Survival of the Hittest?

Written by: Staff on 8th September 2012

Survival of the Hittest?

epa03390596 Novak Djokovic of Serbia hits a return to David Ferrer of Spain during their semifinal match on the thirteenth day of the 2012 US Open Tennis Championship at the USTA National Tennis Center in Flushing Meadows, New York, USA, 08 September 2012. The US Open men's final will now be moved to Monday 10 September 2012, making it the fifth consecutive year that weather has forced the final to Monday. EPA/JASON SZENES |

Didactic little parable always amuse me so:

“Every morning in Africa, a Gazelle wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning a Lion wakes up. It knows it must outrun the slowest Gazelle or it will starve to death. It doesn’t matter whether you are a Lion or a Gazelle… when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.”

Cute, eh? Just the sort of amoral moralistic story you want to tell your eight-year old before bedtime.

For the last two weeks, upon the cement-lined Darwinian jungle, with half the population disappearing after every round, the fittest animals stalked and pounced with reckless abandon as defenders scampered and hid – falling deeper behind the baseline with every shot – until finally, mercilessly, they were put into a defenseless position, and killed.

This is tennis – an athletic chess game, a cross-examination with rackets and balls – ultimately, a fight to the death.

In tomorrow’s US Open men’s final, both players will be fighting for survival. Both will run and claw and bite and scream. Both will inflict damage and both will absorb wounds. Both will leave with life-lasting scars. But ultimately, the final will pit a lion versus a gazelle. One player will believe he is King of the Jungle and one will feel like prey trying to ward off the predator. This is how tennis tournaments end. At some point, players who believe they can win, fall to players who believe they will win.

The turning point is subtle – a knowing glance after a tough point, a clenched fist aimed indirectly at the adversary, the forging of an internal resolve heretofore unrecognized. It always happens, in every match, in every tournament, at every level. One hundred twenty-seven athletes return to the practice courts while the King celebrates. True believers drink champagne.

Tomorrow we will know. Tomorrow we will witness a coronation. Tomorrow the gazelle dies.