There comes a moment in almost every Carlos Alcaraz match where I wonder if I’m Pam Ewing. It happened near the end of the fifth set today, when he robbed Sascha Zverev right in front of the Coupe des Mousquetaires. (As Andy Roddick tweeted, “This was CINEMA.”) He served for the match a few minutes later and, yes, I cried along with his parents as he fell to the court in celebration.
It was a perfect weekend for tennis, with Carlitos joining Iga Świątek in the winners’ circle at Roland-Garros, and not even NBC’s reliably dismal coverage could spoil it. (The network defiantly raised one last middle finger to the viewers it torments annually by airing commercials in place of the players’ trophy presentation speeches.) Alcaraz, who recently turned 21, is now the youngest man to have won Grand Slams on all three surfaces, and by winning any of the next three Australian Opens he’ll become the youngest to have achieved a Career Grand Slam.
He is a prodigy’s prodigy, a player so wondrously complete at such a young age that you watch him and wonder if the last two years have been a dream. Will we awaken to find Nadal in the shower? Tune in next week, as Wimbledon warm-ups begin, to find out.
Apologies for the brevity of this post; I have speech therapy and PT first thing in the morning and still have some nightly chores to finish. Good news, though: I didn’t don my Mister Rogers sweater today and deliver an avuncular lecture to anyone whose diapers I’ve changed.