Mary Carillo on the NBC broadcast. (Answer: zero.) At 15-30, Nadal launched a brutal forehand assault: inside-out, inside-in, inside-out, inside-in. After a rally as masochistically long as 43 shots, you typically see one player or the other take the next point off in an attempt to restore an ounce of air to their deprived lungs2. Djokovic ran like hell for all the forehand missiles, essentially doing a suicide drill from sideline to sideline, only to watch helplessly as Nadal flicked an easy drop shot winner with Djokovic stranded miles behind the baseline. This was peak Djokovic-Nadal again: brilliant tennis followed exhausting rallies that seemed to have no effect on either player’s stamina.
And Djokovic looked to be winning the war. He broke Nadal, then held easily for 2-0. After getting steamrolled for two-plus sets by the King of Clay, Djokovic had somehow won eight games in a row. Nadal put that streak to bed with an angry hold punctuated with a vicious inside-in forehand winner, after which the match was suspended until the following day due to the rain picking up, but Djokovic had the momentum.
This was Nadal’s trial. He had established that he could still beat Djokovic physically by storming out to that gigantic lead, but now he had to show he could hold on mentally. Memories of 2011 must have been coming back—he’d been a set up at Indian Wells and Miami, he’d been unable to outlast Djokovic in New York…what would happen here, now that Djokovic looked like the player who Nadal had been unable to beat for seven straight matches? A record-breaking seventh title at Roland-Garros was on the line, but more crucially at stake was Nadal’s ability to beat Djokovic when it mattered. If he couldn’t do it here, at his favorite tournament, after going up two sets and a break, could he ever do it again? What would that say about his legacy?
Nadal was intent on not finding out. Day Two was intense immediately. Desperate to maintain his break lead in the fourth set, Djokovic netted an easy forehand at 30-all and immediately whacked his head with his racket, hard, three times. With the help of a net cord on the following point, Nadal broke back, and from there, he controlled every point possible with his forehand. Djokovic, the supreme returner, never tasted another break point. On game point at 3-all, Djokovic scraped back an inside-out thunderbolt from Rafa’s forehand; the next one bent at such a short angle crosscourt that a disgusted Djokovic gave up the chase.
Two points away from victory, Nadal pummeled a trio of forehands into the right corner. The second sent Djokovic to his left in the hopes of anticipating Nadal’s putaway, the third flew past him. Djokovic’s arm was heavy as he served down championship point. He’d made it to the final by the skin of his teeth only to run into the best possible version of Nadal, who had already reversed the tide of their matches in 2011. He was too quick, that forehand of his too damn deadly, and finally the pressure of it all caught up with Novak. His second serve drifted long.
Nadal, on the fourth attempt, had broken Djokovic’s hold over him at the major level. In a way, the chase-down mirrored how he had overcome Federer at Wimbledon years before—lose, lose, lose, but get closer and closer while doing so and never stop believing in a win—but this effort felt more momentous. Nadal had no matchup advantage with Djokovic, no potentially flimsy backhand he could target at will. Rather than simply improving the tools he already had, Nadal had to mine his brain for new tactics to get on top of Djokovic, not to mention cast off the mental shackles of losing seven straight finals to the Serb. It was an enormous challenge; expecting a player to rebound from losing seven matches in a row to the same rival, who doubled as the best player in the world, is a hell of a standard. Yet Nadal had done it. He had needed time, as did his forehand, but he had followed through with a flourish.
Both he and Djokovic needed some time to recover from their battles. They had played 10 times in a year and a half, including four straight major finals. Nadal’s knees failed him again, forcing him out of the Olympics and the entire U.S. hard court swing. Djokovic’s invincible aura and high from 2011 had faded. He was still a constant threat to win big titles, but lost key matches to Federer at Wimbledon and Murray at the U.S. Open. Federer, having won his 17th major in London, had another stint at #1. By the end of the season, it was more of a “Big Four” than ever—each man had one major from 2012 to their name.
The drop-off from that insane 10-match series made sense. Djokovic and Nadal were forcing each other to the limit every single time they played; at some point, sustaining that intensity was going to prove impossible. The physical feats weren’t helping the already injury-prone Nadal keep his body together, while Djokovic couldn’t just snap his fingers to wipe away the blood his rivals smelled in the water after going hungry for so long in 2011.
But both would be back at their best before long.
For what it’s worth, Nadal got the ball back with a relatively deep forehand slice.
I’ve never had to play a point that tiring in my club-level tennis matches, but if I did, rest assured I’d swear off exercise for the rest of the month.
Thanks so much for reading The Golden Rivalry. Until I wrote the conclusion, I hadn’t realized Djokovic and Nadal had played 10 times in a period of barely over a year. That’s absolutely surreal—surely the hottest this rivalry burned over its 59 editions. Not that there isn’t more great stuff still to write about! I’ll see you Wednesday. -Owen