Nadal falls to Van de Zandschulp, does this story end here?

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain

Roy Batty, ‘Blade Runner’

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Tears fall, the look of Rafael Nadal (38) turns red, the myth that is leaving but first wants to make the stage his own.

He tries, he fights, but he is no longer able to: 1h53m later he concedes against Botic van den Zandschulp (double 6-4) and we chroniclers ask ourselves:

-Has the time definitely come, will we not see him compete anymore?

(We will know a few hours later, when Carlos Alcaraz has faced Tallon Griekspoor and, if the Murcian wins, when the doubles clash is over).

This ends and the myth cries at the closing and also cries in the prolegomena, he cries while his country’s anthem plays and he sees his sporting career pass before him. Then he tunes up the court, places the bottles diagonally “like soldiers in formation” (Federer said), distributes the towels in the four flower boxes in the corners, prolongs his rituals, does not step on the lines, wipes his forehead with the wristband before serving, he stretches the fold of his pants, boot and boot and the booting has no end, and Botic van de Zandschulp (29), a hypothetical troupe in this scenario, awaits him: this Dutchman is a patient and polite guy and does not celebrate a I only hit, neither his successes nor the errors of the manacorí.

Van de Zandschulp (80th in the world today) has little pedigree, but he has the youth and the pace of competition (45 games he has played in 2024, compared to the Manacorí’s twenty), and that is why he does not feel the weight of Nothingnessnot even in his first game of service, when he commits three consecutive double faults.

He doesn’t even see the wolf’s ears there.

When I think of NothingnessI think of Andy Roddick. It is possible that the American was the first to feel it, although this is journalism-fiction, since I am going back to 2004.

I am going to La Cartuja in Seville, 200 km from here, from Malaga, I am recovering that brave gesture of the captains of the Spanish team (then, the G3 of Avendaño, Arrese and Perlas), a brave gesture like the one that has now been tax David Ferrer.

What happens is that this Nadal is not the one he has been for two decades, this is an autumnal Nadal, a victim of his ailments, he is older, he is a guy who is heading for the starting gate and who, stubborn, honest and mythomaniac, has made one last commitment, that goodbye that he has been dreaming of for months.

A goodbye on the track.

Ferrer and the rest of the Spanish team grant him the pass. The dozens of wealthy fans, those who have paid 30,000 euros for a ticket at the resale, are grateful.

In the stands, just like Nadal’s towels in the planters, the colors are spread. On one side, the red of the Spanish, a tide like that of La Cartuja. On the other, the orange of the Dutch, hundreds of them show it off, they are sitting very close to each other, they are not intimidated either Nothingness.

–Let’s goBotic!

-Why don’t you shut up?

Nadal contemplates the gigantic Salad Bowl, overlooking a corner, just below the stands orangeand to get it he does everything, he makes everything his own: the anti-vibrator on the string goes off and stops the match between point and point. He sweats and soaks the carpet before serving, and asks Ferrer for another towel, the fifth he has already used, and barely 31 minutes of shock have passed.

By then, the Manacorí is 4-3 up, but now the troubles come, the real troubles.

Van de Zandschulp ties him at four and then breaks his serve (4-5) and serves to score the set. A Dutch reporter looks around the press gallery. He contemplates the Spanish chroniclers, he contemplates us one by one, perhaps pulsing the atmosphere.

I put on a poker face.

“We are going to win this game,” shouts the red stands.

The Dutchman takes the sleeve and the manacorí goes to the bathroom. He disappears from the scene for four minutes. Let’s see if Van de Zandschulp cools down.

The maneuver does not work. Nadal loses serve at the opening of the second set and things get uphill. Van de Zandschulp does not give in, the demons do not take him, he continues serving at 220 km/h, hammer hammer, imperturbable. Not one point celebrates. Not a mistake regrets.

Nadal is no longer capable. He releases some flash, saves an impossible point, fights back with an unexpected ace, even signs the first tie break, but he is already definitely tangled and his defeat places all the pressure on Carlos Alcaraz, the talent from Murcia who, in the second turn, must overcome Tallon Griekspoor to save the Spanish check.