Ditching defense: Finding new ways to describe Novak Djokovic

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“But if thought corrupts language,” wrote George Orwell, “language can also corrupt thought.”

The language in question is one word often deployed in tennis: defense.

The subject of the inquiry is Novak Djokovic, a player frequently praised for his superb defensive skills.

Defense implies reactive. A homeowner defends his or her property against potential intruders. In a highly-binary way, a football team’s defensive unit seeks to prevent scoring and give its offense the chance to take the field. A nation defends its borders against the possibility of invasion. Barring such intrusion, no further action need be taken. Once fortified, the approach is to do nothing and remain passive.

But defense in tennis? Defense in a sport where the pendulum between opponents and the quest to control the real estate of the court swings so swiftly?

“Novak’s not a defensive player at all,” said Eliot Teltscher, a former Top 10 pro and longstanding coach. “Sometimes when a player doesn’t miss they say he’s defensive. That’s not accurate.”

To be sure, there come moments when, like all pros, Djokovic is forced to scramble and must find a way to keep the rally alive before regaining his customary position on the baseline. That he does this so smoothly is the result of exquisite training, fitness and discipline.

“He is compact and contained,” said Steve Stefanki, a former U.S. junior Davis Cup coach (full disclosure: I’ve taken lessons from Stefanki). “His foundational base is superb.”

But after watching Djokovic compete for more than 15 years, it’s abundantly clear that he is rarely on his heels. “He’s no retriever,” said Robert Lansdorp, the iconic coach who’s deep understanding of groundstrokes helped four players (Tracy Austin, Pete Sampras, Lindsay Davenport, Maria Sharapova) become No. 1 in the world. “He’s so good at getting in position to hit the ball. That in itself is very intimidating."

Indeed, Djokovic’s game, fueled by his unsurpassed balance, posture and awareness, might best be understood by reassessing another athletic great also associated with the word “defense.” Basketball legend Bill Russell played for 13 years in the NBA and during that time his Boston Celtics teams won a staggering 11 championships. Russell was superb at rebounding and also innovated the practice of blocking shots. Akin to Djokovic patrolling the baseline, what Russell did is also often considered a form of exemplary defense.

But watch Russell more closely and you’ll see that he is not merely reacting or seeking to prevent the opposition from scoring. Many times, for example, he blocked shots just subtly enough to get the ball into the hands of a fellow Celtic. His rebounds instantly became outlet passes. A better term for Russell: offensive catalyst.

“The most important measure of how good a game I played,” Russell said, “was how much better I’d made my teammates play.” And that often translated into their ability to score–similar to the way Djokovic again and again takes control of a rally.

“He is always looking to get to offense,” said Peter Rennert, a former ATP pro and the creator of TELOS (The Effortless Life Operating System).

Such has been the history of tennis that offense has typically been associated with net-rushing, particularly when displayed by serve-volley practitioners. As this view goes, if you’re not overtly seeking to close out the point swiftly, surely you’re in retreat.

When studied closely, though, aggression takes on a more subtle flavor among baseliners. Historically, that can range from the early, hard drives of an Andre Agassi to the arcing topspin of a Bjorn Borg. In contemporary tennis, consider the stylistic differences among such young contenders as Carlos Alcaraz, Stefanos Tsitsipas and Jannik Sinner, each of whom is still working to fine tune his ability to dictate the tempo of every rally without misfiring.

Then there is the air-tight Djokovic, a highly error-free 23-time Grand Slam champion. “But just because you don’t make errors doesn’t mean you’re a defensive player,” said Teltscher. “If you think you can make Novak play three straight shots on defense, well, it’s not going to happen.”

Another ill-informed sibling of the word defense: steady. This word, for example, was applied frequently to one of Djokovic’s stylistic ancestors, 18-time Grand Slam singles champion Chris Evert

But when you talk to many who played Evert, such attributes she possessed as consistency, sustained depth, and accuracy scarcely give off the impression of someone merely guarding her home against burglars. Like Djokovic, Evert had no problem sustaining lengthy and arduous baseline rallies, a style that can lure viewers into thinking that the player is merely a defender akin to a hockey goalie. Not quite.

“Playing Chrissie was like having someone stiff-arming you in the chest, just holding you back,” said Julie Anthony, one of her rivals from the 1970s. “She didn’t topple you over, but you couldn’t move forward.”

“The idea is not to block every shot,” said Russell. “The idea is to make your opponent believe that you might block every shot.”

Apply this to Evert, her command of time and space so all-encompassing that opponents often found themselves panicked and, eventually, overhitting. Over the course of nearly 20 years of greatness, as Evert shredded one opponent after another, she would endure a strong challenge in the first set and then easily win the second. Only players as highly skilled as net-rusher supreme Martina Navratilova and forehand genius Stefanie Graf had enough firepower to beat Evert frequently.

Anthony’s imagery of a stiff arm conjures up the world of martial arts. For years, aspects of Stefanki’s instruction have drawn on a book titled Zen in the Martial Arts. Written in 1979 by journalist Joe Hyams, the book cites many of the lessons Hyams learned when working with famed martial artist Bruce Lee in the 1960s and 70s.

“You and your opponent are one,” said Lee. “There is a coexisting relationship between you. You coexist with your opponent and become his complement, absorbing his attack and using his force to overcome him.”

When viewed this way, tennis is something other than offense or defense. If one objective in martial arts is to knock an opponent off-balance, this is best done subtly, in the manner of Evert or Djokovic, unraveling their skilled rivals one strand at a time. “He’s a prober,” said Rennert. “Probing has an offensive nature."

Among many practice routines, Hyams cites “sticking hands,” where a pair of partners push their hands against one another and gain insights into one another’s balance, posture, and the possible direction of a forthcoming punch. Hyams’ mentor for this was Jim Lau, an instructor similar to Lee. According to Lau, “A good player recognizes these moves for what they are: a process of sounding out and experimentation. The good player is patient. He is observant, controlling his patience, and organizing his composure. When he sees an opportunity, he explodes.”

That’s a darn good explanation of Djokovic. Ditch the defense. Savor the dance.