Grigor Dimitrov defined again in defeat

Grigor Dimitrov has always been defined by the talent he has not fulfilled. The nickname ‘Baby Fed’ that he has spent so many years trying to shed reflects that. Where the great Roger Federer won just about all there is to win, the Bulgarian will end his career with a far more modest collection of titles. That, of course, has not been for the want of trying. Because whilst Grigor Dimitrov likely won’t live up to the expectations that his supreme talent as a teenager created, it isn’t really a lack of talent that let him down. Rather, it is a lack of luck.

On some level, he has bene unlucky from the very start in following so closely in the footsteps of Federer. He has been unlucky too to straddle the era of the Big Three and the apparently emerging era of Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner’s duopoly. But most of all, he has been unlucky that his body has never truly been able to withstand the demands that tennis at the very highest level has placed on it.

He is not alone in that. He is not alone in any of his bad luck really. One might hope that he can take comfort in that, in the knowledge that his is a large fellowship. But it doesn’t seem very likely. In truth, he looked a man beyond any comfort as he trudged off Centre Court, defeated again on one of the sport’s grandest stages. A stage that had, all evening, looked as though it would play host to one of his greatest triumphs.

Indeed, until his body gave way, Dimitrov had been delivering a vintage performance. One full of his usual flair and panache. Spearheaded by a performance on serve that this writer did not know he had in him. To use a phrase that lacks grace but not application: he was serving bombs. A high of 141 mph as he successfully served out the first set was the highlight, but he was regularly breaching the 135-mph mark.

When combined with his touch in the forecourt and a potent forehand, it was no wonder that Sinner – the world #1 it shouldn’t be forgotten – was struggling to stay with him. Failing in fact, down two sets and staring down the barrel of a fourth-round exit. Only for it to turn out, in the end, that Dimitrov didn’t have that sort of serving performance in him after all.

Perhaps it was the delay whilst the roof closed, perhaps just the wear and tear of a career that started all the way back in 2007, or perhaps some other form of bad luck. But whatever it was does not really matter. What does matter is that Dimitrov’s body failed him. As it has so many times. And in doing so, it snatched his victory away from him, turning the promise of ecstasy into the unbridled bitterness of an undeserved defeat.

For this was a defeat, albeit not one inflicted by his opponent. That would have been much kinder. That, one suspects, Dimitrov would have been able to accept. Because to have thrown it away could never hurt as much as having it taken away. Not least because, aged 34, who can say how many times Dimitrov can ‘go again’, how many more chances he will have to shine under the lights on a stadium court. Whether he will, ever again, be able to test himself against the world’s best and prove himself their equal. Whether, after this defeat, he will even want to.

No matter those injury struggles, Dimitrov will never be the great ‘what if’ of his generation. That unwanted moniker belongs to Juan Martin del Potro, whose talent was greater and whose luck with injuries was worse still. The Argentine Tower of Tandil’s legend will, it is almost certain, live far longer in the memory than Dimitrov’s.

Because for del Potro, there will always be the ‘I was there’ moment. For del Potro, there will always be the US Open in 2009 when, with his hammer of a forehand, he wrote his name into the history books. For Dimitrov, there will only be a succession of nearly moments, with this the latest and likely amongst the last.

The sad truth, no matter how well he was playing against Sinner, and it was quite astonishingly well, the match will end up as no more than a footnote in the story of the 148^th edition of Wimbledon. Dimitrov deserves far more than that. Dimitrov’s performance deserved far more than that. It deserved to be remembered as a story in of itself. But sport is cruel.