Australian Open III

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…”

It’s done and dusted. The Australian Open 2025 has crowned their champions and the rest of the tennis world has instantly forgotten why they own a TV. Seriously, what do we do with it now? I’ve been in Australia so long that I grew a blonde beard and have wrestled crocodiles, I own a pet spider now and I unironically say “good arvo”. I order “magics” with oatmilk at Melbournian coffee shops like a local and I bring a wool jumper everywhere because I know the weather in Melbourne can and will swing by 20 degrees. And while all of this is very impressive, we’re not here to talk about how amazingly adaptable I am when it comes to travel but we’re here to recap the AO 2025. Here is a shockingly incomplete list of players that made me emote.

Novak Djokovic

Whoever doubts Novak’s tennis ever again whether Novak’s 37 years old or 55 years old should from this day forth be punished with perpetual silence. Yes, I’m talking about myself. It’s not that I ever doubted the quality of tennis necessarily, it’s just that I couldn’t quite believe he would be able to retain enough explosiveness to hang with the young guys. Remember?

According to a baseball study, fast-twitching muscle fibres begin decaying at age 23 (!). It’s science, right? Boy, was I wrong. Novak still has it and I would argue for three matches (Machac, Lehecka and Alcaraz) he played better than ever. He was still the same consistent percentage player who never misses but concsious of his age he hit the ball bigger and changed directions more frequently, yet still undecetable for the opposing side.

I truly believed he would get 25 in ‘25. Until his body let him down. That is the only thing that can continue to be an issue at 37 years old - the body that has served him so bloody well for so long. Our strengths become our weaknesses become our strengths again. The circle of life. But one thing’s for sure: This one right here will never doubt Novak’s tennis again. 23, 37 or 45. Years are just numbers that fade in the rearview mirror, but titles stay forever.

Ben Shelton

The moment of the tournament was brought to you by box office Ben Shelton in his quarterfinal match against Lorenzo Sonego. Towards the end of the fourth set, Ben laboured to get to a ball, ran at full sprint, gave it his all to snatch the point like a pickpocketer on the métro in Paris, when his feet slid and the energy of his body moving forwards in space and time made him stumble and go down.

He fell quite elegantly for a tall man. I’ve seen tall men fall who fell so elegantly they caused an earthquake. Not so Ben, he went down nearly crashing into the side fence and when his body finally came to a halt, he swiftly turned and hopped into a push-up, pumping his arms a few times to not only show he was okay but to demonstrate that he was a-ok and ready for more.

He played a fantastic tournament giving us a glimpse of what’s ahead. We saw a Ben Shelton who can still disrupt the rhythym, who can still serve and volley and crush and rush but who can now grind out points, too. I’m excited for what’s to come. A box office sport needs box office Ben.

Alexander Zverev

You couldn’t help but feel for the guy. He looked absolutely and utterly crushed. After the netcord in the second set tie break in the final, the belief he can win, if it was there in the first place, left, flew out of the stadium and hid somewhere in a faraway land with a sorcerer who had caused havoc before by holding my voice hostage.

Once again, he was close, once again, he was not to pass. And although this time on paper he looked the furthest away, I actually thought in his tennis he had made the biggest progress. He hit the ball bigger than he had all tournament long, 10 kmh faster in fact, he stood closer to the baseline. He made 81% first serves in the first set.

And yet. And yet and yet and yet. It wasn’t enough. Jannik Sinner, too stoic, too good, too steadfast. Zverev has heard them. All the experts that were saying he’s too passive in big matches, too far behind the baseline when it matters most. He tried to amend it and he will keep trying until one day perhaps the belief will stay and the opponent’s might not and the sorcerer at last will be defeated.

Jannik Sinner

Everyone who has been an avid reader of this blog knows that I have a weakness for ginger-haired men who tend to do exceptionally well at the Australian Open. I’m thinking of Jim Courier while typing these words but I’m increasingly holding space for a new red-head who does exceptionally well at the Australian Open in my life. Let me tell you an anecdote of how I like to pride myself in having discovered Jannik Sinner.

Once upon a time, when snow still fell in December and yours truly was still a professional tennis player I was in Rome early to prepare for the clay court tournament that was about to take place at the Foro Italico. I was on my lunch break, belly full of Carbonara pasta, tiny little espresso in hand, wandering the grounds when I stumbled upon court Pietrangeli where it was said an Italian teenager with a one-handed backhand was competing for a wildcard into the maindraw in some sort of play-off the Italian tennis federation had put in place for their home-grown talent. It was Lorenzo Musetti who had just won the boys’ title at the Australian Open. The other guy was a scrawny little fella, pale and freckled, red hair poking out underneath his hat. I was quite far away and while his body seemed that of a boy from where I sat, his groundstrokes were so powerful and his demeanor so adult-like that I figured it must be some 28-year-old veteran who happened to have the appearance of a youngster. I left when the “veteran” was up a set and a break and I told my coach that Musetti is lovely to watch but he wouldn’t be able to beat the experienced opponent with the clean groundstrokes who he had run into in the final.

Exactly a week later, I walked into the players’ lounge looking for my coach who I found in a large group of people gathered around a TV where - my coach told me - a 17-year-old was about to beat Stevie Johnson. I pushed and I shoved like I would at a good concert to catch a glimpse of the lead singer to gauge whether he’s worth fawning over for the next few weeks and I can still hear the gasp that came out of my mouth when I learned that the red-haired “veteran” was actually 17 and on the verge of becoming one of the biggest stars of the sport. The roots of his game were already there: the stoicism, the maturity, the groundstrokes. But he’s built a team around him, brick by brick, piece by piece, that helped him become a now 3-time Grand Slam tournament champion.

He is still kind of scrawny, he is still very pale for a tennis player (honestly, amazingly so) and he is still stoic. But he is now Jannik Sinner. The Jim-Courier sized hole in my heart has been filled quietly, decisively and for good.

Honourable mentions on the men’s side

Alex De Minaur. Who was outplayed by a Sinner from the Underworld but in front of a frenetic homecrowd took the loss with grace and humility.

Carlos Alcaraz. Who I believe is about to have the best season of his life and who gives me joy every time I watch him play.

Gael Monfils. A man who defies gravity, the original superhero. Always tired, never done. We thank you for your service to the sport, sir.

Iga Swiatek

The match Iga Swiatek played against Madison Keys (who we will get to) was the best match I have ever seen courtside. Colleagues next to me who’ve been in the media game longer than me felt the same way. The pace and accuracy these women were hitting tennis balls with was nothing short of mesmerising. I had never known what happiness in retirement could be like until I sat courtside for that match. It was the mental fortitude, the not backing down, the ball striking. All of it and more.

Iga will play a very good season - mark my words. Whereas sometimes in the past on quick hardcourts Iga would turn into a ballbasher, forgetting about her strengths, she played much truer to her DNA at the Australian Open 2025. She used the spin and rotation on her forehand and stuck out long rallies like she does on clay, turning defensive positions into the opposite on the flip of a dime. The only thing that stood between her and a first title at the Happy Slam was the best player of the tournament: Madison Keys.

Paula Badosa

It was a windy day and a tricky opponent in Marta Kostyuk when cameras caught Paula Badosa gesturing wildly to her team. Indicating that she was unhappy with her game and subtly underneath the gesturing and the wide open eyes was a glimpse of doubt whether she’s capable of winning these type of matches. It felt like a déjà-vu of watching Paula Badosa play tennis with virtually no holes in her game but her failing to see it. What kicked in in that moment was the fighter in her. The trait of character that refuses to let go when your entire system is yelling at you to do just so.

After that, we never saw the doubt again. She was so calm, so composed, so believing in her abilities that the only thing left to wonder was how she hasn’t played semifinals at Grand Slam level all the time.

I had the chance to speak to her after her 4th round win against Olga Danilovic and she told me: “Andrea, I didn’t like that video of me. I told myself to stop.” And she did stop. If it were ever so easy! With will power the size of a mountain I think it just might be.

Aryna Sabalenka

I won’t lie: I freaking love Aryna Sabalenka. I love her fierceness, i love the emotions, I love the drama. I love that you can read every single thought right there on her face like you can read these words right now. And I haven’t even gotten to her tennis yet!

Throughout the tournament, she looked more vulnerable than she had last year. The serve a bit off, the ball toss too high, the plus 1 shot shaky. What do champions do when one part of their game is off? They pull out another one. She got broken unusually many times during the fortnight but to keep herself afloat she just broke her opponents’ serves unusually many times in return. It’s that type of solution-based thinking that would hold any CEO in the world in a chokehold of pleasure. She nearly pulled it off for a third time but she, too, had to bow to the best player of the tournament.

Madison Keys

I could write an entire book on Madison Keys’ triumph at the Australian Open 2025 and who knows maybe I will one day. It’s always emotional watching somebody win their first major title. But there’s emotional and there’s all-media-professionals-who’ve-seen-it-all-and-have-turned-from-good-humored-cynism-to-straight-up-nihilsm balling their eyes out on the sidelines. Yours truly included.

As overused as the word is: Maddy’s run was inspirational. A 29-year-old, hailed as the next big talent who was going to do it, gets forgotten and overlooked and unlucky and injured. She decides to take a look inside and ask herself: Why do I need this to validate who I am as a person? Along with her mindset, she also changes racquets, service motion and marital status and in the process of it forgets how to lose a tennis match. Where others faltered, she grew.

This win of Madison Keys is a win of character. Of somebody who decided what they really needed was not a trophy but a good sense of self and what they got was both. As somebody who has faltered and who did not grow, as somebody who did need it and never got it, I lived vicariously through Maddy and her path to liberation. When she freed herself from outside expectation, she did it for herself, yes, but she also did it for all of us. Thank you.

Honourable mentions on the women’s side

Elina Svitolina. Another person who made a strong case for perserverance and marriage (I should really look at my life choices).

Eva Lys. Whose perfect story only got swept away by a more perfect story which, of course, doesn’t make her story less perfect. Here at Finite Jest, we do not believe in Zero-Sum games.

Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova. A moment of silence for Nasti Pav who somehow managed to play an entire set against Aryna Sabalenka without ever taking a step back behind the baseline. We bow in amazement and joy.

I want to spare a few words for losses. It’s been my perpetual obsession ever since my brain produces images that are not unicorns and witches. I ask myself what they do to our egos and how they affect the way we think. I often times would come to believe that I didn’t have an ego or a sense of self-importance but a failure would routinely make reality snap back into focus. Of course, I had an ego. And it was hurt by the fact that somebody else was better than me. Not only that, they were better at a craft I wasted countless hours on honing. Wasted them away like midsummer days at the beach. There is grace in losing with a head held high. I’m just as in awe of some of the players who have lost their matches as in awe of those who stood triumphant in the end.

Things that make me happy:

After being on vocal rest for a day and a half when my voice disappeared into the ether going around Melbourne like an unbearable Broadway actor ordering coffee through the notes app it makes me very happy to have my voice back. I apologize to those who saw me in the first few hours after rediscovering my voice when I sounded like I was high on coffee, sugar and Red Bull. To absolutely nobody’s surprise, I learned that I really love to talk. A lot.

Things that make me unhappy:

I dropped my brandnew computer a week ago and it’s had a hole the size of a small apple ever since which is ironic because it’s an Apple computer. Thank goodness I have insurance but insurance doesn’t repair computers in a day so I wrote this blog on my phone like a loser. Gen Z is chuckling and Hemingway is turning in his grave RIGHT NOW.

I hope you hide candy in all your pockets because let’s face it, the first week after a Grand Slam tournament can be rough on the mood. Let’s commiserate together by embracing red-heads and sparing hugs of comfort to anyone who needs it. So long, my tennis friends, I will see you again soon - here where jest is finite but grace is forever.

Yours truly, Andrea