Who would still play tennis after being reborn?

Chapter 157 Djokovic and Federer's Doubles Waterloo
The sun in Melbourne Park, carrying the heatwave of the Southern Hemisphere, baked the stadium like a golden furnace in the afternoon.

The moment Djokovic and Federer stepped out of the players' tunnel side by side, the roar from the crowd almost lifted the retractable dome.

The DJ's rousing announcements were completely drowned out, and the giant LED screen played a loop of the highlights of the two players' careers—Federer's elegant one-handed backhand, the 20-time Grand Slam champion, and Djokovic's iron-clad defense, the 17-time champion. Now, as doubles partners, they were creating an unprecedented visual feast.

The match began quickly after the referee's announcement.

As Federer swung his white towel toward the baseline, the Swiss cross on his wristband gleamed in the sunlight.

He habitually plucked the strings lightly, but the familiar vibration made his palms tighten slightly.

Djokovic beside him was adjusting his wristband. The Serbian's angular profile showed no emotional fluctuations, but when the two high-fived, in the brief moment when their fingertips touched, Federer keenly sensed that the force was less certain than usual.

"Don't be careless. Although these two aren't seeded doubles players, they're quite strong and have the potential and ability to win the doubles championship. This is also our first time teaming up for doubles, so we can't afford to lose in the first round."

"Then...it shouldn't be, right?"

"It's hard to say. We've never played doubles before, so there's no point in talking about teamwork or chemistry."

"I wonder what the situation is on Gu Cheng's side."

"They are facing the number two seed. Zhang Ming expends a lot of energy in singles matches, so it should be a tough match for him!"

The two exchanged a brief conversation before heading to their respective seats.

In the stands, Serbian fans waving "Fedal 4Ever" signs and Swiss fans raising their flags were weaving a golden fantasy of sweeping their opponents, but no one noticed the barely perceptible hesitation in the eyes of the two legends when they met.

The Italian pair, Berelli and Fognini, were warming up by jumping around at the net, their fluorescent green racket strings reflecting a cold light.

Berliley rubbed the anti-slip rubber on the handle of his racket, keeping a close eye on Djokovic's footsteps out of the corner of his eye.

Fognini tapped the net post lightly with his racket, a sly smile playing on his lips—the world's 47th ranked team, like lurking cheetahs, awaited the moment to tear apart the legendary duo's defense.

They are not seeded in the Australian Open doubles, but the two believe they are no weaker than any other doubles pair.

Even though his opponents are Djokovic and Federer, he is equally confident of victory.

Doubles is not the same as singles.

If it were that easy, these people would have already teamed up in doubles and won every honor in the tennis world.

“Berri, I heard that these two are participating in the doubles competition because Gu Cheng is also participating in the doubles competition, and they plan to block him in the doubles competition?” Fognini pulled Berri back as he was about to walk to his position.

Beryl turned around: "There is such a saying, but it's hard to be sure if it's true."

Fognini shrugged: "Is there any need to say more? It's definitely true. I've never seen them team up for doubles before. This sudden move is most likely because of Gu Cheng."

"Speaking of which, isn't Gu Cheng facing Roger and the other two, who are the second seeds?"

"Yes."

"Then he's probably in trouble this time. You and I have both seen Roger and his partner's doubles match. They're not your average players. They're second seeds, not like those little minions in the ITF junior tournaments. If he really treats them like kids, he'll lose badly."

"Get into position and try to win."

"You still need to tell me?"

"Definitely."

……

First game.

Djokovic's serve was filled with an eerie atmosphere.

Federer's signature outside ace still reached a terrifying speed of 205 km/h, but when Berley earned the first break point with a net volley, Federer's reaction at the net was a beat too slow.

He watched as the straight shot, which he was supposed to block, grazed the sideline and flew out, while the gasps of surprise from the crowd suddenly froze in his ears.

“We’re standing 30 centimeters wider than we are in training,” Djokovic whispered as he walked over to him, wiping his sweat, his voice betraying a barely perceptible anxiety.

Doubles is definitely different from singles.

The defensive area has shrunk, but the difficulty has increased.

Both players assumed the other would go for the ball, but in reality, neither of them was aware of the need to move. In singles, players would actively move forward to score points, no matter how difficult it was. However, in doubles, without coordination, this situation can occur. This is the difference between doubles and singles.

The two had just formed a doubles team and had absolutely no chemistry.

He is strong individually, much stronger than his opponent, but... everyone has their own area of ​​expertise.

Fognini's backhand slice was like a viper's tongue, landing precisely in the vacuum between the two players' positions.

When Federer bent down to save the ball, a slight popping sound could be heard from his knee, and Djokovic's cover from behind was also a little slow.

When the Italians reached a break point at 40-15, the "upset probability" on the stadium's electronic screen jumped from 12% to 27% in real time.

In the stands, the scarves of the Serbian fans were clenched into tight knots, and the cheers of the Swiss fans were no longer synchronized; their shouts of encouragement had even become much quieter.

In contrast, the opposing fans immediately became excited.

Although it was only the first game, as a seasoned fan, I could tell from these few points that Djokovic and Federer's chemistry was really poor; they had some coordination, but not much.

Compared to our competitors, we are far inferior.

If that's the case, their chances of advancing to the second round of doubles are slim.

Djokovic took a deep breath and rubbed the tennis ball repeatedly in his palm.

The sunlight slanted across his eyelashes, casting shadows under his eyes.

The second serve was slightly slower than the first, but the ball speed was still extremely fast, demonstrating the undeniable strength of a top singles seed.

This was also a deliberate tactical adjustment on his part—a spin ball with a tricky angle flew past the sideline toward Fognini's backhand, but the Italian had anticipated it and returned the ball with a clean and crisp flat shot, directly targeting the gap between the two players.

Federer and Djokovic started simultaneously, their white and blue figures crossing at the baseline.

The crisp sound of rackets colliding startled the entire stadium, sending gasps of surprise through the crowd. The tennis ball changed direction and landed softly within the boundary.

Burelli swooped down from the net like a cat, and the moment he scored, the cheers of the Italian fans in the stands were mixed with the sharp sound of a metal whistle.

"Change sides!" The referee's voice pierced the noise.

Djokovic ripped off his soaked wristband and wrapped it tightly again, his knuckles turning bluish-white from the excessive force: "They're studying our movement habits. Every time I switch positions, Federer is a beat too slow to cover."

Federer wiped his forehead with a towel, beads of sweat trickling down his angular jawline and into his collar: "Try a rotation tactic? Move towards the middle before I serve." The rapid exchanges between the two were fragmented by the progress of the match, and the air conditioning system of Rod Laver Arena emitted a low hum, intertwining with the murmurs of the audience.

Berlay's serve showcased textbook doubles coordination.

His first serve landed precisely on Djokovic's body, forcing the Serbian to hastily return the ball.

Fognini immediately swooped down from the net, his racket face almost parallel to the ground as he sliced ​​a short ball close to the net.

When Federer dived to save the ball, his shoulder slammed heavily into the net, the vibration of the metal frame mixed with his suppressed groan, which was particularly clear in the silent court.

When the game ended with a Love Game, the score on the screen was 3-1, and the probability of an upset rose to 41%.

"Their volleys are at least 0.3 seconds ahead of ours." Djokovic tapped the ground lightly with his racket, the marks quickly fading with sweat.

Federer stared at the backs of the Italian pair clapping in the distance, noticing that Fognini tapped his racket three times on the ground before each shot—a clear tactical signal.

When he told his partner about this discovery, Djokovic's pupils suddenly contracted: "Next game, when I receive serve, you move to my right and bet on them serving an outside corner!"

However, the Italians once again surprised everyone.

Fognini unusually used an underhand serve, the soft trajectory of which made Djokovic's powerful smashes inaccurate.

Berlay seized the opportunity to move to the net and delivered a delicate drop shot that displaced Federer from his best defensive position.

As the tennis ball grazed the baseline and landed, the broadcast camera captured Djokovic pounding his thigh; the kinesiology tape wrapped around his old knee injury was slightly curled up from being soaked in sweat.

The score is now 5-3, with Burelli holding two set points.

The Italian rested his racket on his chin for a moment in thought, then suddenly served a slow-spinning ball with a speed of only 168 kilometers per hour.

Djokovic's return shot was a bit rushed, and the tennis ball grazed the racket and flew towards Federer's defensive area.

As the Swiss maestro leaped to intercept, the sunlight pierced his eyes, and the arc of his white jersey in the air ultimately came to rest outside the bounds.

"Game set! Berelli/Fognini, 6-3!"

The referee's raised arm brought a brief silence to the stadium, followed by a deafening roar of cheers from the Italian fans.

Burrell knelt down and kissed the blue hard court of the Australian Open, while Fognini rushed to the stands to hug his family who were waving the flag wildly.

Djokovic bent over, supporting himself on his knees, breathing heavily. Federer's racket dragged a long trail of water on the ground—the marks of sweat soaking through it.

As the two walked to the net to shake hands, Federer smiled first: "It seems we still have a lot to learn."

Djokovic nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed his frustration: "At least we know where the problem lies."
Scattered applause still rang out from the stands, mixed with sighs from Serbian fans and words of comfort from Swiss fans.

The loss in the first set was like a heavy blow, shattering all the pre-match fantasies about the "dream team," but it also allowed the two legendary players to experience the completely different cruelty and charm of doubles matches through their sweat.

After a short break, the two sides switched sides.

The game continues.

Having gained experience from the first set, Djokovic and Federer's teamwork was noticeably better than in the first set, giving their opponents a huge shock right from the start.

This also gave a glimmer of hope to fans who were initially not very enthusiastic.

This game still has a long way to go.

At least, it won't be a completely one-sided situation.

The third game of the second set became the center of the storm.

When Federer volleyed at the net, the sweat on his palms suddenly made his racket slip, and the tennis ball floated over the net in an unpredictable arc.

Berlay leaped up like an arrow released from a bow, and a thunderous high-pressure smash made the whole stadium boil.

The referee's "out of bounds" decision drew boos from the crowd, but slow-motion replays showed that the ball landed only 0.3 centimeters from the sideline.

Djokovic rushed to the sidelines to argue with the referee, his neck veins bulging; Federer squatted on the ground repeatedly wiping his racket handle, he could feel the sweat on his palms surging like a tide, almost making it impossible for him to hold the racket.

"They're targeting Djokovic's blind spots!" a tennis channel analyst exclaimed, pointing to the tactical board.

Fognini always maintained a position 1.2 meters behind the service line. This seemingly conservative stance actually concealed a deadly trap. Whenever Federer came to the net, the Italian would use a tricky over-the-top lob to force Djokovic to retreat rapidly.

In the 28-shot rally of the sixth game, Fognini's high lob shot pierced the Melbourne sky, and Djokovic's backward body drew a desperate arc in the air. However, Berlay had already anticipated the landing point and volleyed the ball to score. The Italian's chest-bumping celebration resounded throughout the stadium through the microphone.

Federer could hear his own heavy breathing, and sweat was streaming down his spine.

Djokovic handed him a salt tablet during the break: "Focus on our own rhythm, we still have a chance."

The Serbian's eyes remained sharp.

When Djokovic double-faulted twice in his service game, making the score 3-5, the big screen captured images of Serbian fans wiping away tears in the stands. This moment was later described by The New York Times as "one of the most heartbreaking moments in sports history."

In the eighth game of the deciding set, Djokovic's serve suddenly increased in speed by 10 kilometers per hour.

His outside serve slammed into the baseline like a cannonball. After Fognini managed to return the ball, Federer shot towards the net like an arrow.

The perfect teamwork between the two was finally restored at this moment. Federer's volley forced Berriel to hastily return the ball out of bounds, and the crowd erupted in long-awaited cheers.

"That's it!" Djokovic roared, raising his racket high, his voice filled with a do-or-die determination.

But the Italians didn't give them a chance to catch their breath.

Fognini began to use underhand serves more frequently, a seemingly weak serve that disrupted Djokovic's return rhythm.

In the 10th game, Federer suddenly slipped while volleying at the net and lost his balance. In that instant, he instinctively reached out to grab Djokovic's racket.

This mistake was like opening Pandora's box. Berleley seized the opportunity and hit a straight through ball. The electronic screen showed that Federer's movement speed had decreased by 18% compared to the first set.

"Game, set, match! Berelli/Fognini, 7-5!"
The referee's voice echoed throughout the stadium through the loudspeakers, plunging the stadium into a deathly silence for 15 seconds.

Fognini threw down his racket and knelt on the ground, tears mixed with sweat sliding into his mouth; Burelli rushed to the players' tunnel and hugged the coach, letting out a beast-like roar.

In the stands, some people threw their hats into the air, while many others sat blankly, staring at the scoreboard—6-3, 7-5. This number was like a sharp blade, shattering everyone's illusions about the legendary combination.

Djokovic bent down to pick up the towel, sweat dripping down his chin onto the iconic blue hard court of the Australian Open, spreading out in dark smudges.

He could feel the sharp pain in his right knee, but it couldn't compare to the sense of defeat he felt.

When Federer walked to the net to shake hands with his opponent, he managed a weak smile, and the sweat stains on the back of his white jersey had blurred into an abstract ink painting.

(End of this chapter)