The Paris Gold Rush; A Guide to Olympic Tennis Glory
With KK locked and loaded for the stringing room of the Paris Olympics, he issued me with a command to write a short piece for the website on who will take home the men's gold medal at the 33rd summer Olympiad.
When trying to sports prophetise - Paul the Octopus-style - I like to home in on the key information, rather than simply letting my analytic tentacles settle on a national flag. Regarding KK's brief, the most important fact is this: Olympic tennis will be played on the fabled brick dust of Roland-Garros, where Raphael Nadal has won 14 titles...and has subsequently nibbled a lung-eroding amount of silver off his 14 Musketeers' trophies.
Wouldn't it be romantic if Rafa - the 2008 Olympic champ - won gold for a second time 16 years later? Paris is, after all, the city of love (and tourist ring scams...and, more recently, cathedral fires and the rise of right-wing populism). But, really, mostly love.
In best-of-three set tennis, Rafa will throw everything - his firstborn child included - at his opponents. No doubt the crowd will be willing 'El Matador' on. But the Olympic cauldron tends to be a hyper-emotional setting. Representing an entire country, rather than oneself, can get to the best of players. Rafa's tear-jerking loss to Juan Martin 'my-wrist-is-made-of-glass' del Potro at the Rio Olympics in 2016 comes to mind.
Even though Rafa reached his first tour final in two years last weekend, he remains a long shot to nibble on a gold medal, and further destroy his lungs, on the dais in Paris.
A torn meniscus at the Olympic venue barely more than six weeks ago should also preclude Novak Djokovic from a deep Olympic run, however the Serbian champion credits his swift recovery to miracle pyramid water (rather than his multimillion-dollar medical team), so rational human analysis of his chances simply doesn't apply. As long as no spectator drops miracle water onto Novak's skull, via a water bottle, he is likely to make the medal round in Paris. Novak's only problem may be that he cares too much about Olympic gold, and that, you know...THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MIRACLE WATER!!!!!
This miracle water (pictured above) is widely credited with Novak Djokovic's improbable run to the Wimbledon final
Nole's conquerer at Wimbledon, Carlos 'I-humiliate-your-entire-family-with-my-dropshots' Alcaraz, goes in as the favourite for gold. However, Alcaraz has clocked up a lot of hours on court recently. For all his skills, Alcaraz still has pockets of matches where his concentration, and shot selection, wavers. In the shorter form of the game, this makes him more susceptible to defeat. So I'm picking Alcaraz for an early exit in Paris, which will almost certainly result in egg running down my face and dripping onto the frames of customers as I restring their (soon-to-be yolk-sopping) tennis racquets.
Australian Open champion, Jannik Sinner, looked set to challenge the likes of Alcaraz and Nole in Paris until he withdrew from the games this week, citing a cheese overdose from his role as the face of Parmigiana Reggiano. A true sporting tragedy!
Sinner and the offending block of parmesan (both pictured above)
Let's be honest. The Olympics have thrown up some underwhelming gold medallists over the years. No, this is not just a barb at Chile's Nicolas Massu. It's also aimed at Monica Puig. And especially Scottish 'stand-up comedian' - and dual singles gold medallist - Andy Murray. For this reason alone, we have to beware the likes of Cameron Norrie, Ugo Humbert and, of course, Casper 'Ruud Boy' Ruud. All lovely fellows, presumably, but hardly box office.
My prediction for gold is someone who has steadily improved on clay over the years, and who rarely loses in the early rounds of major tournaments; someone who loves the finer things in life, like chess, harpsichord and killing his opponents dead...Daniil Medvedev.
Sadly, Paul the Octopus is no longer with us (he is widely believed to have predicted his exact age of death, incidentally). But if Paul were still gracing us with his invertebrate presence, he wouldn't have a flag to slither towards, in Medvedev's instance, as the Russian is representing only himself. This may solve the 'weight of the world' conundrum that takes down so many elite players at the Olympics.
So chapeau to the greyhound-thin Medvedev, and chapeau to the entire field in Paris! I'm sure we'll get to see basically none of it on TV.