The second-round US Open match between defending champion Carlos Alcaraz and rangy South African Lloyd Harris began in Arthur Ashe Stadium early last week with Alcaraz receiving serve. The ensuing game unfurled like a handy study guide to Tennis: The Alcaraz Way.
The game featured, among other things, a drop shot/lob combination by Alcaraz that left Harris flat-footed and frozen at the net. There was an untouchable forehand winner hit cross-court by Alcaraz from well outside the sideline. Also, a sharply-angled drop volley—a follow up to a well-disguised drop shot—that left Harris with no play.
About the only thing we never saw in that first game was the thousand-watt Alcaraz smile but, as usual, there was plenty of that to come. Alcaraz’s glee is a permanent feature of his game, so infectious that even his opponents often follow his lead and take part in the festivities—smiling, playing to the crowd, actually enjoying themselves—something that isn’t generally associated with the often grim business of high-stakes Grand Slam singles.
Win, or lose, a dazzling point with both players at the net? Alcaraz is likely to be there, grinning, ready to meet you for a low-five and a smile.
Alcaraz, still just 20, is more than a sporting genius and tennis’ very own smiley-face emoji. His effect on tennis at a variety of levels is transformative. It started with the way he plays and proceeded, undiluted, through the way he carries himself on the court, and the attitude he brings to the game.
Of course, none of this would be possible if Alcaraz were not posting mind-bending results at the same time. He was a Grand Slam champion while still a teenager, a year-end ATP No. 1, and most recently a Wimbledon champion. Yet the more you watch Alcaraz, the more likely you are to accept that the key to his game and his success—the secret sauce—is his joy.
That is, the joy he takes from the very act of playing the game in contrast to winning, earning millions, or seeing his boyish face on the television screen. It’s the same joy a kid feels running after and hitting the ball—even just watching others hit it. Many of Alcaraz’s peers on both tours profess not to watch much tennis. It’s as if they have only a narrow interest in the game and the experiences of their rivals. Not the Magician of Murcia.
“I love watching tennis,” he said at the US Open. “I love Grand Slams because there are a lot of matches. I study a little bit [my] opponents, I am a huge fan of tennis, I’m almost the full day watching scores. Any time I can, I sit on (sic) the TV and watch.”
For now, there are no simmering discontents in the world of Carlos Alcaraz. No bitter memories, no caveats to the fame and riches he’s already earned, nor to the demands of his career, or the discipline it requires. His life is an enormous blank canvas that he has just started to paint, and his joy allows him to work with a free hand, with the same liberation and fearlessness as a great artist following where his instincts lead.
Some of the evidence for that is found in easily overlooked places. Take Alcaraz’s attitude toward the drop shot, a ploy that not very long ago was still considered a low-percentage shot to employ infrequently, and only under the most favorable conditions. It is probably Alcaraz’s favorite shot, and it is having an evolutionary impact on the game, as old and young absorb the devastating and variegated way he employs it.
After Alcaraz’s highly entertaining third-round win over Dan Evans, a reporter asked the Spaniard what he “feels” when he hits those feathery but lethal tennis bon-bons. Smiling at the question, Alcaraz replied: “When I hit the dropshots, and the opponent couldn't reach it, it’s a great feeling. I mean, I feel like I’m gonna do another one.”
Now that’s joy.
The game featured, among other things, a drop shot/lob combination by Alcaraz that left Harris flat-footed and frozen at the net. There was an untouchable forehand winner hit cross-court by Alcaraz from well outside the sideline. Also, a sharply-angled drop volley—a follow up to a well-disguised drop shot—that left Harris with no play.
About the only thing we never saw in that first game was the thousand-watt Alcaraz smile but, as usual, there was plenty of that to come. Alcaraz’s glee is a permanent feature of his game, so infectious that even his opponents often follow his lead and take part in the festivities—smiling, playing to the crowd, actually enjoying themselves—something that isn’t generally associated with the often grim business of high-stakes Grand Slam singles.
Win, or lose, a dazzling point with both players at the net? Alcaraz is likely to be there, grinning, ready to meet you for a low-five and a smile.
Alcaraz, still just 20, is more than a sporting genius and tennis’ very own smiley-face emoji. His effect on tennis at a variety of levels is transformative. It started with the way he plays and proceeded, undiluted, through the way he carries himself on the court, and the attitude he brings to the game.
Of course, none of this would be possible if Alcaraz were not posting mind-bending results at the same time. He was a Grand Slam champion while still a teenager, a year-end ATP No. 1, and most recently a Wimbledon champion. Yet the more you watch Alcaraz, the more likely you are to accept that the key to his game and his success—the secret sauce—is his joy.
That is, the joy he takes from the very act of playing the game in contrast to winning, earning millions, or seeing his boyish face on the television screen. It’s the same joy a kid feels running after and hitting the ball—even just watching others hit it. Many of Alcaraz’s peers on both tours profess not to watch much tennis. It’s as if they have only a narrow interest in the game and the experiences of their rivals. Not the Magician of Murcia.
“I love watching tennis,” he said at the US Open. “I love Grand Slams because there are a lot of matches. I study a little bit [my] opponents, I am a huge fan of tennis, I’m almost the full day watching scores. Any time I can, I sit on (sic) the TV and watch.”
For now, there are no simmering discontents in the world of Carlos Alcaraz. No bitter memories, no caveats to the fame and riches he’s already earned, nor to the demands of his career, or the discipline it requires. His life is an enormous blank canvas that he has just started to paint, and his joy allows him to work with a free hand, with the same liberation and fearlessness as a great artist following where his instincts lead.
Some of the evidence for that is found in easily overlooked places. Take Alcaraz’s attitude toward the drop shot, a ploy that not very long ago was still considered a low-percentage shot to employ infrequently, and only under the most favorable conditions. It is probably Alcaraz’s favorite shot, and it is having an evolutionary impact on the game, as old and young absorb the devastating and variegated way he employs it.
After Alcaraz’s highly entertaining third-round win over Dan Evans, a reporter asked the Spaniard what he “feels” when he hits those feathery but lethal tennis bon-bons. Smiling at the question, Alcaraz replied: “When I hit the dropshots, and the opponent couldn't reach it, it’s a great feeling. I mean, I feel like I’m gonna do another one.”
Now that’s joy.
