Novak Djokovic ditches spirituality and finds his edge again

Novak Djokovic loses to Hyeon Chung at the Australian Open. Buddha has done him a fat lot of good.

After languishing at 20-something in the world, Novak Djokovic is back on top. Picture: AFP

Novak Djokovic loses to Hyeon Chung at the Australian Open. Buddha has done him a fat lot of good. He’s sitting in a corner of Melbourne Park where the players wait for their angelically white courtesy cars to take them back to their hotels. Djokovic’s head is bowed. He’s slumped in his chair. He’s either meditating or asleep.

He’s lost his way. It’s the sort of existential crisis that may be solved only by a cultural review from Simon Longstaff and the adoption of a players’ pact preferred by Cricket Australia and pony clubs frequented by 10-year-old girls.

This much has become clear: Djokovic has gone soft and he’s losing because of it. He used to play hardball. Now he’s tapping into higher forces. He doesn’t need to ditch the on-court arrogance and bullying. He needs to rediscover them.

Australia’s cricketers want to claw from their crisis by singing: “We recognise how lucky we are to play this great game. We respect the game and its traditions. We want to make all Australians proud. Compete with us. Smile with us. Fight on with us. Dream with us.”

But it doesn’t ring true. It’s too happy-clappy for professional sport. Too airy-fairy for Test cricketers. Unbearably corny.

Similarly, Djokovic has been trying to be something he is not. He used to smash racquets to smithereens in moments of frustration. Now he’s more likely to chant “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” as per the wishes of a spiritual adviser who’s increasingly in his ear.

A more honest and hard-hitting mantra from Djokovic in January is this: “I recognise that this game has become a complete $#@@#$ drag. I respect the fact that I hate it. I want all Serbians to leave me alone. I no longer want to compete. I haven’t smiled since Roland Garros, 2016. I no longer want to fight. I dream of the day I can give it all away.”

He’s a miserable sight. He’s been out-Djokovic’d by a young player who’s meant to be nothing more than a Djokovic clone.

He moves slowly to his car. The limp is too pronounced. He’s gotta be bunging it on. It brings to mind a quote from Andy Roddick about the early-years Djokovic who was forever complaining about illnesses and injuries. Roddick has taken his seat in interview room one at Flushing Meadows and listed the Serb’s latest ailments.

“Both ankles,” Roddick says. “And a back. And a hip. And a cramp. Bird flu. Anthrax. SARS. A common cold …”

Funny. Because it’s true.

Djokovic is driven away from Melbourne Park. He stares ahead like a dumped prime minister ­ignoring the camera flashes at his window. He’s been beaten in straights sets on a court so suited to his relentless method of never miss, never miss, that he may have cooked up the surface himself. He appears physically weak. Lead-footed. Hunched over. He’s hit groundstrokes with exasperated groans rather than powerful grunts. His breathing has been quick. Panic-stricken. Upon the departure of this $300 million athlete to his six-star hotel, you figure the poor bastard is done and dusted. The end of the Djokovic era.

The season rolls on, the scores roll in. He loses to Taro Daniel at Indian Wells. Ankles. He loses to Benoit Paire at Miami. Back. He loses to Dominic Thiem at Monte Carlo. Hip. He loses to Martin Klizan at Barcelona. Cramp. He loses to Kyle Edmund at Madrid. Bird flu. He loses to Rafael Nadal at Rome. Anthrax. He loses to Marco Cecchinato at the French Open. SARS. He’s the world No 22, the position previously held by Edmund. That’s Djokovic now. The new Kyle Edmund. He makes the final at Queen’s but loses to Marin Cilic. There’s hope, however. Behind the scenes, he’s ditched someone from his entourage. And brought someone back.

He wins Wimbledon. And Cincinnati. And the US Open. And Shanghai. He reaches the final at Paris before running out of steam. When the ATP computer spits out its rankings, Djokovic is on top for the first time since November 6, 2016.

Never before has a player gone from somewhere in the 20s to No 1 in a single year. He’s flying into this week’s ATP World Tour finals in London, where the pressure is next to zero. You watch these players on the jet cat that whisks them along the Thames to The O2 arena, and the mood is palpable. Their year is virtually over. The major victories are all that has really mattered. If you lose in London, it’s no big deal. If you win, it’s a little icing on top.

Djokovic won 30 consecutive sets before the Paris final. He won 30 out of 31 matches. He hadn’t beaten a top-10 player in the first half of the year. He’s beaten nine of them since June. Since he’s dumped the rather kooky coaching set-up that has been more dedicated to spiritual matters than man-on-man tennis.

He’s gone back to the hard-nosed mentor, Marian Vajda, who took him to the top in the first place. Vajda prefers him hitting balls rather than hugging trees.

As Brad Stine, the coach of Wimbledon runner-up Kevin Anderson, told The New York Times: “I don’t think there’s any doubt to what the key is. The key to everything has been Novak bringing back his old team, including Marian. I’ve known Marian a long time, and he’s always been the stable factor. Novak’s been a guy who over … his career has brought in a lot of quote-unquote specialists … but in the good times Marian’s always been the guy who’s been there day in and day out.”

Djokovic says: “Reflecting on … the past year, it’s quite a phenomenal achievement. I always believed in myself but it was highly improbable five months ago, considering my ranking and the way I played and felt on the court. I’ll probably be able to speak more profoundly about it when the season is done and hopefully I get to finish the season as No 1.”

Djokovic fired Vajda in May, 2017. He proceeded to go a bit loopy. He started losing a lot. His so-called spiritual guru, Pepe Imaz, had insights equating to the blindfolded Chevy Chase telling Danny Noonan in Caddyshack: “Be the ball, Danny. Be the ball.”

It was Imaz who got Djokovic to start drawing a heart on the court after his matches on clay. It was Imaz who got Djokovic doing on-court group hugs with his coaching team. It was Imaz who implemented meditation as part of the training routines. It was Imaz, whose background was in coaching disadvantaged Spanish children under the banners of “love and peace” while focusing on “wellbeing, feelings and emotions”, who changed Djokovic’s diet to what appeared to be bird seed three times a day. Imaz’s influence had contributed to another former mentor, the switched-on Boris Becker, parting company with Djokovic. Om? Um. It was doing him no good.

Djokovic rehired Vajda in April. Andre Agassi was shown the door. When Vajda returned, he insisted on Imaz’s departure.

“Yes, I wanted him to finish working with Imaz,” Vajda told a Serbian news site ahead of tomorrow’s start to the ATP World Tour Finals. “I told him I did not like people from outside the team to influence him, as was the case before. Tennis cannot be based on philosophy. It is a man versus man sport. If you want to be the best, you have to do repetitions in training, play games and be strong mentally. He was mentally weak at the first tournaments but it ­improved and at the third event together, at Madrid, I saw the flashes of the good old Novak. When you see the opponent, you must focus on where to hit the ball, not think about Buddha.”