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.
In the process Djokovic eased his way past Jordan Thompson, the world No 70, and into the third round with a fine-margins, always‑comfortable 6-3, 7-6 (4), 7-5 win. Thompson was game and agreeably fearless in his dashes to the net, his running drives, his use of the angles. But he was playing tennis against history here.
This was Djokovic’s 41st successive win on this court, achieved by doing just enough at just the right moments, but with the sense, of course, of much deeper gears.
As the players came slinking into the five o’clock sunshine the cheers around Centre Court had carried an edge of genuine event-glamour. Djokovic has an additional status now, with no Serena and no Rafa, with Roger reconfigured as beaming box-candy.
Tennis has been blessed for so long with an unusually fertile seam of serial winners. These things are cyclical. The sun also rises. There will be fresh hall-of-famers. But right now Novak is out there lapping the track on his own.
He did enough here, serving out the opening game in just over a minute, then keeping his opponent at arm’s length throughout. Thompson has a low-toss serve with a genuine follow-through, like a fast-medium bowler bounding down to have a word at the other end. He served with great accuracy, clipping the lines, finding the corners.
Djokovic inched up the pressure in the sixth game, breaking via a deuce with a low, hard backhand return. The first set was safely stowed away on the half-hour. But still Thompson hung in there gamely, punching his volleys, and howling with anguish as he sprinted in and dumped a chance to go 30-40 on the Djokovic serve low into the net.
You don’t get many of these chances, because Djokovic never really lets his levels dip, remains the same high-quality substance at every moment of every game in every match. In fact, it is hard to think of a more obviously extreme athlete in any discipline. Aged 36, Djokovic isn’t just out there being quite good at tennis or loitering near the summit. He’s still summoning feats of sporting ultimacy, winning six of the past eight grand slam tournaments he’s been allowed to play, still functioning even now – can we just say it these days? – as the greatest men’s tennis player to lift a racket.
Those class-leading 23 grand slam titles look ever more startling as his peers drop away. Not to mention the record number of weeks at No 1, a status he can regain here by going beyond Carlos Alcaraz in the tournament. And all of this from a position of slight outsider-dom, never quite the darling, not quite the bad guy but the slightly less preferred guy.
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“Come on, stop him Jordan,” a voice yelled in semi-sarcastic despair midway through the second set. At least David Beckham was here, coiled handsomely in the royal box in camel-coloured blazer, a man who even in middle age still successfully veers between looking either like he’s just off to ride his BMX or on his way to act as a life-sized celebrity wedding-cake figurine.
There were signs of a little Djokovic rustiness in the second set as Thompson continued to play with a light touch and endless hustling energy. It went to a tie-break. Thompson served a double fault, his first of the match, and tightened up as Djokovic levelled his sights and began to reel off the aces.
The third set was also even, reaching its final pressure point to loud whooping cheers (mainly for the game, scurrying underdog) as Djokovic broke to seal the match. He was, as ever, gracious in victory; and greeted with genuine warmth by the more knowledgable regulars in the crowd, before bustling off for another dinner of seeds, nuts, berries, kale and the elixir of eternal sporting youth.