Page 109 of Match Point

Tristan won his serve, and then Gabriel won his, bringing the set to a 6 - 6 tie. The men began another tiebreaker, this time to decide the match—and the entire Australian Open.

Back and forth they battled, with the crowd on the edge of its collective seat. The Australian fans were obviously rooting for their hometown hero Tristan, but there were plenty of Gabriel Moreau fans in attendance as well. In modern tennis history, the record for most grand slams won in a row was only four, and Gabriel had a chance to break that record today.

The two players had been fighting for nearly four hours, and both were clearly exhausted. Tristan’s long arms and legs glistened with sweat, and Gabriel’s curly brown hair was nearly black from dampness. Yet neither of them slowed down, still giving it their all in a final push toward victory.

The swing in momentum happened in the blink of an eye. Gabriel lost one of his serve points, and then Tristan hit an ace to go up 9 - 7. A nervous buzz went up in the crowd as they realized the Australian would get two match points in a row, but Tristan didn’t waste any time dwelling on that fact. Without waiting for the noise to fall to complete silence, he made his serve. Gabriel hit a return, grunting with effort, and Tristan tracked it down to his backhand side. He turned sideways, then hit a violent backhand shot down the line. Gabriel had been expecting it to be hit to the other side, and hesitated a split second too long. The shot landed right on the line, zooming past his outstretched racket.

The eruption of cheers and screams was deafening. Tristan fell to his knees, prostrate on the ground like he was praying to an omnipotent tennis god. Gabriel didn’t take any time to wallow in his defeat; he came charging to the net, leaping it like a hurdler, before falling to the ground next to Tristan, wrapping his arms around him like he was sharing in the Aussie’s victory.

“Tristan and I have become close friends over the past year,” Gabriel said during the award ceremony. “I was hoping to win here and extend my streak. But if I had to lose to anyone, I am glad it is to my friend.”

“Gracious words from the world number one,” the interviewer said. “But tell me, how have two fierce rivals who always butted heads suddenly become such good friends?”

The two of them looked at each other.

“We found common ground to bond over,” Gabriel said.

Tristan grinned. “And you stopped being such an insufferable cu…” he trailed off. “Curmudgeon. An insufferablecurmudgeon. But yes, mostly it’s the common ground we’ve bonded over.”

Next to me, Dominic whispered, “More like common ground toboneover.”

I elbowed him. “You’re ruining a sweet moment.”

Tristan took the microphone from the interviewer. “This win means so much to me. To be the first Australian to win the tournament since the seventies…”

He had to pause to wait for the roar of the crowd to dim.

“I’ve dreamed about this day since I was six years old and my dad put a racket in my hands,” he went on. “I’ve wanted to win here more than any other tournament. My family is in the crowd—all thirty of them.”

“Thirty?” the interviewer asked.

“I have a lot of cousins,” Tristan replied, which drew more laughter. “I’m glad they’re all here to see this win. And to hear my next announcement. That I’m retiring from the sport of tennis.”

The entire stadium gasped as one. Dominic’s eyes widened, and he turned to look at me. But I was focused entirely on Tristan out on the court.

“Mon ami, non!” Gabriel blurted out. “You cannot…”

“This sport has been good to me for over a decade,” Tristan said. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like he had tears in his eyes. “But I have struggled with injuries for the past few years. I have the soul of a competitor, but my body will not cooperate. I was lucky that the stars aligned long enough for me to win this trophy, accomplishing the goal I never thought was possible. It’s sweeter than I have ever dreamed. But it’s time for me to take a page out of Miranda Jacobs’ book and retire on top.”

The crowd reaction was mixed. Some fans cheered, others booed. Many more stood in confused silence.

The interviewer took back the microphone, and appeared at a loss for words. “Tristan… I think I speak for most fans when I say I’m speechless. What are you going to do next without the French Open to look forward to?”

“Well,” Tristan said, “I’m going to do a whole lot of nothing. Then I’m going to domorenothing. Once I’ve completed those two very important items, I will figure it out as I go. Maybe I’ll give broadcasting a try. But not on NBC. Maybe Fox Sports Australia.”

We had a big party at Tristan’s house that evening. At least a hundred people were there, half of whom seemed to be related to Tristan in some way. I met cousins, and nephews, and aunts, and uncles. Tristan introduced me to everyone as his girlfriend, so I received a lot of hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“Don’t try to keep up with my brother Liam,” Tristan warned me, pointing out a man that looked like a taller version of him. “He’s a skinny wanker, but he’ll drink anyone under the table.”

It was nice meeting his family. Everyone seemed to love me, and credited my coaching as the reason Tristan had remained healthy enough to win. And when I explained that I hadn’t coached him since last August, they all shrugged and insisted I was steering him in the right direction.

“Okay, tell me the truth,” Dominic said after everyone else had left. It was just the four of us, sitting around a fire pit in Tristan’s back yard while finishing off a bottle of wine. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Knew what?” I asked.

“About the retirement announcement!” Gabriel chimed in. “Surely you were aware, yes?”

Tristan waited for my answer with a smile.

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