Imagine you’re Alexander Zverev. The rankings show you’re the third best tennis player in the world. You’ve never lifted a grand slam trophy, but you’re sandwiched between two guys in the top five who have each won 20. Make it through to the quarter-finals of the Australian Open, as you’ve done for the past two years, and there’s a fair chance you’ll get a crack at one of them. Right now, though, you’ve got other things to worry about. Namely John Millman, a talented and tenacious Brisbanite whose grounded, battling approach has spawned the Twitter hashtag #Millmania, often to be seen trending of an Australian summer.
True to form, Millman comes out firing. The baseline exchanges are lengthy and brutal – good preparation for that last-eight meeting with Rafael Nadal, should you make it – but, after an early exchange of breaks, you’re in the driving seat at 4-2. The level is high, the crowd are predictably rowdy, and that annoying Ronaldo chant has reared its ugly head again, prompting a quick moan to the chair umpire. Generally, though, things are going pretty well. Now it’s 30-30 on Millman’s serve, and you’re lining up an inviting short ball to set up a double break … when a firework goes off at exactly the wrong moment. You drill the ball into the net and roll your eyes towards the heavens. You fix the hapless umpire with a hard stare, even though you know it’s not his fault.
On the next point, the ball bears the brunt of your frustration as you unleash a series of increasingly weighty cross-court forehands to win an 18-stroke rally. But then Millman finds the line with a searing forehand winner. The noise is getting more irritating. You net a backhand to hand Millman the game. If only that blasted firework hadn’t gone off.
In the past, a moment like that might have thrown you off. A few years ago, John McEnroe questioned your focus, said you were too easily distracted. But that was before you won a gold medal at the Tokyo Olympics last summer, sparking a run that brought you titles in Cincinnati, Vienna and at the ATP Finals in Turin, and very nearly propelled you into a second successive US Open final. These days, you’re made of sterner stuff. You hold twice with something to spare, clinching the set with your fourth ace. In your face, McEnroe.
But you’re not out of the woods yet. A break up and serving at 3-2, you double fault twice to go 15-40 down. You’ve been here before. A couple of years back, you hit 211 double faults in one season, more than any other player on the ATP Tour. That was the year you made your first grand slam final, against Dominic Thiem at the US Open, where two double faults in the fifth-set tiebreak probably cost you the title. But you’re no longer that player. It’s a flaw you’ve worked hard to rectify. And so you step up to the line and fire a huge first serve down the centre. Millman tries to block, but is unable to control his backhand return, which flies wide. A 129mph ace follows. Deuce. Another ace, another unreturnable serve. Crisis averted. You will only lose two more games in the contest, sealing a 6-4, 6-4, 6-0 victory to secure a third-round meeting with Radu Albot, a Moldovan qualifier ranked 124th in the world.
There’s just enough time left for a bit of verbal jousting with Dylan Alcott, the Australian wheelchair tennis champion whose feats include a golden grand slam and four Olympic gold medals, one of which came in basketball. Alcott welcomes you to the gold medal club.
“The only difference is, you’ve got about four of them,” you reply.
“That’s right, I do have about four,” says Alcott. “You’ve got three to go, but you’ll get there.”
Then comes a question about what that Olympic victory meant to you.
“I think there’s nothing that compares to a gold medal, there’s nothing that compares to the Olympics,” you say.
“I’m standing here on centre court at the Australian Open, I love you guys, but a gold medal is something that I think every athlete dreams about – it doesn’t matter what sport you’re coming from, it doesn’t matter what background you’re coming from, I think a gold medal is just something very special, and there’s nothing in the world that compares with it. Especially if you have four of them.”
There’s just enough time to insinuate that your, brother, Mischa may have flogged your Olympic medal on eBay – and for Alcott to chip in that he recently picked up a fifth gold medal online – before you sign a few autographs and disappear into the Melbourne night.
Come to think of it, maybe a first grand slam title would run that gold medal close after all.