If we ask Arthur Fils (21) what he thinks, how he sees himself a month from now, with the silhouette of Roland Garros looming on the horizon and the French in need of myths, then the man, the new RCTB champion, covers his face with his hands, shakes his head no, and replies:
–Let me enjoy this, please. Ahead of me, I have to play in Madrid and Rome, and maybe Hamburg. And all that comes before the French Open, so there’s a whole world to go. How can I start thinking about Paris now?
And then he smiles.
Well, Fils, when he appears before the press, is kind and quite cheerful.
However, the chronicler senses that the procession will be internal because French tennis, its community, its academy, its history, and its media apparatus are starting to mobilize: one has to go back to 1983 to relive the last title of a Frenchman in a Grand Slam.
We must recall the memory of Yannick Noah, champion in that vintage Roland Garros, champion in ethics and aesthetics in the times of Borg, McEnroe, Lendl, and Vilas, that Noah who is today a sixty-something, musician, activist, and thinker.
(In reality, nothing that came after Noah has fully worked out for the French; neither Leconte, nor Gasquet, nor Tsonga, nor Monfils, nor Tulasne who won on this very stage, the RCTB, in 1985…).
At the RCTB, the thinker is Andrey Rublev. This flagless Russian thinks and thinks, but he’s running out of time and can’t find a way out. Carlos Alcaraz has told us on occasion that Rublev’s forehand is unmatched on the circuit:
–His shots come very strong, very low, and with an inverted parabola. They remind me of Nadal’s forehand –the Murcian talent told us a couple of years ago.
French tennis, orphaned of icons, surrenders to Fils, first champion in Barcelona since Thierry Tulasne
Such is Rublev’s forehand.
And yet, Fils’ forehand runs faster.
What top spin, what parabola, how the ball rises over the net and violently drops on the other side!
Rublev doesn’t know how to approach it, this is a trick, and in a flash he sees the match starting to evaporate: he concedes seven games in a row, all from 0-2 to 6-2 and 1-0, and Fils doesn’t let up.
Nor does the sun let up, and the crowd covers their heads with caps and their eyes with sunglasses, and Rublev wonders when this downpour will end.
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Forehands rain down from Fils’ side, this Frenchman with afro hair, legs like columns, and a six-pack who never flinches and mistreats everyone equally: Nakashima, Musetti, Jódar, and now Rublev, and it has nothing to do with that more inexperienced Fils from last year, who had bowed his head right here, in the semifinals, against Alcaraz.
Fils already has experience on the circuit, today he will wake up as the 25th in the world, and he knows enough to make comparisons, which is why yesterday, after beating Jódar, he told us:
–If I have to make comparisons, I’d say Jódar moves more along the lines of Sinner than Alcaraz. He’s tall, stays at the back of the court, is very physical and long-limbed. Alcaraz plays a different game. He interrupts you, shortens rallies when he wants, his range of resources is infinite.
And Rublev?
What wonderful forehands distinguish the Frenchman, a torment for Rublev, a flagless Russian!
Rublev doesn’t know what to do.
He starts to come undone.
Whoever observes him senses the containment of a volcano, he seems about to explode, about to throw his racket onto the clay, about to curse himself and curse this Frenchman who keeps him at the back of the court, everything is bombs.
Rublev does none of that, he maintains his sanity and patience, and that’s how he manages to break Fils’ serve when the Frenchman serves for the win, extending the contest a little longer, and the public appreciates it, we came here to see tennis and the longer it lasts, the better.
–Come on! –Fils keeps shouting, returning the shot and putting himself at 0-40 in the last game, three match points.
Fils has mistreated Rublev just as he mistreated Nakashima, Musetti, or Jódar, a new Spanish talent, in recent days.
Photographers prepare their cameras, this is ending, and Rublev says no way. He raises his service level, hits an ace and two great first serves, and it’s back to square one: 5-5.
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–Yessss! –shouts Rublev, looking back at his box, where his coach, Fernando Vicente, watches him.
Everyone shouts in Spanish!
The rubber band stretches, we go to the tie-break, and there Fils doesn’t let go of his prey. He’s a bullet when he has to run forward, reaches a drop shot from Rublev and goes up 5-2, and already, out of the corner of his eye, he glances at the superb trophy resting behind the authorities’ box. Another four match points, Rublev can’t take it anymore and throws the ball beyond the stands, home run and it’s over!
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It’s magnificent!
