Curves, Sweat, and Strain for Alcaraz: A Survivor Against Fognini

This Wimbledon begins with a tangle of twists, sweats, and abundant stress—a genuine trial for Carlos Alcaraz, who, after more than four and a half hours—4h 37m, the fourth longest match he has played—points to Fabio Fognini and redirects the applause from the crowd on Center Court towards the veteran. It’s a round of recognition. At 38 years old, with a beautiful career behind him, and in what is likely his farewell to London, Fognini presents a real challenge that has, at times, led the number two player in the world into a dark alley. The Murcian saves himself, but he will surely remember this mess in the opening round, resolved in five sets: 7-5, 6-7(5), 7-5, 2-6, and 6-1.

Alcaraz—who is scheduled to play against Oliver Tarvet, ranked 733rd and invited by the organizers—comes from winning at Queen’s, having dominated throughout the clay season. But no matter how clichéd it may sound, beginnings are always tricky, especially with the unpredictability of the British turf. Fognini was a trap. “I was serving well and playing well, but Wimbledon is different and special. I tried to do my best and control my nerves, but I can do better. Overall, I think it was a good match,” admits Alcaraz, even though this time, his feelings and statistics contradict him. A gray victory, more errors (62) than winners (52), and even 21 break points for the Italian, faithful to his pedigree.

This is the harsh and unpredictable reality of Wimbledon, on this Monday in its most sparkling, sunny, and summery version; fantastic, welcome be the light that is so sparse, of course, but the pale English fans keep fanning themselves due to their lack of acclimatization, melting under the rays while witnessing the generational clash. Between them, 16 years of difference and an interesting fact: up to this point, before their match, they had the same number of victories both in the tournament (18) and on bigger stages (71). A harmony between the two, craftsmen of the game and always generous with the spectators. Different styles, but one common language. Creativity at its finest.

The Italian is running out of steam, already on the edge of retirement, but his racquet swings still retain imagination and class. As always, he competes over a couple of tiles, practically walking, a player as clever as he is unique; so despite struggling after enduring the first fifty minutes, exposed to the break, he flashes a smile when he mistakenly hits an out. Genius and character. His feet ache, and thus he claims he has little left, constantly tapping the toes of his shoes to readjust them, if not dragging the soles over the grass with apparent reluctance. A visual illusion. Perhaps the most recognizable strides on the tour.

Sir David Beckham watches attentively from the front row, a regular here, and recognizes in that weary step and those marked hips the run of the now-retired Kun Agüero, another who liked to take his time. Alcaraz catches the rhythm—whether through contagion or simply because it’s a first round and there’s a long battle ahead—finally becoming superior in a first set debated in slow motion, thick and slow on both sides, swinging towards the ugly. However, the Spaniard had a winning card up his sleeve to tip the balance, drawing Fognini to the net with a gentle touch and then lobbing him with a backhand that makes Italian seams burst.

“Regrettable!″

Fognini finds it challenging to turn around, and without oil in the engine, he quickly accepts that this ball has become a lost cause. It’s impossible to reach. Just enough to open the floodgates, the Murcian quietly rolls out the welcome mat, because although the player from San Remo does not give up—running low on gas, but not pride as an old rocker—and despite his forehand being quite off, very inaccurate in searching for the decisive shot, the match seems to steer where it was expected. Or so it seemed. But not so fast. A significant bump. The dynamics and embarrassment ultimately have ended up trapping Alcaraz, jammed, bent, and complaining.

What on earth is happening? “I can’t serve, I can’t return! Regrettable!” exclaims the player from El Palmar, uncomfortable and dissatisfied the whole time, suffering as if they had siphoned all his energy with a simple sting. Little to compare with that resilient version from Roland Garros and Queen’s, where he previously extracted solutions time and again without relying on others. This time, he frequently turns towards the bench, and after dropping the second set, which seemed under his control, with a break in his favor, he gestures again towards his team: ‘talk to me, talk to me, tell me something,’ he seems to say with his fingers. A poorly played tiebreak and a late, incomplete reaction. Fognini closes it out. And he grows stronger.

Collars up and as far as the legs can hold, the Italian sets out, sensing his rival’s bad moment and countering to add a generous dose of spice. For one last great day, he seems to say. For this senior age of tennis: he, Novak Djokovic, and Gael Monfils, all 38, the grandfathers of the tournament. The old school knows precisely how to cause trouble. “I have always said, even in my time, with Rafa, Roger, and Nole, it was better to find good players at the start of the tournament. Because it’s their first match. The first match is always tricky, and I have nothing to lose,” he warned the day before in an interview with the newspaper AS and EFE. So he will not fall to his knees.

Alcaraz, holding on but suffering profoundly, continues to compete with his tongue out, and Ferrero advises him to splash his face and cool down, hoping that will clear his mind and ease the increasing heat. He is on fire. “Do you have a problem? No?” he addresses a spectator while picking up the towel after committing a double fault. “Let him play until he’s 50! If he has the level to play until 50!” he exclaims, frustrated to see that Fognini, oppressive and persistent, a constant toothache, does not yield and keeps tightening the rope until, now indeed, he finally pops and bows out. The winner breathes a sigh of relief after overcoming a true headache.