A perfect mentor

Djokovic-Gencic relationship shows the significance of non-intrusive coaching in formative years

It was Wimbledon they dreamed about together, Jelena Gencic and Novak Djokovic. And it was easy for a golden boy to dream when Gencic, with her luminous blue eyes and soothing voice, kept telling him that such big things were possible.

Djokovic remembers practicing for the victory ceremony on grass in Serbia,holding up a small trophy and saying: “I’m Novak Djokovic. I won Wimbledon.”

But Gencic, a born teacher who was much deeper into means than ends, was not the type to declare a project finished, a quest complete. Though Djokovic did indeed win Wimbledon in 2011, holding the trophy aloft and then eventually showing Gencic, his boyhood mentor, the replica in person in Belgrade, Gencic was well aware there was still one trophy missing from her former prize pupil’s collection.

That was the Coupe des Mousquetaires awarded to the men’s singles champion at the French Open, the last of the four Grand Slam tournaments Djokovic has yet to win.
“She didn’t know she was going to die probably, but she told Novak when she saw him last time that she would be the most happiest woman to hold that trophy,” said Marian Vajda, Djokovic’s current coach. “When she saw Novak the last time, she told him she wanted to take a picture and have the whole collection.”

There will be no picture now. Gencic, the coach who discovered Djokovic’s talent in the mountain resort of Kopaonik and expertly laid the foundation of his game, died on Saturday in Serbia, according to an announcement by the Serbian Tennis Federation.
She was 76, and though word of her death arrived in Paris before Djokovic took the court to play his third-round match against Grigor Dimitrov, his support team, including Vajda and his friend and physical trainer, Miljan Amanovic, knew it was better that he wait to hear the news.

“We found out before, when he was warming up in the annex,” Vajda said. “Miljan told me during the practice, and I said: 'We should not tell him right now. I think it would not be good.'”

Djokovic remained in his pre-match bubble and then dismantled Dimitrov in straight sets despite some right shoulder discomfort that required treatment late in the proceedings. After the on-court smiles and the television interviews, Amanovic was among those who informed Djokovic of Gencic’s death. According to members of his team, Djokovic broke down in tears, and he later canceled his postmatch news conference to grieve out of the spotlight.

But playing through grief barrier is nothing new to Djokovi, especially in the last two seasons. His father, Srdjan, was hospitalized last year in Serbia in intensive care with a severe respiratory illness and is still recovering. Djokovic’s grandfather Vladimir died last April while Djokovic was playing the Monte Carlo tournament.

With Gencic’s death, Djokovic has now lost two touchstones in a hurry. They were two elders who were particularly crucial to his sense of stability and possibility during the war years in Serbia in the 1990s, two elders who were there for him when NATO forces were bombing Belgrade in 1999, when he was 12 and the future for an aspiring tennis star looked particularly dark.

“I went to practice with Novak and three other boys,” Gencic said in Belgrade in 2010. “There were many other boys and girls and when they were on the tennis court, they don’t think about bombs. That’s the point of, the reason of, practicing. You don’t think about that.”

Gencic remembered picking practice sites based on where the bombs had fallen the night before, reasoning that NATO would not bomb the same place again. “I could feel it in my house, it was terrible,” she said. “My sister was very hurt by the bombs and 16 months later she died.”

But the tone of that interview was surprisingly not bitter. Though Gencic expressed regret that she had lost touch with Djokovic at that stage and expressed resentment toward Srdjan for not keeping her better informed, she remembered the eight years they did spend in each other’s frequent company with great tenderness.

“Oh, special boy, that boy was unbelievable,” she said. “Very intelligent. He knew very well what to do, how much to do. He listens, and every word it was, 'Please tell me again.' And I’d say, 'Did you understand me?' And he would say, 'Yes, but please, tell me again.' He wanted to be so sure.”

Gencic met him when he was 6 while she was giving a summer clinic on the hardcourts across from his parents’ restaurant in Kopaonik, in the Serbian mountains near Montenegro. She had advised Monica Seles and Goran Ivanisevic in their junior years and knew - no, sensed - exceptional talent and determination when it was in front of her. She soon told the Djokovics - neither of whom played tennis seriously - that they had “a golden child.”

But her mentoring was not restricted to match tactics and coaxing Djokovic away from the one-handed backhand used by his idol Pete Sampras to the two-handed backhand that would later help make him No 1. “I gave him books, not books for young boys, books for older, about life, not just tennis,” she said. “We listened to music, and he liked to listen. I liked classical music, and he listened with me.”

Gencic said she explained that one particular piece was like a tennis match: “You start slowly and then stronger, stronger, stronger,” she said.

Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” left a particularly deep impact. “I could see he thought it was wonderful,” Gencic said. "And I explained to him, 'When you play a match, Novak, and this is very important, when you play a match and suddenly you feel not very good, remember this music, remember how much adrenaline you have in your stomach and your body. Let this music push you to play stronger and stronger.' “He understood,” Gencic said. “He was 11 years old, but he understood.”

Djokovic, of course, understands much more now, at a worldly and poised 26, with millions upon millions in his bank account and scores of stamps in his passport. But he knows perfectly well that none of this would have happened without Gencic and her pale blue eyes, without her experience and her vision of what he could achieve.

“Pretty much what I know on court, I owe to her,” Djokovic oncesaid. “She’s the one who developed my game. Whatever she told me, I did. And she kept telling me I had the talent to be No 1. I believed her, and I still believe her.”