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Novak Djokovic

(The Associated Press)

Novak Djokovic, the number-one seed at Wimbledon, is arguably the most outgoing and engaging tennis champion of the Open era. He's quick to laugh and quick with a joke. He's nice to ballboys and umpires and fans and even sportswriters. He loves to be the center of attention, which he first achieved by offering up impersonations of Maria Sharapova during practices and exhibitions, and later codified by becoming the best tennis player in the world.

Yet he still can't match the popularity of his World No. 1 predecessors Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. His fans are passionate, certainly, but outside of his home country of Serbia, that fan base remains dramatically smaller than those of Roger and Rafa.

Whole continents don't bust out in tears of joy when he visits, as South America did when Federer flew in for a series of exhibitions in 2012. "They are so passionate here," Federer said in Buenos Aires. "I've had more fans break down here in South America than anywhere else in the world. They cry, and they shake, and they are just so, like, not in awe but so happy to meet you."

Popularity can be a tricky thing to figure out. 1970s tennis icon Bjorn Borg was devoid of personality (at least in public), but that worked for him. Fans -- especially teenage girls -- filled in that blankness with what they wanted to be there. They saw a brooding rebel without a cause, a sullen pretty boy who just needed a little love. So he had a Beatles-like following throughout his short career, the victim of messy "Borgasms" at every tournament he entered.

Djokovic has the opposite problem. The fun-loving 27-year-old has so much personality that there's no possibility of mystery. What you see is what you get, which makes it hard for fans to create in him an icon who will solve all their problems. They only know he'll never bore them.

Plus, there's the unfortunate fact that first impressions can be hard to shake. Most of us met Djokovic at the 2006 French Open when the Serb was all of 19. He was ranked 63rd in the world but beat three seeded players to set up a quarterfinal match against the defending champion, one Rafael Nadal. He lost the first two sets, 6-4, 6-4, and then retired with a back problem. "I think I had control of the match," Djokovic said afterward. "I just didn't finish it in the right way when I needed to."

Novak Djokovic

This comment did not sit well with sportswriters, who tend to think coddled young professional athletes should keep their swagger under wraps at least until they've hefted some serious hardware. They rushed into Nadal's press conference to tell the defending champion that his young opponent felt "in control" of the match. Nadal raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes?" he said.

Yes. Never mind that Nole was talking about how he proved, to himself if no one else, that he could hang with the King of Clay in long clay-court rallies, and how that boded well for his future. In their first-ever match, the Serbian teenager won seven of the first 10 points that lasted 10 strokes or more. He had more winners than the defending champion (27-20).

None of that mattered: Word circulated that the new kid who just retired from a Grand Slam quarterfinal with an oowie was smug.

This perception worsened at the 2008 Australian Open when Djokovic defeated Federer, the defending champion, in the semifinals. Nole's parents, seemingly always decked out in gear that celebrated their son's wonderfulness, chanted, "The king is dead! Long live the king!" More contempt crashed down on Djokovic, as many observers found the player's-box celebration disrespectful to the Swiss great and flat-out boorish.

Tennis players are not given much slack when they're thrust into the spotlight while still teenagers. And they must accept as their own whatever missteps their parents make on the public stage. Djokovic learned the ropes -- he quickly cut back on the brashness as he grew up and became more successful, though some detractors haven't noticed. His proud parents have also learned -- they have largely faded into the background.

And yet ... it is Nadal who has inherited the rabid teenage fans whose mothers chased after Borg. They queued for hours on New York's Fifth Avenue to see the Spaniard after he won the U.S. Open in 2010, with Britain's The Daily Telegraph reporting that "the girls' screams could well have carried all the way through Central Park and up into Harlem."

Nadal has something else going for him that Djokovic doesn't. Eternally humble, and with his cranky knees and now his back always a concern, Rafa is seen as the underdog on every court surface save for clay. Nadal is the number-one player in the world, but Djokovic is the top seed and favorite at Wimbledon. This is no small thing: We all prefer rooting for the underdog -- especially when, paradoxically, there's a good chance the underdog will win. (This predisposition toward the underdog now benefits Federer as well. He's worn the "greatest of all time" tag for most of his career, but he's now approaching his 33rd birthday, making him the Top 10's ancient mariner.)

Djokovic wants to be liked and tries hard to come across well, but at the same time he seems to be okay with where he stands. Engaged to be married and with a child on the way, the six-time major champion may have outgrown the thrill of being chased through the streets by sobbing girls. (He no longer celebrates wins by ripping his shirt off like the Incredible Hulk.) And he knows his time will come as the grizzled veteran straining for one more splash of glory, and he doesn't want to get to that point any sooner than he must. After all, even as the third most popular tennis player in the world, he's having a lot of fun.

-- Douglas Perry