If Novak Djokovic says that he can walk on water, the world is most likely to believe him. So late last year when the Serb said that 2024 for him would be about winning the Olympic gold medal at Paris and sweeping the four Slams, the ambitious new year goal sounded reasonable and realistic for most. The ones not convinced by the Serbian living legend were those who had diligently followed the then 19-year-old Steffi Graf’s magical Golden Grand Slam year of 1988.

Djokovic might have won a world record 24 Slams but at 36 he isn’t the Steffi of the late 80s. The 1988 bar is too high. The German phenomenon lost a grand total of just two sets in all the four Grand Slams she won. Djokovic, by the way, has already lost two sets in the first two rounds of the season’s opening Slam – the ongoing Australian Open.

Steffi’s breakthrough win of 1988 was at Wimbledon, where she stopped Martina’s six-year long unbeaten run. Credited with bringing power to the game, the Czech-born World No.1 was experiencing women’s tennis’s next change of gear. Her serve and volley had given her 8 titles till she met the German wonder girl. But this was 1988, she was getting repeatedly passed by that super sonic forehand and even the flat backhand.

Earlier in the year, Steffi had beaten Evert in straight sets for the Australian Open title. That was the first Slam of the year and the fans, divided by their loyalties to Evert and Martina, hadn’t yet warmed up to the new sheriff in town. Youtube dutifully archives women’s tennis’s big transition. At Melbourne as Evert’s defeat became a formality after Steffi’s 6-1 master class in the first set, there were shrieks of frustration from the stands. “Come on, Chrisie” – is a desperate call from the partisan crowd. It’s a plea to the darling of the crowd to turn the tide and maintain international tennis’s status quo. Evert was helpless. She had the face of a fading star. It is always a tragic moment when a stalwart realises that age has caught up and the game has changed.

Months later at Wimbledon, Martina too seemed to be getting the same feeling. The All-England club was her home. She lifting the silver plate here was as much an annual tradition as was the Duke and Duchess walking on the fabled lawns and thanking ball kids. The crowd was doing its best to cheer the defending champ.

Once when trailing, there was a thunderous applause that instinctively appreciated Steffi’s incredible pass. Martina wasn’t too pleased. “I am a German out here or what?” she muttered to the English crowd. It was loud enough for the broadcast microphone to catch. The commentators talk about it. The complaint is registered by the crowd, they were soon back now on her side.

But Steffi wasn’t bothered. After losing the first set 5–7, she doesn’t get weighed down by the occasion or intimidated by the ominous atmosphere of Martina’s turf. The German teen sweeps the next two sets 6–2, 6–1. No complaints, no excuse, no lament of being unloved. Steffi on the tennis court was the walking billboard of the famous silent German efficiency.

It is this trait that Djokovic lacks. Steffi on court was almost robotic, she rushed around court as if she had a flight to catch. Just watch her between points. Even after hitting a stunning volley at the net, she would rush to the service line with her head down, seemingly oblivious to the cheers around the arena.

Djokovic is different. In a recent interview to Sunday Times the World No.1 was asked: When you set out in professional tennis, did you want to be loved? He takes time to answer. “It gives you energy, a wind in your sails that makes it easier to play,” he would say. In contrast, Steffi was automatically energised. Motorised from within, she didn’t have to depend on winds when at sea.

Djokovic has a history of confronting lines-persons, chair umpires and rowdy fans. During the ongoing Australian Open, in the second round against a local player, he stopped play to ask a heckler to come down and speak to him. Steffi would never do that. She was too occupied with tennis. Her rare fan interaction was at Wimbledon. Getting ready to serve, when a voice from the stands broke the silence. “Will you marry me, Steffi?” – a shout hit the air . There were giggles and laughs around. Steffi for once broke her trance and replied – How much money do you have? More laughs.

Steffi would go on to marry Andre Agassi. They would settle in Las Vegas, where Steffi’s extended family too would migrate. They would have a son and daughter but as fate would decide none would be serious about tennis. Steffi would remain a private person, rarely seen at the courts that once echoed to the resounding slaps of her forehands. Thanks to her ultra-expressive and romantic husband Agassi, the world would get to know about tennis’s all-time great a little more.

In a BBC interview, Agassi talks about a chalk board at his home where every night he pens his thoughts that express his eternal gratitude to his life partner. At Steffi’s Hall of Fame inclusion evening, he would give a heart-felt emotional speech that would reduce his wife to tears.

“Never needing applause to be at your best, only needing the best that you could give to feel complete. From the roar of voices inside the centre court to the quietness of a child’s bedroom, that generous soul, the unbending strength, that soft spoken integrity has not shaken even once,” he would say. Steffi would throw her blonde hair back to attend to her moist eyes.

Djokovic can borrow Steffi’s aloofness to the applause to pursue his ambitious goal. But even that can’t guarantee a Golden Slam. With the French Open and Paris Olympics on clay, his least favourite surface, and Rafa Nadal eyeing Roland Garros as the arena for his golden farewell, Djokovic’s path is tough. But even without the Golden Slam, Djokovic wouldn’t end up as a lesser legend.

The beauty of sports lies in its ambiguous definition of greatness. Most ‘Greatest’ debates are inconclusive since every generation has one or many of their own. It’s not an exclusive life-long title but a rolling trophy on which the names keep changing. The pantheon of sporting greats doesn’t have a podium, it has pedestals of uniform heights. Djokovic might be the GOAT but Steffi of 1988 was something else.

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