Barbora Krejcikova’s win at the women’s Wimbledon final met Jana Novotna’s legacy

WIMBLEDON, England – The final points were like the match and the tournament itself.

They were varied, unpredictable, up-and-down and filled with tension. Each player was trying to go on the offensive and grab an advantage, then having to just survive long enough to try to grab it again. There was a flurry of gutsy winners, nervy errors, rising hopes and risks that didn’t pay off – and Jasmine Paolini trying to claw the Wimbledon title away from Barbora Krejcikova one last time.

When it was over, after Krejcikova mustered the courage to launch one last big serve that finally put away the spunky Italian, tennis had something as valuable as anything it could wish for: a Wimbledon final worthy of the sport’s biggest stage.

It doesn’t happen all that often.

Krejcikova’s 6-2, 2-6, 6-4 triumph – her second Grand Slam singles win – is one that few, especially Krejcikova, would have thought possible two weeks ago. She had endured months of struggle with a back injury, and two years of battles with various other ailments. She had endured the lapses in confidence that accompany recovery from injury, even when she believed, as she always does, that one of the great ghosts of Centre Court was looking out for her from somewhere above.

Her fellow finalist is the newest entrant into the tennis list of enticing characters. Jasmine Paolini, the 5ft 3in (160cm) energizer bunny has transformed a middling career into two consecutive appearances in Grand Slam finals at 28 years old. Come Monday, she’ll have a top-five ranking. She has done it playing with a scrambling, never-say-die, ambitious style; an infectious smile; a scream, a fist pump.

That’s how Jasmine Paolini rolls. Roll along with her and with Krejcikova and their match today.

You won’t regret it.

Maybe years down the road, events will transpire in such a way that will make this match, or the 2024 edition of Wimbledon, seem like a pivot point, or the heralding of some new era.

Chances are, probably not. If women’s tennis has taught the world anything in the last few years, it’s to beware of sprawling conclusions, outside of Iga Swiatek’s dominance at the top of the sport – honed on the French Open clay. The sport plays out as a series of micro dramas. It rumbles across the world from week to week with few easy matches – just ask the former world No. 1 Naomi Osaka, who is trying to come back from maternity leave – a litany of colorful characters, supreme athletes, fighters, ball-strikers, and shot-makers, with no shortage of stories to tell.

Some of them involve mystical spirits, like Krejcikova’s Centre Court ghost.

Jana Novotna, the Czech great of the 1990s, coughed up a 4-1 lead in the third set against Steffi Graf in the 1993 Wimbledon final. During the trophy ceremony, she cried on the shoulder of the Duchess of Kent, back when crying on the shoulder of a Duchess was not the sort of thing one did. Novotna would later be credited with launching the human side of tennis.

The Duchess told her she would return to win one day. She did, in 1998 – her lone Grand Slam singles title.

Flash forward nearly two decades, to 2014, and Barbora Krejcikova is trying to find her way as a tennis player. She is 18, and she has just finished with her junior career. She writes Novotna a letter asking for help, asking if she can evaluate her game and tell her what she should do.

She and her mother knock on Novotna’s door and drop off the letter. Novotna becomes her coach.

In 2017, when Krejcikova was just starting to get her hooks into her career, mostly as a standout doubles player, Novotna died of cancer. She was 49.

“Before she died, she told me to go win a Slam,” Krejcikova said as she held the champion’s trophy in Centre Court.

She has won two now, Wimbledon on Saturday and the French Open in 2021, with a game that features a collection of shots and approaches depending on what she thinks the situation demands, just as Novotna would have wanted her to, and like so many talented Czech players that have come before her.

After she left the court, she saw her name next to Novotna’s on the board that lists the champions on a wall inside the All England Club. Emotion overcame her then.

Afterwards, she said she had been dreaming of Novotna lately. In the dreams, they are talking. She didn’t want to say about what.

“It’s a little personal,” she said.

She did say that she desperately wants to hear what Novotna would say to her now. She thinks Novotna would tell her that she is very proud, especially of Saturday’s performance, when she figured out that her varied arsenal might actually be a problem against Paolini, who came out tight and sprayed errors all across the Centre Court lawn.

After Krejcikova cruised through the first set in just over half an hour on the strength of her power – especially a ruthless crosscourt forehand deep into the corner – she grew more tentative. She sliced her backhand safely, instead of keeping up the pressure.

She seemed to be hoping that Paolini would keep beating herself and cede the trophy to her.

Maybe that is what Paolini might have done in the past, but not lately. After dropping the first set, just as she had in her semifinal against Donna Vekic, Paolini sat on her chair and told herself she needed to be more aggressive. She needed to finish her shots. She needed to hit the ball harder.

“I learned to put my emotions to the side,” Paolini said later.

Did she ever. She surged to a 3-0 lead, a warm sun shining off her shoulders at the end of a rain-soaked tournament, her fists pumping and the crowd rising with her. They were urging her to take the final to a third set.

She obliged, thumping forehands, coming to the net, giving Krejcikova little for free. Now she was the one capitalizing on her opponent’s errors and inconsistent serving.

After 70 minutes, the match was even at a set apiece. Paolini had all the momentum.

Paolini’s mother – so easy to spot because of that same head of long curls – pushed and screamed for the new folk hero right along with everyone else from just above the court.

Folk hero status isn’t always such a great thing. It can thrill. It can also crush because it can make a match too big. Ask Ons Jabeur, a finalist the past two years, about trying to become the first Muslim player and woman from Africa to win a Grand Slam title. It crushed her.

Paolini’s inconsistency had built her a big hill to climb, with little margin for error. Midway through the third set, she had played nearly flawless tennis for the past hour, and then a backhand wide put her in a bad hole. 30-love down. This was the moment.

Five points later, she yanked a second serve long for her only double fault in the third set. It gave Krejcikova the crucial service break, and a lead that she would never relinquish, even if it did take three match points for her to finally finish off Paolini.

After Krejcikova’s final unreturnable serve and the embrace at the net, the Czech sprinted across the grass to celebrate with her team as Paolini sat on her chair. She was disappointed, but somehow unable to avoid smiling as she looked at her family and her coaches in the stands.

“Still a good day,” she said.

“Crazy,” is how Krejcikova described it.

There was no grand sweep of history here. No massive meaning. Just a seriously entertaining duel with the outcome hanging in the balance until the final strokes – and a story about a beautiful spirit, gone too soon but still there nevertheless, her memory a blessing for the woman of the day.

That was plenty.