The International Court of Justice has convened an emergency session. The UN Security Council is drafting a resolution. Somewhere in Geneva, a diplomat is weeping into their coffee. Novak Djokovic lost in the first round of the US Open, and civilization as we know it has collapsed.
A 39-year-old man played tennis. He lost. This is apparently grounds for a national inquiry.
The emotional toll has been immense. Citizens have taken to the streets holding candlelit vigils. One supporter was spotted holding a sign that read “WHERE WAS THE SERVE?” in letters so large they were visible from space. Medical professionals report an unprecedented surge in tennis-related existential dread. The phrase “he just wasn’t himself” has been uttered so many times that linguists fear it may replace all other forms of human communication.
What we are witnessing is not the natural arc of an athlete’s career—that would be too simple, too accepting of mortality. No. This is a systemic failure. A betrayal. Age, we are told, is “catching up” with Djokovic as though it were a mugger in an alley rather than a basic feature of human existence that affects literally everyone.
The implications are staggering. If a 39-year-old can lose a tennis match, what does that mean for the rest of us? Are our joints also betraying us? Will we too experience the crushing disappointment of not being the best in the world at something we have dedicated our lives to?
The answer, apparently, demands investigation. We must know why. We must have answers. We must, above all, ensure that this never happens again—that Djokovic remains frozen at peak performance forever, defying the laws of physics and biology that govern all other creatures.
Until then, the vigils continue.