Rafael Nadal, god of Olympus turned into a mere mortal

The 2008 Olympic champion, a 14-time winner here at Roland-Garros, fell in the second round against his greatest rival, Novak Djokovic. And perhaps played his last singles match on this land that made him king.

The Olympic torch, received from the hands of Zinedine Zidane during the opening ceremony, is perhaps the last trophy that Rafael Nadal will brandish in Paris. Despite the support of a stadium more than ever in love with its legend, the Spaniard celebrated his 38th birthday on Monday, July 29, during the second round of the Olympic Games tennis tournament. Above all, he confirmed, after more than two years of struggles and aborted attempts to return to the top, that he was finally human.

The king without land. The king buries himself. There is something inexorably fatalistic in seeing the ochre that crowned Rafael Nadal gradually slip away from under his feet. The kingdom of Roland-Garros has definitively lost its overlord. Beaten in the first round of the Parisian Grand Slam this season, he abdicated again, this time in the next round, at the Olympic Games. Each time he fell with weapons in hand, whether against Zverev or Djokovic. But he fell nonetheless.

Even before the start of the 60th act of the most frequent confrontation in the history of tennis, there was an end-of-reign atmosphere at Porte d’Auteuil. The stands were quickly taken by storm and never had the seats in the press stands been so contested. Aware of the historical significance of the event, the court rushed to come and greet their king. “Maybe this is the last time I play on the Chatrier. Maybe not,” he had said, with a mischievous look and a crooked eyebrow, at the pre-match press conference.

It would be cruel to go back over the first hour of this match, as there was almost none. Rafael Nadal, whose ball had this frightening heaviness when he was at his peak, no longer has the physical commitment necessary to imbue it with weight or velocity. His shots now float at the level of the service box, when they are not off-center, and no longer bother Djokovic at all as in the past. The master of the place may curse himself, hit himself on this cursed thigh that has handicapped him for months, but nothing works. The games go by and the specter of a humiliation, what’s more at the hands of his ancestral rival, makes Roland shiver. Everywhere, the unease is palpable.

Trailing 6-1, 4-0, the Bull of Manacor feels his last gasps escape him. Too much suffering, too much pain, too much frustration. But if we have to keep an image of Nadal in Paris, it won’t be this one. If it’s the last dance, we might as well dance, right? Suddenly, Nadal finds his anger again, his 20-year-old legs, his eye as black as an aurochs and his forehand. Each point is a wave that makes the Chatrier tremble. Each point brings Nadal closer to the player he once was.

But, alas, one cannot be and have been. Even when one is called Rafael Nadal. Caught up by the passing of time, which seizes and rusts, the Spaniard’s clocks remain stuck at 4-4. The mirage will have lasted only a few minutes but it will have been magnificent. It will have reminded us that, even diminished, the man with 22 Grand Slams remains this ancient hero who never gives up. A hero who will therefore not win a second Olympic gold medal after his singles title in 2008 but who, associated with Carlos Alcaraz in doubles, will try to prolong his love affair with Paris for a few more days. It must be believed that the gods of Olympus appreciate their stay on earth.