Djoker wins heaps, but not hearts

OPINION: In 2008, 20-year-old Novak Djokovic stood barechested in the middle of Melbourne Park, his first major trophy in his arms, the world at his feet. Or some of it. ‘‘I felt like the crowd was not behind me,’’ he said, ‘‘but that’s OK. I felt like I fight two opponents.’’

Today as the tournament begins 12 years on what’s changed for Djokovic? This much for sure: One major championship has become 16. He has made the Australian Open title virtually his perpetual prize, winning it seven times, and is raging favourite this next fortnight to make it eight.

He sits with Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Andy Murray as the big four who have reigned as oligarchs over men’s tennis in that time. Murray’s latter-day decline makes it really a triumvirate.

Djokovic ought to sit at their head. He has winning records against all the other three. Thirteen of his 16 majors have been won against his peerless peers. Compare that with Federer, who has won seven of his 20 titles against the gang of four, and Nadal, who has won 10 of 19.

At 32, Djokovic is the youngest of the surviving trinity. Tennis’ favourite guessing game is when Nadal will eclipse Federer, but Djokovic is sitting pretty to usurp them both. By simple metrics, he is the most accomplished player of the past decade. At least.

‘‘It’s not a popular discussion to say, is Novak the best of them all?’’ noted Australia’s 1987 Wimbledon champion Pat Cash late last year. ‘‘It’s not popular. But you’ve got to face the facts: this guy might be the best of the lot of them.’’

Note that: ‘‘not popular’’. This has not changed. Djokovic has made the world submit without ever managing to charm it. He’s still fighting two opponents.

Not even in Melbourne does he prompt fans to swoon and sigh as they do for Federer and Nadal.

Australians recognise two types of ‘‘favourite’’, the superstar and the underdog, but Djokovic sits outside the betting altogether. This is reflected in one incidental: Federer and Nadal have lists of sponsors as long as your arm, but Djokovic’s catalogue barely reaches to his elbow.

After yet another Australian Open win for Djokovic four years ago, I wrote: ‘‘There is something about the way Djokovic carries and presents himself that means fans hold him at a greater distance than they do Nadal and Federer.’’ That ‘‘something’’ is ethereal. It’s not that he’s a cast villain. It’s not that he courts infamy, as others have. It’s not that he is loathed, rather that he is less loved than his rivals. It’s just that … what?

Is it aesthetics? Is it predisposition? Is it, dare we ask, race? Australia has been home to Balkans for generations now, but sometimes it seems we’re still trying to figure them out. Those banners, those chants ... But it wasn’t a problem for Goran Ivanisevic or Ana Ivanovic.

Is it that Djokovic bounces the ball too much before serving, sometimes lets his feelings out, can be tetchy? So are many others who enjoy more favour. Certainly Federer and Nadal are not immune. Nadal’s OC routines makes Djokovic look hippy by comparison, but it loses the Spaniard few points with fans. And when Djokovic steps out of line, at least he apologises.

Is his game too plebeian, too robotic, with too few frills? Hardly. His finishing flourish at last year’s Open, blitzing Lucas Pouille and the hapless Nadal, was sublime. ‘‘I guess you’re driven by some force that takes over you,’’ he said. ‘‘You feel divine, like in a different dimension.’’ That’s exactly how it looked. Maybe he is too perfect. But that’s never been an issue for Federer.

Djokovic can scrap with the best when needed. In 2012, he played possibly the best Australian Open final of all, six hours of it, against Nadal. This year’s Wimbledon final against Federer is a candidate for best in that hallowed tournament’s history. Each was an Odyssean epic, and Djokovic won them both. Perhaps that’s the problem. He keeps shooting Bambis. The first was Federer in the 2008 semifinal en route to his first Australian win. It’s as if he’s never been entirely forgiven.

Djokovic has grown before our eyes, a la Andre Agassi. That bare-bellied, bellicose 20-year-old is now a man of the world. With Federer and Nadal, he has set new standards for decorum as well as virtuosity. On court, he is a gallant.

In press conferences, facing tennis’ army of amateur psychologists, he is as urbane, articulate and evidently sincere as Federer, in as many languages, too. But few get to see this. Yes, he sometimes fudges big issues. That hardly sets him apart.

Is it simply that he is not Federer? Quite possibly. Djokovic always has been one too many, even when it was only him. That might be his problem: he was last to the party. He’s always been fighting at least two opponents.