Djokovic circus unleashes toxic chain reaction of mistrust and resentment

Novak Djokovic fought the Australian government in the same way he fights his rivals on the tennis court: with defiance and stone-willed refusal, with every tool at his disposal and every last fibre of his being, with an unshakeable and messianic belief in his own supremacy. He contested his deportation as if it were a crucial break point, as if it were his last stand against total oblivion. This time, however, something startling happened. He lost.

Djokovic is unused to losing. When he does, he tends to explain it away as the product of his own failings. He courteously congratulates his opponents, but ultimately leaves you with the impression that he decides who wins and loses. His collection of trophies and records – 20 grand slam titles, the most weeks at world No 1 in the history of men’s tennis – suggests he is probably right. But implicit in that too is an assertion of control and individual impregnability: this is my business, and I will deal with it myself.

The problems arise when you begin to conflate the hard, white lines of the tennis court with the messy compromises of the world at large. Djokovic would hardly be the first professional athlete to labour under the delusion that his superior sporting ability confers some kind of elite virtue, a firewall against judgment and scrutiny. Nor would he be the first to confuse his athletic gifts with expertise in other fields: lifestyle, health and medicine, even politics. “I can show you how to change not just your body but your whole experience of living,” he promises in his 2013 book Serve to Win: part-autobiography, part-nutrition guide and a presage of the Instagram influencer culture that bundles up diet, mental health, body-narcissism and alternative medicine