Carlos Alcaraz of Spain celebrates with the trophy after defeating Novak Djokovic of Serbia in the Gentlemen's Singles Final during day fourteen of The Championships Wimbledon 2024 at All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club on July 14 in London, England.Julian Finney/Getty Images
The Big Three era in men’s tennis began around 2004. It ended on Sunday.
You can put pretty close to an exact time on it – 2:25 p.m. local.
That was when the first game of this year’s Wimbledon men’s final ended. Novak Djokovic, the last viable member of the triumvirate, began on serve. Five break points later, Carlos Alcaraz took a 1-0 advantage in the first set. And just like that, an idea died.
The idea was Djokovic’s inevitability.
That’s different than invincibility. Each member of the Big Three was, at different times, prone to collapse, but only against each other. When playing regular humans, doubt could not find a crack.
Going into Sunday, Djokovic had lost a dozen Grand Slam finals in career. He’d even been pushed around in a few of them. But he’d always been in it.
A few French Open finals ago, Djokovic went down two sets early to Stefanos Tsitsipas. I’m certain the algorithms that spit out real-time odds of who’s likely to win a given match gave him no chance at all.
But everybody who wasn’t powered by a CPU knew – only one guy was winning, and he wasn’t Greek. Even Tsitsipas knew it. The more points he won, the more worried he looked.
Djokovic pulled eye-to-eye with Tsitsipas in the third set, muscled him in the fourth and finished him off in five.
It wasn’t anywhere close to the most legendary win by a member of the Big Three, but it was the most evocative. Though old and weighed down with laurels, they still could not find a way to lose.
That was three years ago. Federer was hanging on. Nadal was near his best. Djokovic remained ageless.
You still expected every one of them to win every time. When they didn’t, you assumed it was down to factors outside their control, or that they just weren’t feeling it that day. You continued to assume that when and if it mattered, they would not allow themselves to fail.
The idea of Federer fell first. His valedictory march through 2021 became more of a controlled burn. In his last match at Wimbledon, he was thumped by Hubert Hurkacz and that was it.
Nadal fell earlier this year. After suggesting he would retire, he took it back, and was punished for his hubris. Looking for one last French Open title, the Spaniard couldn’t get out of the first round.
Nadal is set to play at Roland Garros once more at the Paris Games. People will say expectations are high because he’s owed a little delusion, but no one will believe it.
That made Djokovic the last legend standing tall.
A year ago, he was one match from the calendar Grand Slam for the first time. Alcaraz pipped him at Wimbledon in a contest Djokovic should have won. Immediately after that loss, Djokovic seemed stunned.
“I thought I’ll have trouble with you only on clay, and maybe on hard court, but not on grass …” Djokovic said to Alcaraz. “Way to adapt to the surface.”
The implication was clear – you got lucky, kid.
This year, there was a new note in there – fear.
Djokovic left the French Open injured and had knee surgery. Instead of taking a precautionary rest, he rushed back for Wimbledon. Nobody needed to say it, but everybody felt it – time was growing short.
Djokovic probably wasn’t going to beat Alcaraz on hard court at the U.S. Open or in Australia. He definitely wasn’t going to beat him on clay. So it was either right now or wait another year. Did he have another year in him?
This time around, Alcaraz didn’t need to warm into the match. Whereas in the past Djokovic could turn a contest with a gesture, all his feel had left him. At times, it was hard to believe what you were seeing.
Alcaraz had the good manners to let it tighten up at the end, but it was never in doubt – 6-2, 6-2, 7-6 (4).
When it was pointed out to him that he is the sixth man in the Open era to win the French Open and Wimbledon in the same year, Alcaraz tried to turn the focus onto his elder.
“Huge champions,” he said, in that breathless way he has. “I don’t consider myself a champion yet, but …”
The Centre Court crowd began to laugh. Alcaraz stuttered. The camera swung to Djokovic. He was standing there with a tight smile on his face. It must have been a long time since he’s felt condescended to. That it was meant kindly only makes it worse.
This is not to suggest that Djokovic is done. He is still well capable of steamrolling most of the top 10. He may win more majors. But as long as Alcaraz is playing, he will never again be assumed the best.
And so that’s that. On Sunday, Djokovic’s aura faded off. He is the last of the Big Three, but that is all past tense now.
This is how eras end – once, as the next one makes itself undeniable.
The wake for the Big Three has been going on so long that they’ve buried other people – Andy Murray, for instance – just to keep it interesting. Now that the funeral is finally happening, it feels anticlimactic.
We won’t be able to fully appreciate any of it until Nadal and Djokovic have left. As long as they remain, the awe they’ve earned will be replaced by a bittersweet remembrance of the total dominance they once represented.