Jannik Sinner barely breaks sweat to cruise through Martínez mismatch

The Guardian

a day ago

The key sequence, perhaps the only real piece of content in this 6-1, 6-3, 6-1 third round victory for Jannik Sinner against a semi-fit, utterly outmatched Pedro Martínez came midway through the second set on Centre Court.
To that point the entire contest had felt like the tennis equivalent of watching an injured lemur being run down, idly, by a slightly bored big cat. Martínez had come into this match with an injured shoulder. Hmm. An injured shoulder against Jannik Sinner. How's that going to work out?
Pretty much from the start every break in play saw the Spaniard's shirt off, shoulder being furiously pounded by medical orderlies, eyes boggled, chest hair damp with sweat, while a few yards away Sinner sat completely still, unmoved, a neat man in a cap, thinking.
The roof was on for this match as a light drizzle fell outside. It is a magnificent suburban thing, the greatest side return conservatory in south-west London. Roof up, Centre Court becomes Kew Gardens, steamy, fragrant, the lunchtime chitter-chatter intimate and echoey.
Here it was even a little soporific at the start. The first set had already been folded away 6-1. The second seemed to heading the same way until, at 4-2 down, and with Martínez already serving like a man leaning back in a rocking chair and listening to his own neck creak, the Spaniard was seized by a combination of endorphins and what-the-heck professional pride, and from there managed to muster up a couple of games that lasted almost as long as the entire match to that point.
The first extended deuce felt like an act of mild torture. Martínez began to groan and breathe heavily. More? Really? But he took the game in the end to huge cheers from the crowd and walked back to his chair looking as if he had just done 40 minutes in a notably violent, full contact, twig-thrashing Finnish sauna.
Martínez at least got to enjoy this sequence, and to entertain the crowd, showing heart and skill, punching the air, grinning occasionally.
Sinner's calm through this was also notable. The world No 1 aced out break points. He stuck to the processes, barely sweating, still wearing the same shrewd, wary look. He steered Martínez gently to 5-3, with an injection of cold-eyed, quick-footed precision, finding angles with his backhand drives, then closing the set with a perfect diagonal half-court volley.
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From there the final set disappeared in a haze of creaks and groans from the persevering Martínez, and an effortless reassertion of crisp, clean baseline control. The question of how to beat Sinner, or even how to ruffle his low-tick intensity, was no closer to being answered by the end. At least for anyone in the draw who happens not to be called Carlos Alcaraz.
Sinner was able to move through this match without taking anything out of himself. He talked up the quality of the rallies at the end, shrugged and sighed at Martínez's physical state, praising his ability to carry on. No Italian man or woman has ever won a Wimbledon singles title. On current form the list of people with a decent shot at stopping that sequence being broken this year currently stands at one.