Why Djokovic loses first sets

Does Novak Djokovic lose first sets intentionally? The question has finally been asked. This question has finally made me create a blog, after a few years of thinking about it during long walks back home, and 30 years of collecting material for it. 

Djokovic vs Zverev, US Open 2021 (Getty) 

Why did Djokovic lose the first set vs Zverev in the US Open semifinal last night? Why has Djokovic lost the first set in his last four consecutive victories? I've always had the feeling the Serb loses the first set just for kicks in big matches, so I've finally done some number digging+crunching about it.

And...voila! As it turns out, Djokovic has the best record for winning matches after falling behind among players who have played a minimum of 100 ATP Tour matches in their career since 1991, which is when tennis statistics were first recorded. 

Top 3 players to have won matches after losing first set 

1. Novak Djokovic = 43.96% (91/207)

2. Pete Sampras = 41.33% (62/150)

3. Roger Federer = 40.17% (92/229)

Records show the average chance players have to win their matches after losing the first set (till June 2020, according to Infosys ATP Insights) is 21.7 (9301/42,909), making it approximately a one in five chance. For Djokovic, Sampras and Federer, the only three players to have won more than 40% of matches in which they have fallen behind, that chance is more than one in three. The only other players to enjoy a win percentage after falling behind in excess of 33.33 are Lleyton Hewitt (39.6%), Rafael Nadal (39.1%), Andy Murray (38.7%), Kei Nishikori (35.9%), Stefan Edberg (35.6%), Boris Becker (35.0%), Michael Stich (34.6%) and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga (33.7%).

The addiction to falling behind

There are some people who are uncomfortable with the consequences of winning, especially when victory is expected. 

Tennis, like Agassi says in 'Open', felt like an obligation to Djokovic as well when he was growing up. At age 7, he said on a Serbian television show being beamed in homes trying to hold on to their Serbian sporting spirit, having lost parts of their Yugoslavian sporting spirit with the recent losses of Suker, Boksic and Prosinecki, that he “played (only) at night” because during the day he had school and tennis practices in the afternoon.

Winning, for one not used to it, may feel like a rush of blood. For one used to it, it may sometimes bring a feeling of dread. When facing serve on match point, when his mind wanders, does Djokovic think of going to sleep in peace that night, or does he think of putting his shoes back on his clay-battered feet the next morning in preparation for the next tournament? I think it is sometimes the latter.

For some people, the feeling of falling behind, instead, is a rush of blood, because of what they know is to come. The battle with the moment. The challenge of winning from 1:5 odds. The challenge of rising.

Recounting his experiences of war, Djokovic had said in an interview... "We collect our stuff and go out. It was so loud, we couldn't hear each other. My dad was carrying my brothers, my mom was carrying other stuff and that's when I slipped. When I looked towards the building, I saw the planes flying, dropping things and the ground shaking. That is one of the most traumatic images I saw in my childhood. It stays with me."

As Master Wayne would know by heart, and Djokovic would have known at the moment he slipped while escaping, the fall-and-rise routine, if done often enough, or if done at some crucial moments of life, becomes an addiction. For some people, the point of falling is the only point where they feel at home. I imagine child Djoko springing back up on his feet, even as hell fire rains down from fighter planes, and running to catch up with his parents, and the immense peace it gave him when he finally did. I also imagine adult Djoko thinking back on that moment of peace even after the point he had stopped looking at his parents as his only refuge. Receiving at match point, when time freezes, the cheering, jeering crowd is the hail of fighter planes, the ball coming towards him his way home, and which spot on his racquet he will land the ball on the difference between whether he can get up, or if he will be slain by a stray bomb.  

Djokovic did by no means have a 'tough' childhood. His parents owned several businesses, one of which was a tennis academy. The interview he gave on national television as a 7-year-old was via his mother, who had friends at the channel. But while the Zverevs and Tsitsipases of the world were safe in their cots, dreaming of the ATP points they would win one day, Djokovic was hiding in shelters, 50 people cooped up in a room, listening to bombs dropping nearby. When they were being served their breakfasts in bed, Djokovic was lining up in queues for "bread, milk and some basic necessities of life". 

You talk about Djokovic's hardships on the Bongaon-Sealdah local, and people will scoff at you, but in the superstardom of tennis where Djokovic has reached, the Serb may well feel his background sets him apart. One of the reasons he keeps talking about it. 

"How is it possible that big countries come together and bomb small countries? Helpless people on the street, and just destroy everything. I couldn't understand it. There is no justification for war. That made me and everybody in Serbia very angry. Those scars are still present with everybody," Djokovic says. 

Djokovic's fight is not against Federer, or Nadal, or the new crop. As is made apparent when he looks at the skies in disgust between points, his fight is against the 'big guys' dropping bombs on his home, his peace, his joy of playing.

Of course, there could be a second possible reason why he has the best record for winning after dropping a set - he is just the g.o.a.t of men's tennis.