Nole was not sick, at least not sick in the way we thought he was. A sick man (with a stomach virus) does not fly to Ibiza after "throwing up" at the French Open and prance around wet, in his bathing suit, with his gleeful entourage: see following article,
Here is what happened with Djok-off, and something I totally missed in my cap of this match. Djoker got engaged (and really this is all you needed to know, or consider, to realize that he would never beat a guy, Nadal, who is married to tennis) and what happens to guys who get engaged (just look at the golfer fellow who dumped Woz, cause he knew what was good form, or Agassi, who didn't know what was good for him, when he married Brooke, or Tiger who has yet to recover from his marriage)? They get distracted, they get nervous, they get scared. Suddenly their life passes before their eyes (or their life being stuck with one woman till death do them part) while the women of their dreams (unbeknownst to her/them) become a source of nightmares. The male ego suddenly feels trapped, like a wounded animal, with nowhere to hide and no one turn to. Everyone is congratulating the guy, the woman of his dreams is planning the rest of his life for him, and all he can think about is how the hell he will get himself out of this mess (or cheat on her for the next twenty years without her catching him, and taking away half his earnings). You think this guy gave a damn about the French Open? Part of him did, of course, because routine is all you can count on when you are about to lose your life (metaphorically speaking). But it is the part that didn't give a shit, the part that was fighting his other part and was too distracted to care, that cost him the French. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that any physical ailments Djoker may have had were a direct result of his inner turmoil and conflict. At a time in his life when he should be happy, hopeful and committed, he is full of angst, despair and self-doubt, which does not bode well for a guy playing tennis against a man who is willing to sacrifice everything (even his body) for a game he loves more than anything (or anyone) else.
Of course, the Rafa lovers will say Djoker never had a shot, but think about this, even a half committed, puking (in more ways than one) Djoker took Rafa to the brink: cramps were setting in (by his own admission), his knee and back were giving out, and if Djoker had not chocked (or played such careless, half-ass tennis on his serve) Rafa would have lost in 5.
Here is what happened with Djok-off, and something I totally missed in my cap of this match. Djoker got engaged (and really this is all you needed to know, or consider, to realize that he would never beat a guy, Nadal, who is married to tennis) and what happens to guys who get engaged (just look at the golfer fellow who dumped Woz, cause he knew what was good form, or Agassi, who didn't know what was good for him, when he married Brooke, or Tiger who has yet to recover from his marriage)? They get distracted, they get nervous, they get scared. Suddenly their life passes before their eyes (or their life being stuck with one woman till death do them part) while the women of their dreams (unbeknownst to her/them) become a source of nightmares. The male ego suddenly feels trapped, like a wounded animal, with nowhere to hide and no one turn to. Everyone is congratulating the guy, the woman of his dreams is planning the rest of his life for him, and all he can think about is how the hell he will get himself out of this mess (or cheat on her for the next twenty years without her catching him, and taking away half his earnings). You think this guy gave a damn about the French Open? Part of him did, of course, because routine is all you can count on when you are about to lose your life (metaphorically speaking). But it is the part that didn't give a shit, the part that was fighting his other part and was too distracted to care, that cost him the French. In fact, I'll go as far as to say that any physical ailments Djoker may have had were a direct result of his inner turmoil and conflict. At a time in his life when he should be happy, hopeful and committed, he is full of angst, despair and self-doubt, which does not bode well for a guy playing tennis against a man who is willing to sacrifice everything (even his body) for a game he loves more than anything (or anyone) else.
Of course, the Rafa lovers will say Djoker never had a shot, but think about this, even a half committed, puking (in more ways than one) Djoker took Rafa to the brink: cramps were setting in (by his own admission), his knee and back were giving out, and if Djoker had not chocked (or played such careless, half-ass tennis on his serve) Rafa would have lost in 5.
