We all know it’s not nice to judge someone on their physical appearance. Unfortunately for Ivo Karlovic, if he was hoping to be known for his charity work or his love of kittens, it went out the window as soon as he walked on to Centre Court. He loomed behind Andy Murray like the kind of Bond villain you just know is going to turn up later to try to garotte Roger Moore. Karlovic’s real nickname is Dr Ivo – y’know, like ‘Evil’. Even Barbara Broccoli couldn’t make this stuff up.
As if to ram home the point, the ballboy assigned to stand next to him in his chair was one of the smallest, wispiest kids on their roster. One of the organisers clearly had a sense of humour. The editor of the Wimbledon programme might as well have gone the whole hog and annotated the map of Centre Court in a nice calligraphic hand with the legend: Here Be Giants.
Happily for Murray, literature has provided a lot of useful information about these fantastical creatures and how to deal with them. Karlovic may not have ridden on to court on a mammoth like the ones you find north of the wall in Westeros, but he can certainly wield his racket with the power of a club, something Murray soon discovered.
And then there are Tolkien’s stone giants, known to hurl rocks at each other for fun. Karlovic was always going to throw down some boulders from the baseline. You didn’t need to be a data analyst to know what kind of threat Karlovic posed: Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, whom the Croat had defeated in the third round, described his serves as cannonballs. The first arrived in the third point of the game, tearing down Murray’s right side and ricocheting off the side of his racket. Afterwards Karlovic blew on his hand.
It was all a bit John Wayne. When Karlovic’s serves made contact with the back netting, they did so with the sound of gunshot, and a couple had Murray pirouetting on the spot: ‘dance, British man, dance!’ It wasn’t just Murray in danger. Karlovic’s first ace hit the centre line, and, a nanosecond later, the lineswoman monitoring it. The ball bounced off her head, and she smiled gamely in response to the crowd’s loud “oof!” As the game wore on, registering several more near misses with line judges’ craniums, it became clear that whatever danger money they were getting for this gig, it wasn’t enough.
The match was a far more electrifying affair than either of Murray’s previous encounters. Karlovic, with his long legs, seemed to take only a couple of strides to reach the net, where he could then wait at leisure for Murray’s returns. The first set saw Murray scramble and lunge around like a man attempting the first human-powered flight.
Of all books it is probably the Bible that offers the best advice on how to dispatch a giant. Maybe Murray had consulted the first book of Samuel to be reminded how they can be killed by a much smaller man with a fearless spirit and a decent slingshot. Murray was in possession of both. He began to tease the tall guy mercilessly. He played cross-court shots with such immaculate timing that Karlovic was forced to watch as they whizzed back past him, using his own pace. Murray lured him into the net, then tormented the big man by dropping the ball around his ankles where he couldn’t reach it. As the ball hopped back and forth, Karlovic looked like Gulliver, irritatedly swatting at Lilliputians.
But these were as nothing to the lobs that Murray launched above Karlovic’s head again and again with a cheeky swagger. One, which landed in the far back left corner of the court, was so outrageously flirty it got a wolf whistle from the crowd. At the start of the second set, he played three in a row, Karlovic hopping, futilely, to reach them. By the time Murray won the third point, the crowd was laughing.
You had to start to feel sorry for his opponent, who spent much of the second set looking utterly bamboozled. If there’s one thing giants don’t like it’s people literally getting one over them. When a challenge went against him he had words with the umpire, who didn’t even need to bend in his chair to give him his ear. But Karlovic maintained his humour admirably. When the next line call went against Murray by the same margin, Karlovic raised his arms to the heavens in gratitude. And when Murray had an easy volley for a set point, Karlovic waved the same long limbs around in the forlorn hope of distracting him.
Murray, by contrast, found plenty to frustrate him in his own play. “Focus mate!” he yelled, and threatened to hurl his racket at the ground. He said afterwards that the game had been mentally, rather than physically, tiring. But it had brought out his best, and for that the spectators could be grateful.
