• Djokovic closing on Roger Federer for world No2 spot
• Brilliant display leaves Murray trailing in the Serb’s wake
Any analysis of Andy Murray’s disintegration in Melbourne is rendered invalid if it ignores the excellence of the man who made his life a misery for two hours and 39 minutes in the final of the Australian Open. Novak Djokovic was, quite simply, sublime in nearly every department in beating Murray 6-4, 6-2, 6-3, including those areas of expertise Murray regards as his fiefdoms: baseline defence, a strong serve and bags of intuitive tennis. Djokovic bossed them all; Murray did not.
These were the pretenders, it was universally agreed, to absent friends, Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer, except that Djokovic was not pretending and Murray, it transpired, could not ultimately convince himself that he belonged here. That is at the core of his dilemma and, until he resolves it, self-doubt will haunt his every challenge at the highest level.
Djokovic’s climb up the ludicrously greasy pole of world rankings is significant, given the circumstances of his win here, his second Australian title and his second major, in the absence of Federer and Nadal. On top of his comprehensive win, one born of total commitment and self-belief, the Serb is overhauling Federer, an act of tennis blasphemy that is becoming more commonplace by the tournament. His assault on the summit was by some way the more convincing and he now sits just behind Federer, the god he reduced to a hitting partner in the semi-final, by a very gettable 115 points.
The Swiss loses 1,250 of his 9,245 world ranking points by virtue of his win here over Murray last year, to go to 7,995; Djokovic adds 1,640 to his tally of 6,240, bringing his points to 7,880. These are mere numbers. What matters more is the impression Djokovic left on the court of the Rod Laver Arena and the psyche of Andy Murray. He owns this title; he might well own Murray.
For the Scot there was not even the consolation of giving such an excellent opponent a good fight. That sad fact alone will heap grief upon him when he needs it least. He has retreated to the comfort of his friends, family and girlfriend to reassess and it might take a little longer than people imagine because, once he reviews his performance, Murray will be harder on himself than he was immediately after the match.
Hopes were high for him and rightly so. He had looked superb over the fortnight: batting away impertinent but dangerous challenges from Karol Beck, Illya Marchenko and Alexandr Dolgopolov as well as the more cultured Guillermo Garcia-López and the tough Jurgen Melzer before reaching this final with a final acid test against David Ferrer, the second best Spaniard. Ferrer had spared Murray a semi-final date with Nadal – but not a lot could save him from the rampant powerof Djokovic when they were drawn into what ought to have been a monumental final. It was not, despite all the portents.
In a winter invasion of Australia that delivered England the Ashes, the second leg was always going to prove more problematic for a Scot who travels a lonely road. He’d not bought into the bandwagon thing with the cricketers – his Scottishness and reluctance to play the jingo card were always going to rule that one out – and, to milk the analogy, his own wheels came off independently.
Tennis, the quirkiest of one-on-one sports because of its delicious, maddening scoring system, was made for Murray. He loves comebacks. After a reasonably even first set and a near bagel in the second, he embarked on his task with renewed vigour in the third. But, although a closer tussle, that set too became one-sided. It was not supposed to be like this.
With Federer and Nadal eliminated, the stage belonged, finally, to Djokovic and Murray, ranked third and fifth in the world respectively but, in essence, on the same plane. This is what they had been waiting most of their tennis lives for. Born within a week of each other, they were all but destined to meet at this point in their careers and, as a consequence of that closeness, the collision was inevitably going to be that much more painful for the loser.
That the Serb somehow took on Murray’s cloak of defensive master only exacerbated the pain for the Scot. To look across the net and see a blurred figure swoop and retrieve his best shots (those that there were in a generally poor performance) must have disheartened Murray to distraction.
It probably goes some way to explaining his descent into expletives and grimaces, an aspect of the performance that raised it to high drama. He railed at his mother, squawking seagulls, the occasional ball boy, the cool night air, innocent whitewash and, ultimately, whatever demon inside him that wrecked his equilibrium.
From the start it looked bad for Murray. Djokovic served to love and Murray took nearly a quarter of an hour to hold, surviving a break point and five deuces. If that was rough enough, it hardly improved for him at any stage of the match. Serving to stay in the first set, he sent down his second double fault and hit long to give it to Djokovic. He very rarely loses a set like that.
The second was worse. Djokovic won seven games in a row to lead 5-0 before Murray found something to save being nilled. But there was a hopelessness about that gesture.
The third set presented a fresh conundrum: to gamble on all-out assault or trust in his attritional strategy. The latter had hardly been a raging success so he mixed, matched and botched.
He had a couple of break points here and there but the game was up, and the match, when Murray netted his forehand. It might as well have been a handshake.
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