Maybe it was the name. Back in 2005, when I first came under the spell of Rafael Nadal, there weren’t many Rafaels (or Raphaels) to be found in Britain — we were a rare breed. Benítez had recently been installed as manager of Liverpool but I was no football fan. Instead I was fast on my way to becoming a tennis nut, yet my two previous favourite male players, the American Andre Agassi and the Russian Marat Safin, were fading or nursing injury.
Then along came this dark-eyed, scraggly-haired teenage Spaniard with explosive footwork, flamboyant strokes and a piratical dress sense. As he swung his way to his first major title at the age of 19, I put all my chips on him — this was my new guy.
Over the past 17 years he has richly rewarded me and his millions of fans for our loyalty, culminating in last Sunday’s wildly improbable triumph at the Australian Open, where he became the first man to win 21 grand slam titles. Of course he did it at the major tournament where he’s had the least success; of course it was just weeks after coming back from a six-month injury lay-off and a bout of Covid; of course it was against the dominant hard-court player of the past 12 months, Daniil Medvedev; and of course it was from two sets to love down over five and a half gruelling hours. Why? Because Nadal excels at doing things the hard way.