Every so often, an athlete has a skill that is so obviously excellent, so justly famous, that it almost becomes a cliché. In tennis, there is Juan Martín del Potro’s forehand. It is such a shorthand for power that it’s easy to overlook that it’s strange. No one else hits anything like it. It is less a swing than a swipe, a slap shot that somehow loses little in accuracy despite its stunning speed. In this age of topspin and defense, the twenty-seven-year-old Argentine hits flat and attacks. He starts with his racquet high—very high; he is six feet six—and then drops the racquet head barely below the ball, so the shot comes off straight and hard. It can almost look like he’s batting the ball down into the opposing court. The motion could look awkward, but del Potro moves with unusual grace for someone his height. He makes hitting a ball hard look very fun.
There are many ways to describe the top players in tennis, but “fun” is not usually one of them. They can be joyful, and they can be a pleasure to watch, but there is usually a sense of seriousness to them. Records are at stake. Fun is different. With del Potro, it has something to do with his gentle demeanor, the juxtaposition of his size and his bashful smile. It also has something to do with the way he throws back his head after a win or a particularly electric forehand, with an expression of gratitude and surprise. _Can you believe it? _He is an emotional player, which makes him seem generous; he invites us to share in his delight.
For a long time now, though, del Potro’s career has been associated with regret. After a spectacular win over Roger Federer, in the finals of the 2009 U.S. Open, in which del Potro seemed to announce himself as a true challenger and heir, he suffered a wrist injury that required surgery and a long rehabilitation. He made his way back and seemed to make good on his promise. At Wimbledon in 2013, he played a semifinal match against Novak Djokovic that was one of the most thrilling matches I have ever seen. It lasted for nearly five hours, but not for a minute did the level drop. Djokovic barely pulled it out. At the start of 2014, del Potro was ranked fourth in the world. Then his left wrist began to hurt. Another surgery was required, and then another, and another. “I was really close to quit tennis,” he said last week, “because after the first surgery, the second one, and, in the end, the third one, it was really, really sad moments for me.”
In 2014, he played ten matches. Last year, he played only four. Del Potro became the great what-if of tennis—the one who might have challenged the dominance of Federer, Djokovic, Rafael Nadal, and Andy Murray; the one who might have been No. 1. You can hear, too, in the wistfulness with which people, including his opponents, talk about him that the “what if?” had another resonance, too. The _Wall Street Journal _recently headlined a story about him “The Most Beloved Man in Tennis.” What if del Potro had been healthy for all these days? Wouldn’t tennis have been more fun?
I thought Monday of the happiness he brings to the court, as he took on Dominic Thiem, a twenty-three-year-old Austrian ranked tenth in the world. With his graceful groundstrokes (including an elegant one-handed backhand), his fluid power, and his intelligent decision-making, Thiem is widely considered one of the best young players in the game. During the first set, he showed why. He played tactically, steadily attacking del Potro’s backhand, which is still so weak from the wrist problems that he can rarely do more than slice. Thiem stood way back on the court, to neutralize some of del Potro’s power, forcing del Potro to find riskier angles. Thiem seemed, for a moment, in control. But del Potro managed to stay in the backhand rallies, then stepped to the left to hit hard inside-out forehands, or, with his flexible open stance, turned on them and hooked them hard, hitting them thunderously down the line. He closed on short balls and hit clean volleys; he used his serve to dictate the start of points. Thiem started to get frustrated, to hit loose errors. Nearing the end of a long season—he played an unusually heavy schedule, in part because he won so much—he was exhausted and frustrated. He wasn’t going to win. He looked miserable. Down a set and a service break, 6–3, 3–2, Thiem tweaked his knee and resigned. “It’s not nice to win this way. Get well soon @ThiemDomi!!” del Potro tweeted after the match. Where is the fun in winning like that?
Del Potro is now into the quarterfinals, where he will face the third-ranked Stan Wawrinka. Del Potro is currently ranked No. 142 in the world; Wawrinka is the third seed. The Swiss will be the favorite, but del Potro can win. He upset Wawrinka at Wimbledon earlier this summer. He can beat anyone. During his surprising, spectacular run to the Olympic silver medal, he beat the favorite, Djokovic, in the first round; afterward, both players were sobbing—with disappointment for Djokovic, and a flood of relief and joy for del Potro. In the semifinals, he came back from a set down to beat Nadal. In the gold-medal match, exhausted at the end of an emotional week, del Potro pushed Murray until both men could barely stand. It was the kind of loss in which the loser shares in the victory. Now there are no expectations, nothing on the line but the pleasure of being there. “I’m playing free,” he said after beating Thiem. “What if?” has become “why not?”
