Letter to Novak Djokovic

Dear Novak Djokovic, this letter is directed to you after what we experienced last night at the US Open. Your tears transcended the screen, and I needed to release this weight that settled in my chest. Words that come from the deepest admiration and respect for you as a person and as a tennis player.

Seeing you cry in the middle of a tennis court was one of those images that no one would wish for.

Because we all know who you are.

We know that you are a fighter. One of the greatest, or perhaps the greatest, this sport has ever known. We know that throughout your career you built your greatness precisely from there: from refusing to accept that something was impossible.

When it seemed that a match was lost, you continued.

When your body seemed unresponsive, you continued.

When the stadium was against you, you continued.

When Federer and Nadal seemed to have erected an insurmountable mountain, you continued.

When 15-year-olds younger than you seemed unbeatable for someone your age, you continued.

You always continued.

And perhaps that's why I perfectly understand that you also want to continue now.

And I don't want to be the one to tell someone who has fought all his life to stop. You cannot tell Novak Djokovic to stop. No one can do that. Only you, at the moment you decide.

Because you love this. It's evident. I don't think you're simply chasing another number, another Grand Slam, or another record. I believe you continue to play because being a tennis player is part of who you are. Because you still want to feel that moment before serving, that roar after an impossible point, that adrenaline that only those who have stepped onto a court in front of twenty thousand people know and that have celebrated an epic victory like yours against Sinner, just seven months ago.

And you have every right in the world to pursue it as long as you wish.

But there is something you also need to hear. Novak, you have absolutely nothing to prove to anyone.

To no one.

Neither to those who love you nor to those who have never cared for you.

Neither to any of your rivals. Nor to your family. Nor to the tennis community.

Not even to yourself.

You have done it all.

You have won practically everything a child picking up a racket could someday dream of. You have broken records that seemed impossible. You have survived three different generations. You have defeated the best at their best moments. You have been number one, Olympic champion, champion of all the major stages of this sport.

You have achieved so much that any attempt to summarize your career ends up being an endless list of letters accompanied by numbers that can even make one dizzy if analyzed.

But you are so much more than those numbers.

And that is precisely why it is so hard to see you suffer like this.

Tennis fans want to see you play.

I wish you could do it forever.

I wish there were a way to stop the clock, go back a few years, and see you glide across a court again doing impossible things like in 2011 or 2015.

But that clock doesn't stop for anyone.

Not even for Novak Djokovic.

And perhaps that’s why I can understand your tears.

Because there are tears that do not arise solely from pain. There are tears that appear when one understands something they have been trying too long to avoid facing.

A well-deserved ovation 👏

See you again soon, @DjokerNole. pic.twitter.com/1jRBbC77Ee

— US Open Tennis (@usopen) August 31, 2026

You know? I remembered Rafa Nadal on the day of Roger Federer's retirement at the Laver Cup. Nadal was crying inconsolably next to the greatest rival he had ever faced in his life. And I've always thought those tears were not just for Roger. There was something more.

It was as if, while watching Federer say goodbye, Rafa was also seeing a part of his own future. As if he suddenly understood that this too would come for him. That the same sorrow that Roger was feeling that night, he too would feel in the future.

That no matter how hard one fights, no matter how much one takes care of themselves, no matter how much one wants to defy all possible laws, there exists a rival that no one has ever managed to defeat.

Time.

And perhaps last night, for a few seconds, you felt something similar.

Perhaps your tears were not only from the pain in your back, your shoulder, from cramps, or from a match slipping away. It's possible you cried because, for the first time in a truly brutal way, you felt that you wanted to continue and could not.

That your mind was ordering one thing and your body was responding with another.

That you had spent a lifetime accustomed to overcoming any obstacle that appeared before you and then suddenly you had found one that could not be broken with your meticulously measured way of taking care of yourself.

Perhaps, for a moment, you understood that this time you were not losing to another tennis player.

You were fighting against time.

That invisible rival who had been lurking, waiting for you. Who always seemed far away, but was getting closer and closer, little by little. Sometimes, even when it seemed to reach you, you would dodge it in an almost unbelievable move.

Because if anything defined your career, it was precisely the ability to always find a solution.

But against this, there is no solution.

But, listen to me clearly, this does not mean that tomorrow you have to retire. It does not mean that you cannot compete again. It doesn’t even mean that you cannot win again.

It means something much simpler, and much more human: that you can no longer demand from your body what you could five or ten years ago.

And I know that accepting that must hurt much more than any defeat, but I want you to look at the images from last night and focus on one thing.

On Jelena.

Image

Look at her face as she watches you suffer. That face speaks of the deep love she feels for you. Of someone who cares. Who respects that you continue, but does not want to see you suffer like this.

There is a phrase in your documentary, said by her, that states that she tries to help you find the balance between those two forces you have, the one that feels you can still compete and the one that knows continuing may not be the best for you or your family. She should be your compass.

While watching her, ask yourself if you really need to go through something like what happened last night again.

Because one thing is fighting for a dream, and another very different thing is shattering your body and health trying to prove something you already proved many years ago.

You don’t need a 25th Grand Slam for us to appreciate how great you have been.

You don’t need to win again in Melbourne.

You don’t need to lift Wimbledon one more time.

You don’t need to defeat Alcaraz or Sinner. You have already done that many times.

You don’t need to leave winning.

You already won.

A long time ago.

You won when that boy from Belgrade became one of the greatest athletes we have ever seen.

You won when you caught up with those who seemed unreachable.

You won when you surpassed all existing records in this sport.

You won when you achieved that Olympic gold that meant so much to you.

Is there really anything left to prove?

What you want to demonstrate, that you can still beat these young players, you have already done. You don’t have to do it at every tournament you enter.

For over twenty years, you taught us not to give up.

The people who love you do not need to see you suffer to love you a little more.

They do not need another comeback.

They do not need another Grand Slam.

What they need is to see you enjoy. On a tennis court or in your normal life.

You have done everything that needed to be done. Now, do only what makes you happy. If it’s playing tennis, play. But if you see that it hurts you and you suffer in the process, then that’s not it.

Because your body is speaking to you. That same body you care for with love in everything you do is telling you that it’s not well. And when the body speaks, you must listen to it.

The audience has already seen everything you have given for this sport, and to a large extent, appreciates all you have contributed to it. And whoever has not realized it yet, don’t worry, one day they will. You have nothing to prove to them either.

So for that, be at ease.

And remember that you don’t have to leave winning, because you already won.

Those tears of sadness and helplessness last night, seeing that your body no longer keeps pace, tomorrow will be tears of pride for everything you achieved. You managed to win against everyone. You were the best. And perhaps none of us on this planet will see anyone surpass your records.

There is no greater victory than going down in the history of humanity.

Thank you for everything, Nole.

From the heart.

Signed: José Morón

Djokovic says goodbye in tears

This is an automatic translation. You can read the original news, Carta a Novak Djokovic