Marketa Vondrousova writes her own history after Wimbledon triumph over heartbroken Ons Jabeur
Jabeur’s agonising wait for a first grand slam singles title goes on as unseeded Czech star Vondrousova keeps her cool to claim first major trophy after straight-sets final victory at the All England Club
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Your support makes all the difference.Note to all: sporting fairytales are a rare occurrence. Don’t be fooled by Lionel Messi’s World Cup triumph in Qatar – that was an anomaly. Usually, when the pressure cooker is at its highest and the burden of history is barely a fingertip away, it can all get a little bit too much. And ultimately, it all proved too much for Ons Jabeur on Saturday, with Marketa Vondrousova the women’s singles champion at Wimbledon 2023.
The world No 42 – the first unseeded woman to win the ladies singles in its long history – had a bet with her coach that he would have to get the Wimbledon badge tattooed on his body if she won the title. Whether Jan Mertl will be deep down regretting that decision now is a moot point. The Czech 24-year-old, in beating five seeds in seven rounds, has pulled off one of the all-time shock streaks this past fortnight at the All England Club. In the split-second of victory, 6-4 6-4, with one final volley into the open court, she glanced in disbelief to her box before collapsing to the ground.
Her husband had travelled over to London from the Czech Republic at late notice after finding someone to cat-sit; the pair will celebrate their one-year anniversary tomorrow, a fitting end to a mesmeric two weeks for the wily left-hander. Merely a couple of yards to his right was Jabeur’s husband – and fitness coach - Karim Kamoun, who could not hide his emotions with his head slumped firmly downwards.
Once again the bridesmaid, after losing in last year’s final too, Jabeur’s heartbreaking wait for a first major title lingers on with an agonising thought: if not now, when?
Because she was, like last year, the favourite in the final. The Princess of Wales, the future Queen, was present for this coronation of moving parts, an applause to greet her entrance only topped by the arrival of the two players on their day of days. Within the familiar feel this week of the Centre Court greenhouse, amid heavy winds outside, the match began.
A beginning which saw Vondrousova, unfazed, pull off one of the shots of the match to finish the first point – a backhand lob exquisitely placed plump on the baseline. Jabeur, to her credit, found her first serve to hold and then grasped the role of aggressor initially, neatly in rhythm on both wings to break serve straight away, even recovering from a minor slip on break point.
Yet in a snippet of this story which neatly summed up the whole match, the Tunisian could not consolidate as Vondrousova swiftly cranked her crackerjack lefty forehand into motion. Jabeur was promptly broken back. It wouldn’t be the last time.
These were early tense moments, typical of a final with the weight of an all-time career high on the line. Both players had come close to major glory: Jabeur at last year’s Wimbledon and US Open, Vondrousova at Roland Garros in 2019 and the Tokyo Olympics two years later. Jabeur has spoken heavily of her mentality switch in the last 12 months, but early on here a slapping of the thigh following a forehand struck into the net signified a struggle to curtail her emotions. On the edge of history – and on the edge of holding it all together.
Nothing summed up this topsy-turvy, unpredictable affair better than a pair of breaks to love halfway through the first set. The Centre Court dust bowl was offering no free points to either player and, quite palpably, the serve seemed more of a burden than a benefit in the opening half-an-hour.
Yet Jabeur buckled in unfathomable fashion. From 4-2 up, she lost 16 of the next 18 points, erratically pushing a routine forehand volley wide before dumping a backhand into the net to gift a third break of the set to her opponent and with it, the chance to close it out.
Jabeur, head leant firmly down both literally and figuratively, offered no resistance. No fist pumps from her player box could inspire a reversing of the tide now. Another backhand slapped thoughtlessly into the net, the set slipped away and the Tunisian headed for the bathroom – and much-needed time to regroup. Was it all unravelling again?
It cruelly seemed so. The second set started with a limp volley into the net – and a forehand slapped below the tape to hand Vondrousova a break on a platter. Jabeur walked around the other side of the net in a kind-of broken daze. It was, for all observers, excruciating to watch.
Not even the crowd who she credited with aiding her fightback in the semi-finals could muster any positivity for the north African, who for so long has been carrying the burden of trailblazer with refreshing warmth and positivity. For her country, continent and religion, she toiled desperately to become the first African, Arab and Muslim woman to win a grand slam singles title.
But the match – the occasion – was swiftly running away from her. If Jabeur was placid, running in quicksand as the sheer weight of the occasion took its toll, Vondrousova was an image of composure and coolness. Yet out of nothing, she offered her beleaguered opponent a route back in, failing to convert what looked a routine service hold at 40-0. Jabeur won a memorable rally with a backhand drive volley and, the 15,000-capacity crowd finally finding their voice, found a spark they so highly craved.
The Tunisian then broke again. And then was broken back. The contest continued in a jumbled assortment of broken points, an inability to capitalise and nerves. So many nerves. Is it possible to want something too much? Both were struggling to produce their best tennis consistently.
Yet in the pivotal stages of the second set, much like the first, Vondrousova held it together better and was more consistent from the back of the court. Jabeur started to vocalise as she struck the ball: less of a grunt and more a shriek of desperation. Broken again at 4-4, amid a catalogue of missed groundstrokes, she slumped into her chair verging on tears already. As she walked to her starting spot, her husband had his head held firmly in his hands.
Could there be one final fightback, erecting memories of rounds gone by? Not this time. The fight was gone. Serving for the championship, a backhand volley into the open court sealed the trophy for Vondrousova and a first grand slam. The Czech fell to the ground; Jabeur trudged to the net a beaten finalist once again, a sense of longing continuing into the abyss.
There would be no fairytale finale today.
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