Laid low by a chronic elbow injury, the former world No1 must rebuild his game like Roger Federer to have hope of climbing back to the top

Fading in recollections of Roger Federer’s barely believable progress to his 20th major at the start of the year is a 35-shot rally in the fourth round of the Australian Open between the bristling Hyeon Chung and the genius who had flickeringly in the past consigned the Swiss to the margins of greatness, Novak Djokovic.

It was the most memorable exchange of the season’s first slam, a confection of exquisite skill by the Serb and the 21-year-old South Korean prodigy, who would then snuff out the challenge of Tennys Sandgren but could do little to resist Federer near his imperious best in the penultimate round of the fortnight. Youth had head-butted the champions, and, for the time being, had been repelled by its oldest warrior.

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But back to that fourth round. What is seared in the memory is not so much the drilled, acutely angled backhands and powerful line drives on the run by Djokovic (not to mention commensurate responses by his precocious tormentor), because he has delivered so many of those delights in the past. As he strains now against time and the degradation of his tennis, it is easy to forget that this is the player regarded by his peers as the finest defender of the modern era.

A YouTube highlights reel of Djokovic’s extraordinary stamina, flexibility and determination under pressure lasts 10 minutes and 28 seconds. But the image that endures this time is of Djokovic, sweating hands on weary knees, seconds after over-cooking a stretched backhand in the first game of the third set which, had it landed legally, might have given him two break points and a glimmer of hope to eat into Chung’s two-set lead.

Within the hour, the deed was done. Djokovic, who had won the title six times, had suffered his first straight-sets loss in Melbourne in 11 years. The 30-year-old, so used to victory, had to reset his goals.

The previous European spring, after Monte Carlo, he had split with Marian Vajda, his coach since 2006. We were told it was mutual. Djokovic had been searching for spiritual sustenance through a life-coach called Pepe Imaz, formerly a fringe Spanish player. Seemingly content in Pepe’s world, he nevertheless continued to look bewildered on the place that had always offered him familiar comfort, the tennis court.

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Djokovic grew short-tempered with journalists who inquired about his private life – understandably so – and his game suffered along with his mind and his body. He needed to reinvent himself. But, even with Andre Agassi on board as he headed for Roland Garros, he could not get past the quarters in 2017’s second slam – nor at Wimbledon, where he quit in the second set against Tomas Berdych, despondent and injured. Where once he reached finals almost by right, now he was red-lining five matches into the quest. His body was rebelling loudly. He would not play again that season.

While he smiled through the clouds, speaking more now about personal contentment, about wider social issues and responsibilities, there was no hiding his public angst. He arrived in Melbourne in January living on the vapours of hope rather than experience.

Condensed into that 35-shot rally with Chung were all the elements that inspire and deflate. The difference this time – and subsequently – was that Djokovic would not prevail. His despair in that exhausted last gasp was not just because he lost a point, but that he had been bested by a younger, equally ambitious opponent. He was staring at the future.

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The elbow injury that troubled him so much that he had to rebuild his serve, then resort to minor surgery, had been chronic rather than passing, he later revealed. It is testimony to his grit that he played so often through the pain. The dilemma for him in the autumn of his career – as it is for Andy Murray returning soon from a hip operation – is how to tap into what worked for him in the first decade, to trust his core talent and skill, much as Federer continues to do at 36.

Djokovic was almost an asterisk in Barcelona during the week. His three-set loss to Martin Klizan in the second round was his fifth in 10 matches since he went back on the Tour in Australia. It was not a wipeout: he played brilliantly in the second set – but he collapsed where it mattered, in the third – against an erratic if gifted opponent ranked 140 in the world. Djokovic again looked spent, keen to get away, to forget the experience and move on.

He also did not appear as physically robust as he had done at his indomitable peak, in 2011 when he won 41 matches in a row. He was 10-1 against Federer and Rafael Nadal that year, and set to dominate the game for as long as he chose. He knew it wouldn’t last. He told us so. But he surely did not anticipate the tumble would be so tough. It is said one of the reasons Agassi left him was the player would not heed his advice to put on some bulk.

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There is a lot of goodwill out there for Djokovic. One British fan tweeted after the Klizan embarrassment: “Totally unwavering support, no matter what. You will always be our favourite. You have given us so much joy over the years and for a few more years I’m sure. It’s not just your play, but you, as a person. Kind, fun, honest, charitable, strong, humble, perfect.“

Perfect is not a word that fits tennis (sport in general, or life, for that matter), because there are as many moments that bode ill as bring success. The quality that binds elite athletes is their willingness to overcome imperfection. As Tiger Woods says of his golf: it’s about managing the bad shots.

For all that he can occasionally be hard to fathom, Djokovic is an open and engaging personality, charming and intelligent. Of the many public testimonies, a chat he had with a friend when he was seven years old in war-torn Serbia is the most enlightening. Asked by his junior inquisitor if tennis is “for you, a game or obligations?” he replies: “Tennis is for me an obligation. The goal for me in tennis is to become a champion.”

Even allowing for a mangled translation and the innocence of childhood, the message was unambiguous. Winning is what matters most to Djokovic. Without it, he is not complete.