At the best of times Natasha aka Nats my Gen X  neighbour was undramatic, her uber aggression and ultra-vibrancy functioned at a subterranean level. As last Sunday evening settled in, Nats settled onto my couch with some gluten-less popcorn to watch the men’s Wimbledon finals. “Rahul bruh, today the baton changes hands or it doesn’t, today history will be made, a new prince could ceremoniously be crowned bringing to an end the reign of the big 3,” she said, dramatically, as Alcaraz won the toss, and elected to receive serve from Djokovic. “But either way, bruh,  tonight will be historic… the young will push the aged, go Carlooooooos,” she screamed, popping more gluten-less popcorn into her mouth.

“He has to crack at some point,” I felt confidently two hours later, as Alcaraz dropped the service game, that would have won him the final. I was convinced this was where the match would turn, such is Novak’s “survival instinct”.