In the sectarian world of modern tennis fandom, Juan Martín del Potro is an outlier. While Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic have each attracted a blinkered veneration, with devotion to one often leading to deprecation of the others, almost everyone seems to have a soft spot for Del Potro. Mention the big three, and you’ll inevitably be drawn into a debate about the greatest of all time; mention Del Potro, whose withdrawal from this week’s Rio Open appears to have drawn a line under a career blighted by injury, and consensus is rarely far behind. Revered by his fans, respected by peers and public alike, the unassuming Argentinian is the subject of near universal affection.
That bond has never been more evident than it was last week in Buenos Aires, when Del Potro returned from a two and a half year absence to make one final gesture of defiance in the face of the physical limitations imposed by the knee fracture he suffered in Shanghai four years ago. As the crowd chanted his name, Del Potro – watched for the first time by his mother, Patricia – broke down in tears before what was probably the final service game of his career. By the time he had draped his bandana over the net and kissed it farewell, many in the stands of Court Central Guillermo Vilas had joined him.
“I gave everything I had, right up to the last point,” Del Potro, his voice thick with emotion, told the crowd after his 6-1, 6-3 defeat. “To be honest, I just want to be able to sleep without pain after two years. That’s what I’ll try and do from tomorrow. Playing with this pain is very hard. I feel like I have the rest of my life ahead of me, and I want to live in peace.”
The rapturous ovation he received was echoed in the wider tennis world. Frances Tiafoe recalled how Del Potro had been his childhood hero, hailing him as a “living legend” for whom he had “nothing but love and respect”. James Blake recounted how Del Potro spent an hour waiting in the locker room at Flushing Meadows in 2013 to offer a congratulatory hug following the last match of his career, saluting “A giant man with a giant heart.”
Stefanos Tsitsipas, another player for whom Del Potro was a childhood hero, said the man from Tandil had a “style I loved”. That appraisal was echoed by Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. “He was a special player, different,” said Tsonga, who also emphasised the importance of Del Potro’s legacy for South American tennis. “People loved watching him play,” said Andy Murray, who added that Del Potro was “really popular all around the world”.
Del Potro understandably chose to bow out before his own people, but in truth he could have played his last match anywhere in the world and the response would have been the same. A lot of that is down to basic human empathy, for rarely has fate conspired more ruthlessly against a player. Having undergone a total of eight operations in his career – one on his right wrist, three on his left wrist, and a further four on his right knee – the wonder is not that Del Potro is facing retirement, but that he has endured so long.
At the same time, his popularity is rooted in something deeper than mere pity. Del Potro was more than just a walking medical bulletin. There is a cruel incongruity in the way that such a physically imposing man should be so physically vulnerable. At 6ft 6in, the Argentinian was an early prototype for the generation of tall, powerful players – led by Daniil Medvedev, Alexander Zverev, Stefanos Tsitsipas and Matteo Berrettini – that has since emerged as the chief threat to the old guard’s grand slam hegemony. Armed with a hammer-like forehand that routinely exceeded the 100mph mark, as well as a serve befitting his stature and a two-fisted backhand that, until his wrist problems intervened, barely suffered in comparison with his feared opposite wing, Del Potro had the artillery to mix it with the best. Yet his body could not keep pace with his talent.
In 2009, when Del Potro arrived in the US Open semi-finals alongside Nadal, Federer and Djokovic, few observers were looking beyond a 19th successive slam for one of the big three, a run that began with Nadal’s 2005 triumph at Roland Garros. Instead, Del Potro stunned Nadal in straight sets before twice battling back from a set down in the final to end Federer’s five-year reign as champion. At the age of 20, he appeared to have the world in his hands. But his hands weren’t the problem.
The following May, Del Potro underwent surgery on his right wrist. His ensuing absence from the tour sent his ranking into freefall. A “sad year”, he would later call it. In truth, it was just the start of what would become an all too familiar cycle of on-court peaks and off-peak troughs. The titles and accolades that seemed firmly within his grasp on that heady night at Flushing Meadows would never come. There would be no second major, no tilt at the No 1 ranking, no chance to upset the status quo. Del Potro’s story would be one of destiny unfulfilled. In a sense, he is loved almost as much for what might have been as for what was.
And yes, of course we should celebrate what Del Potro achieved in the face of his repeated setbacks. But we should also acknowledge the extraordinary fortitude that came to define him, as a player but also as a man. For while Del Potro’s familiarity with the comeback trail would know no bounds, he never stopped pushing. It was through the determination and resilience with which he battled his own body, and the way he wore his heart on his sleeve as he did so – his response to adversity, rather than affliction itself – that he won a place in our affections.
And what a response it was. In November 2011, barely a year after returning from his first wrist surgery, Del Potro led Argentina to the Davis Cup final, beating Djokovic to help his country past holders Serbia in the semi-finals. The following year, he reached the quarter-finals of every major bar Wimbledon, a venue to which he returned a month later to win an Olympic bronze medal.
When he later underwent three more wrist operations, missing nine successive majors and two years of his career, he bounced back to win a silver medal at the Rio Olympics, where he beat Djokovic in an emotionally-charged opener despite spending 40 minutes trapped in an elevator on the day of the match. There were tears then, just as there would be a few weeks later when the Arthur Ashe Stadium resonated to familiar chants of “Ole, ole, ole, ole, Delpo, Delpo,” during his US Open quarter-final defeat to Stan Wawrinka.
Weeks later came another career landmark, Del Potro beating Ivo Karlovic and Marin Cilic – the latter from two sets to love down, and with a broken finger – to help Argentina seal a dramatic 3-2 victory over Croatia in the Davis Cup final. “His achievement borders on the impossible,” said Argentina’s captain, Daniel Orsanic. It was hard to disagree. “This was an emotionally exhausting match and one of the biggest wins of my career,” said Del Potro. “Thanks to all those who prevented me from retiring, I was very close to never playing again and, well, here I am.” He would say much the same two years later, when he reached his second US Open final and rose to a career-high ranking of third – two more mountainous high points in a career that veered between emotional extremes.
In the era of the big three, Del Potro was a man apart. Federer was the aesthete’s choice. Nadal appealed to those of a more pugilistic disposition. If you were a technical purist, then Djokovic was probably your man. But Del Potro combined elements of all three. His forehand ranks among the modern wonders of the game. His fighting spirit was as evident in the rehab room as it was on the court. And his prowess as a technician was reflected not only in his ability to control the venomous power of those pancake-flat groundstrokes, but also in the way he adapted his game to his altered circumstances when injury intervened. None of it was enough to give him a trophy haul comparable to his feted contemporaries, but his passion, resilience and humility may just have earned him something greater.
“I will remember this moment for all my life,” said Del Potro as he bade the game farewell in Buenos Aires. “I fulfilled all the dreams I had in tennis and it brought me all the love of the people, which is my best trophy.”