Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is an examination of the human spirit’s capacity to endure when the body begins its inevitable betrayal. It is an exposition on the sanctity of the struggle, suggesting that a man is defined not by the prize he hauls to shore, but by the “purity of the line” he keeps during the fight. Santiago, the wizened fisherman is a professional who has stripped away ego in favor of a skeletal, iron-willed discipline. His eighty-four days of “salao” (unluckiness) have not broken him; they have merely clarified his purpose. When he hooks the giant marlin, the battle becomes a silent, agonizing dialogue between two equals. The fish is not a “foe” to be hated, but a “brother” to be respected. Hemingway’s message is stark: “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” The tragedy of the sharks devouring the marlin only serves to underscore the ultimate victory. Santiago brings the skeleton back to the beach, proving that even in the face of biological decay, a man can still operate with precision, courage, and love for the very thing that is killing him. It is a meditation on the nobility of the ordeal, where the only thing that truly belongs to us is the way we choose to suffer.
The Rod Laver Arena during the 2026 Australian Open finals defined another “Old Man”, Novak Djokovic, winner of 24 Grand Slams, who at thirty-eight, is grizzled but still a master of the court. His “Marlin” was Carlos Alcaraz an impetuous 22-year-old, possessing virile vitality and an experimental force of nature who sometimes defies the laws of physics. The winner of this match would create history, as Novak searched for his record breaking 25th Slam while Carlos aimed to be the youngest ever to win a career Gand Slam.
Novak counted himself lucky when he escaped in the quarter-finals against an injured Lorenzo Musetti (who, in my view is the epitome of elegance in the league of Stan Wawrinka and Grigor Dimitrov when it comes to the single handed backhand). Yet, in the five-set epic semifinals against Jannik Sinner, Novak reigned supreme. Doubled over with fatigue, his hands metaphorically bleeding like Santiago’s, he had saved sixteen of eighteen break points. It was a tournament where Novak proved that “it’s difficult but not impossible” to beat the top 2 champions in the world.
The final began with Novak asserting staggering authority, snatching the first set 6-2 as if to remind Carlos that the fisherman still held the harpoon. He was the master of the precise line, placing balls with a certainty that left the youngster gasping. After the first set, you could hear Carlos utter “Impossible” multiple times, in Spanish, to his box. But as the match deepened, the Carlos did something profound. He curbed his impetuousness and expansive shot-making. After the first set, he looked at the man across the net and decided to become him.
In a turn of events that Hemingway would have admired for its poetic symmetry, Carlos adopted Novak’s own mantra – something that Andy Roddick had tweeted about Novak’s game during the U.S. Open in 2021: “First he takes your legs, then he takes your soul.”
Carlos curbed his fun-loving instincts and became measured in his approach. He traded his flamboyant lunges for the steady, suffocating pressure of the long line, intelligently forcing the thirty-eight-year-old into corners of the court that felt like the open ocean. By the fourth set, the roles had blurred. Novak was holding the line with everything he had—saving six break points in a marathon game that felt like Santiago fighting the galanos—but Carlos had become the relentless pull of the deep.
When Carlos finally clinched the title 2-6, 6-2, 6-3, 7-5, he became the youngest man to complete a Career Grand Slam, but he did it by honouring the very man he defeated. The torch did not just pass; it was handed over in a ritual of mutual ennoblement. From Hemingway, Novak, and Carlos, we learn that whether we are the old master holding on or the young legend rising, the glory is not in the trophy, but in the fact that we were willing to go out “too far” and stay there until the end.
It was a match for the ages.
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Samir Mehta, 58, lives in Singapore. He works as a professional fund manager investing on behalf of clients in listed equities in Asia. He started playing tennis in 2021, just post COVID-19, and is now addicted to the sport. He likes reading, hiking and has recently taken up oil painting. He writes primarily on investing and markets with an occasional philosophical detour. You can follow him at https://samirmehta1.substack.com/.
