Caroline Frost: 'Djokovic doesn't need to be loved – he wants to be understood'
Tennis ace Novak Djokovic may never be as beloved ashis centre court rivals, but I will always be cheering him on
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- Caroline Frost
Add Novak Djokovic: the Wolf in Winter to your watchlist
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When I wrote about Boris Johnson last month, readers complained I’d been either too harsh on our former PM or not damning enough. So this week I thought I’d play safe and write about Novak Djokovic… That’s a joke, for no athlete inspires stronger opinions.
For starters, Djokovic is one of the few people my editor and I disagree on (see also Ronaldo). And my pal in Melbourne who witnessed first-hand his 2022 Australian Open Covid vaccine debacle tells me, “I didn’t like him before, and then we had to chuck him out. So arrogant.” Or possibly misunderstood.
How can a sportsman who has achieved so much in his field prove so polarising? In Jason Hehir’s new Prime Video documentary about him, one sports reporter comments, “We don’t make champions villains very often. And Djokovic’s response is to kick arse.”
The fruits of such kicking are plain to see: the most men’s singles grand slam titles (24), the longest time spent at number one (428 weeks!), plus an Olympic gold medal. His former coach Andre Agassi calls him the best player of all time. Most impressively, perhaps, is how he’s done it, with humbling dedication to top physical longevity. I interviewed him once and he explained, “I understand players taking drugs. It’s hard being an elite athlete. It involves every single decision, every day.” What was his own reward after, say, winning a title? “A slice of pizza.”
So why is he not universally loved? The doc frames his arrival on the tennis court as breaking up the crowd-pleasing double act of Roger and Rafa. Against Federer’s elegance and Nadal’s stoicism, Djokovic offered a volcano, sometimes clownish, always aggressive. But then he’s not Swiss or Spanish but Serbian, and the sum of his own life story.
He doesn't need to be loved, but I think he wants to be understood
Two themes emerge from footage of his childhood: tennis and war. He describes running to a shelter in Nato-bombed Belgrade and seeing a nearby hospital going up in smoke. He would have been, at most, 12 years old. By then, his tennis talents had emerged and his family had to make decisions. His father put money on the table and said, “That’s my last 10 dollars, but we will support you.” The one thing he required in return? One hundred per cent dedication.
It’s that boy who had to grow up fast that we have watched compete ever since. Often the crowd doesn’t like it. In 2025, he was booed off the court in Melbourne at the Australian Open when he retired injured. A year later, after winning a five-set semi-final thriller against Jannik Sinner, he told the crowd, “You got your value for the ticket.” What spectators unknowingly witness is Djokovic tapping into his native Inat – a Serbian expression for profound stubbornness in spite of, and because of, everything anybody throws at you. Or, for an athlete, fuel.
Hehir tells Me, “He doesn’t need to be loved, but I think he wants to be understood.” Hence the detailed retelling of 2022’s “Visa-gate”, when Djokovic – resolutely unvaccinated – reflects how he got embroiled in lockdown politics. (There’s less explanation for his bonkers 2020 Balkans tennis tour that ended just as you might think it would.)
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With Rafa’s retirement doc earlier this year, I said we just needed Novak’s to complete the set. Well, here it is, even if he’s not quite done. When he is, I hope Djokovic gets the applause he deserves and, unlike my editor, I shall toast him with a slice of margherita. After all, as Hehir muses, “Whether you prefer Roger or Rafa or Novak, that really speaks to something inside you, not them.”
Authors
Caroline Frost
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