THE CASE FOR
By Tony Wright
For this armchair viewer, trembling at the edge of his seat mostly, it was a classic, less mere tennis than extended drama.
Indeed, because I, like so many, became emotionally involved, hoping for the plucky Rafael Nadal to win, it soared for me towards the heights of the quintessential classical drama, the Aristotelian tragedy: a suffering for the audience's pleasure.
It is, then, to belittle this astonishing match of five hours and 53 minutes to call it nothing more than epic. Epic is a grand word, to be sure, but it reduces the drama to a mechanical thing.
Bertolt Brecht did as much as anyone to create and define the epic drama, and this is what he said of it: ''Each scene, and each section within a scene, must be perfected and played as rigorously and with as much discipline as if it were a short play, complete in itself.
Without any smudges. And without there being the slightest suggestion that another scene, or section within a scene, is to follow those that have gone before.''
The spellbinding game that kept half of Australia up into the early hours of the morning and a fair slice of the world hanging on each shot met most of those requirements, particularly the bit about rigour and discipline, but rose above them by including smudges and allowing for imperfection.
There was too much Latin in Nadal for perfection to reign; so much steel in Djokovic that lapses of perfection drove him to the edge of control. There was Rafa in the fourth set, down and apparently all but done, reaching into himself and finding a determination that seemed beyond normal understanding, flummoxing Djokovic and taking the match beyond midnight and into a humid morning that must have seemed for both of them almost without end.
And there was Djokovic, tottering on legs that seemed to promise his defence and his endeavour were going to jelly, pulling himself together for a final surge that refused to falter.
And in the end, exhaustion all but engulfing both performers, each of whom had run almost the distance from Athens to Marathon, there was nothing between them but will and the capricious flight of a little ball.
Djokovic had it and finally, we could breathe again, momentarily astounded to discover we were back from some unfamiliar place that only high drama can devise.
How could we not applaud Djokovic's magnificence even as we were torn by Nadal's misery? Or be lifted by their fortitude through hours of suffering?
Here is Aristotle describing the elements of classic tragedy: ''Tragedy, then, is a representation of an action that is worth serious attention, complete in itself, and of some amplitude; in language enriched by a variety of artistic devices appropriate to the several parts of the play; presented in the form of action, not narration; by means of pity and terror, bringing about the purgation [or catharsis] of such emotions.''
Aficionados of tennis might dissect the play too little finesse and limit their approval, declaring the match an epic, short of classic. And they may be right.
But they are talking about tennis.
THE CASE AGAINST
By Jake Niall
The match was certainly epic and unique. Two men pushed themselves beyond reasonable limits, in a final that took once genteel tennis into the realm of an extreme sport like mountain climbing without oxygen.
But an epic match isn't always a classic, in terms of the skills exhibited. Long matches aren't necessarily great ones. The 2012 men's final will be remembered, principally, for its ludicrous length and for the courage of the combatants.
It was not a classic, though, in the manner of Nadal v Federer at Wimbledon in 2008, or the final at the same venue between Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe in 1980.
The viewers who stayed up and the hyperbolic Channel Seven commentary may say otherwise, but this match was of far greater duration than quality.
Indeed, one could mount a case that it was too long, that tennis matches ought not drone on for six hours and that Djokovic and Nadal were actually too well matched to produce a contest comparable to Federer v Nadal, McEnroe v Borg or Pete Sampras v Andre Agassi.
The first set of this ordeal lasted 80 minutes, a smidgen less than the women's final. The tennis was tight and tense, but there was relatively little adventure, as both players traded blows from the back of the court. And when they did chance their arm, the other bloke often retrieved the ball.
Unlike the fire-and-ice pairing of net-rushing, temperamental McEnroe and plegmatic, baseline Borg, or the more blindingly brilliant and deft Federer v Nadal, this combination pitted players with similar weapons, including an amazing ability to defend. Over six hours, there was only one point won serving and volleying.
Nadal committed 71 unforced errors to Djokovic's 69, and the man from Majorca hit just 44 winners to the Djoker's 57. Errors clearly out-numbered the winners - one benchmark for (questionable) quality.
Moreover, the better shots were all of a kind - heavy, from the backcourt, as the players shuffled and sprinted across, but seldom vertically up and down the court.
The match lacked a diversity of shotmaking and it wasn't an edge-of-the-seat rollercoaster until relatively late. In the third and fourth sets, Djokovic was cruising; it was only late in the fourth set, as the Serb sought to close it out and Nadal surged, that the compelling drama began.
If a basketball match meanders, but is won with a spectacular shot on the buzzer, do we rate it on only on what happened last?
Djokovic's almost five hour semi-final victory over Andy Murray two days earlier was superior to the final, both for shots and sustained drama, and contained the subplot of Murray's coming-of-age.
The final had many of the attributes of a French Open marathon, in which points and rallies drag on due to the slow surface.
Tennis Australia will point to the ratings and gushing reviews that have ensued. But, as in literature, a classic is defined neither by the number of pages, nor the ending.
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