Roland Garros 1983

Noah for ever

France was suffocating and Noah was fighting for breath. That 5 June 1983, the heat pressed down on the centre court and Yannick Noah’s nerves were going to pieces. Dreadful cramps were starting to afflict his fingers. A Shakespearian finale. The Frenchman who carried off the first two sets (6-2, 7-5) easily grimaced right in the middle of this decisive game. The moment lasted an eternity. Since 1946 and the victory of Marcel Bernard, no Frenchman had been victorious. Mats Wilander, the Swede, imperturbable, was putting together many passing shots, his master strokes. He was gradually gaining ground and as if pushed by the energy of despair, came back to 6-3 in that fiendish tie-break. But Yannick Noah was paying no attention to this. At 23, he was the hope of an entire nation. A nation which, after years of a dearth of sporting exploits had become greedy for the game of its champion, so productive. Suddenly, the Frenchman gripped the tortured handle of his racquet with all his power. A couple of shrugs of his shoulders for better release of the tension which had been gripping him for many minutes. The first service ball was good. The Swede’s return plunged over the back line of the court. An explosion of joy and an unreal scene. As if transfixed by his feat, the Frenchman stood stock still in the middle of the court. With his arms outstretched and at the top of his voice, he called for his father. With one leap, Zaccharie joined him in the arena. Weep, citizens! France wept with joy. The Noah legend was on the march.