What was assumed to be a true test of level, given the opponent and the stage, ultimately turns out to be little more than another warm-up session in which Carlos Alcaraz takes another step up and confirms what was suspected: even so, coming from where he came and how he came, after four and a half months out (139 days), it is enough for him to land at least in the quarterfinals of this US Open where a lot would have to change for him not to keep progressing even further. The Spaniard defeats Tommy Paul almost effortlessly, without needing to push too hard (6-4, 6-3, and 6-4, in 2h 21m) because the reality remains overwhelming: his tennis is too exquisite and that of most others, too precarious.
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Nothing, not even the long recovery period, seems to have altered the logical state of things. The exceptional attributes of the Spaniard remain intact, shining, basically only needing to shore up some nuances, while the rest—from the fourth spot in the ranking downwards, with Zverev marking the boundary—continue to stagger. With several contenders already fallen, the American Paul also heads for the exit, a player who on other occasions had offered commendable resistance and who this time resigns quickly. There is no tension, although two opposing forces clash: despite what is known, one is desire and conviction, while the other (29 years old and 21st) practically responds surrendered, knowing he is an early loser. Whether more or less sharp, Alcaraz’s powerful aura is too intimidating for all earthlings.
Except for the set conceded in the second round against the Portuguese Jaime Faria, the Murcian’s reintegration into the circuit is proceeding along the best path, with no one able to put him in a real bind yet; not even Paul, a seasoned player who at no point manages to trouble him. Yesterday and today, except for rare occasions, Alcaraz (23 years old) and Jannik Sinner (25) seem to compete in another dimension, as if both belonged to a different league and there was no room for dissenters. The Italian is not here, so as the days count down and boxes are ticked, the candidacy of the world number three gains more substance. At this point and with no bad signs in the wrist, it seems to depend on himself.
No one would say that Alcaraz is testing himself; on the contrary: every day he seems a little stronger, more confident, more stable. He climbs another step. There are no hesitations. Seen in white and brown, or in the blue and black of this time, he continues to consolidate and rearm himself, so the chances of others diminish. If two days earlier he showed some excitement, this time he moves on the court with very calm steps, as if he had everything more or less under control and victory was a simple matter of inertia. The good usually win. And logic is wreaking havoc this Sunday: slow-motion demolition.
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He starts with a handful of violent shots and when the decisive hour of the first set approaches, he goes all out. In the rallies, there is simply no comparison, and as soon as the American’s serve, his lifeline, fails, the story ends. Game over for him. He gifts a delightful shot outside the net right at the start of the action, but the rest translates into an exercise in frustration: it doesn’t matter what he does, because he will fall. No matter how hard he hits, Alcaraz will be there to put the racket, just a couple of meters from the net, and return it incredibly. Paul suffers it (“come on, Carlos…”) and the duel unfolds without any excitement, or perhaps only the one produced by seeing a once-in-a-lifetime player live. That is no small thing.
With the court full at midday, the crowd appreciates an evolution and a player increasingly settled, who improves his serve—again reaching speeds of 200 km/h—and who from one round to another gains order. If the episode against the Chinese Yibing Wu was stressful, despite what the score might suggest, this one against Paul ends up being little more than two pleasant hours in which he rehearses shots, sharpens reflexes, and fine-tunes the drop shot. The serious expression predominates, but he enjoys it. He handles it at will. He offers a shot under the legs and resolves without the opponent, with little hope, even managing to tickle him. As if watching one of those easy movies but enjoyable, with a too predictable ending.
There is no twist or suspense, only a winner rocking in the chair to the rhythm of Alicia Keys’ Empire State of Mind (that relaxed he is) and when he closes it, he fuses with his brothers, in a nod to the Dragon Ball series. Tricks for everything: smashes without letting the ball drop, open drop shots, three cross forehands that finally get the crowd on their feet. Amid a rather flat tennis landscape, his return is a blessing. “He’s like Federer, Nadal, and Djokovic, he plays whenever he wants,” says Andre Agassi. And that’s how it is. “I played my game, with my style,” he conveys. “No matter how long I’ve been out, every time I come here I bring out my best game.” He uncorks it this Sunday, a day of fun.
