Few, very few, perhaps only those who remember that an ice-cold Dutchman knocked Carlos Alcaraz out of the US Open this summer, will have heard of the Botic van de Zandschulp. But he, one more of the platoon, another of those anonymous many beyond the specialized focus of the circuit, may have meant the final point for Rafael Nadal, who goes to the center of the court and says goodbye after losing the first point at stake. between Spain and the Netherlands. Mr. cold water in Carpena: double 6-4, in 1h 53m. To the general surprise, the Mallorcan, with a seized engine, took part in the first individual match, but in reality, not too long ago the captain, David Ferrer, already warned: “If Rafa is fine, I will take a chance on him.” The play does not go well and the course goes wrong. Maybe it's goodbye. Now it's Carlos Alcaraz's turn in an extreme situation: either the Murcian beats Tallon Griekspoor in the continuation, or the series will have ended for the host country.
Tributes are not needed for Nadal to get excited. The competition has not started, the Spanish anthem plays and the Tennis player's face already draws the feeling, looking up and glassy eyes, probably rewinding: there is Brno, exactly 7,592 days away, 20 years, nine months and 13 days ago. The young man from then is today a man close to 40 who is holding back tears and must inevitably say goodbye to his sport because his body can no longer support him, a thousand and one scars on his body. He already said it: “If I could, I would continue playing.” And his friend Feliciano emphasized: “All of Rafa's plans in recent times have been truncated.” The fact is that Mother Nature does not make distinctions or understand lineages, not even in sports. The time of a myth is running out and Carpena savors every ball. It is evident that the competition has taken a backseat. Here, the staff has come to say goodbye to Nadal.
The pavilion explodes when he appears through the tunnel and the video scoreboard reflects that barely contained emotion, until the moment of truth arrives and the force of habit and that unparalleled mind put everything in its place; that is, that Nadal in a trance, concentrated, orderly, without losing an iota of routine; a run towards the baseline and then, all those endless tics that have accompanied him during his 23 years of travel. He immediately harangues the respectable person, as soon as he throws a right hand that Van de Zandschulp (29 years old and 80th in the world) can't smell. It does not seem, however, that the Dutchman is going to be a guy who is going to wrinkle; farewells on the sidelines, he, a well-seasoned player, goes about his business and as he did during the summer in New York, where he knocked out Carlos Alcaraz, he neither blinks nor shrinks nor is he impressed by the atmosphere. Simply release your arm. He is supported by a couple of centuries of carrots in the stands.
And Roberto Bautista watches from the side, elegantly to the side. The man from Castellón was providential in the access signed in September to this final phase, but he knows what this is about and he abides on the bench and encourages his colleague without stopping, knowing that all support is little for this outgoing Nadal who fights with pride and the fervor as always, with the tennis that remains, but logically tight on the legs and short on the edge. He saves the first four turns of service and transmits an optimistic expression, but the adversary, hurtful all the time, stumbles him on the fifth; suffers from lateral displacement, its drive It leaves three short balls and in front of it there is a stem that spits whiplashes without hesitation. Then comes the turning point. He break ice cream “Whew!”, whistles a spectator, to see if that's why he gets the Dutchman caught on the serve and loosens up, thus giving him the doubts, the vertigo that the game has historically emanated. christmas. But nothing at all. On the other side is a rock.
The right one does not carbure
“Come on Rafa, come on, come on…” the lady tries to revive him, at the same time that Van de Zandschulp reaffirms himself: his is another party. It closes emphatically and as soon as the second set begins it scratches another break, and Nadal's gesture falters, aware that his pace today is far from that of his rival; He has played 19 games this year, plus a couple of exhibitions, for the 36 played by the cold Botic, who adds and adds on the scoreboard, opening a gap and underlining the message: I have come here for what I have come. And if balls have to be passed, they are passed. The Spaniard had not competed individually since July 29, when he lost against Novak Djokovic at the Paris Games, and had not attended a Davis Cup event since November 24, 2019, for the final of that last Salad Bowl in the Magic Box. A lot has rained since then and today Málaga resigns itself to a twilight episode.
Nadal gutsly saves the 3-0 with an outburst and makes the saw with his left arm, but then stumbles again. He tries to shoot longer, open angles with that old whip, but he can't finish tuning it. He is not comfortable at any moment of the game. Can't find the point. At the end of the day, that's why he leaves. The distances, the automatisms, the reaction; It is not easy to recover memory. “Before, these didn't fail, it's a mistake, hasty…,” explains Antonio in the upper stands, another of those who have dug deep into their pockets to see the legend's farewell live. The Mallorcan goes as far as he can. “Yes-it-can!”, chants the public, while the Dutchman, now, achieves the break and everything seems definitively lost, he and Nadal up 4-1 making the rubber and suffering a world and struggling as best they can when they are already against the ropes, cornered, suffering. It looks ugly for him, of course. “And this is over…”, Antonio insists.
It happens that he is better or worse and carbure more or less, surely no tennis player has had the overwhelming faith or the unbreakable spirit of Nadal, who fights with what he wears and clings to the set with a couple of strokes when the night has already fallen upon him. of the city and the desire is already floating in the air that Alcaraz can make amends in the next match. However, a spark remains. He responds to the smack and reduces the opponent's advantage, who must also endure the storm: 4-3 and 0-30. “This one shits…” is heard. “Be careful…” says Antonio, the parishioner who still believes. False illusion. Van de Zandschulp holds on with his armor, loads and fires. Nadal has the entire court to himself, but he aims wrong with his forehand—11,300 pairs of hands to the head in unison—and then he swings a backhand long and curses. “No, Raphael!”: there is probably no way around it. And there isn't. The winner rows until he gets the first point, firmly, and the Balearic throws a kiss: perhaps, the last dance of the giant.
