In tennis, the wrist is a lifeline, a delicate yet powerful hinge connecting a player’s will to the ball’s trajectory. Dominic Thiem, once the towering Austrian force in men’s tennis, understands this better than most.
In 2020, Thiem scaled tennis's Everest, capturing the US Open in an electrifying five-set victory. Then came an injury at the peak of his powers, in June 2021 during a match in Mallorca. What initially seemed like a minor hiccup evolved into a career-altering injury. Ligaments, tendons, mental fortitude— everything was tested.
Thiem recently announced his retirement. When he played his penultimate match on his home soil in Vienna, the tennis world reflected on a career that began with promise, flourished with grit and ended in the shadow of what could have been. For Dominic “Bombastic Backhand” Thiem, it wasn’t just a limb that faltered but it was the thread holding his career together. His success was the culmination of years of relentless baseline battles and fearless shot-making. Post-injury, however, his game— so reliant on power and precision— unravelled.
Thiem’s 2021 wrist injury, a single moment of overextension on a forehand, would prove to be more than a setback; it was the tipping point of a once-vibrant career. The confidence that had once powered his ferocious backhand evaporated, leaving him unable to trust the very mechanics that had built his game. “It doesn’t feel the same anymore,” he admitted, reflecting on the irreparable impact of his injury. A comeback was much anticipated, but it was— to say the least— anticlimactic. From being the heir to the throne of this new era of the sport to barely making it past the first rounds of Challenger and ATP 250 events, his form was a tough pill to swallow for me and other fans alike. While tennis is rife with tales of miraculous comebacks, Thiem’s story reveals a harsher reality— not every player bounces back.
A Star in the Making
Before the injury, Thiem had carved out a legacy as the player most likely to upset the era of the Big Three. Known for his relentless work ethic, blistering groundstrokes, unmatched fitness, sportsmanship and dashing looks, he seemed tailor-made to contend with the game’s legends. His journey from a promising junior to one of the most feared names on tour was not just inspiring. It was a story of grit meeting talent.
Thiem reached his first Grand Slam final at the 2018 French Open, where he faced Rafael Nadal. Though he lost, his ability to push Nadal on clay— a surface where the Spaniard reigns supreme— made it clear that Thiem wasn’t just another player; he was a potential disruptor of the Big Three Era. Over the next two years, Thiem continued to build his reputation as a giant-slayer, defeating Nadal, Djokovic, and Federer across surfaces. Some of his most notable victories came at the 2019 and 2020 ATP Finals, where he thrillingly dismantled Djokovic and at the 2020 Australian Open, where he almost pulled off a miracle win against him. At a time when defeating the Big Three was seen as a mammoth task, he consistently conquered them. With a 5-7, 6-10 and 5-2 Head-to-Head against Djokovic, Nadal and Federer, Thiem was quite the nuisance for them on the big stages.
What made the Austrian so special was his ability to adjust his game. Contrary to public opinion, he wasn’t just a clay-court specialist— he was equally adept on hard courts, as evidenced by his triumph at the 2020 US Open. That title was more than just a breakthrough; it felt like a changing of the guard. For the first time since 2016, someone outside the Big Three had won a Grand Slam— Thiem was hailed as their natural successor.
Injuries, however, have a cruel way of cutting short what could have been. Thiem’s ability to dominate the Big Three hinted at a career that could have rivalled theirs. Thiem had all the tools to join the ranks of the legends that defined this sport. Yet, his wrist injury ensured that those tantalising possibilities would remain just that: possibilities.
The Big Three: Masters of the Comeback
If Thiem’s story underscores the devastating finality of injury, the Big Three represent the possibility of rebirth. Their careers are marked not just by their dominance but by their ability to overcome physical setbacks. Yet their comebacks are as much about mental fortitude as physical resilience.
Take Rafael Nadal, whose career has been a saga of perpetual recovery. From chronic knee issues to debilitating foot problems, Nadal’s body has withstood more punishment than most. Yet every time he’s counted out, he defies expectations. His 2022 Australian Open victory, where he came back from two sets down against Daniil Medvedev, was like a wounded lion’s roar. What sets Nadal apart isn’t just his ability to return, it’s his ability to thrive after each setback as though adversity fuels him.
Roger Federer’s journey is different but no less inspiring. His battle with recurring knee injuries forced him to take extended breaks, leading many to wonder if his career was over. Yet Federer always returned, often with new dimensions to his game. His 2017 Australian Open victory, where he defeated Nadal in a five-set classic, came after a six-month hiatus and was perhaps the most poetic chapter of his career.
Then there’s Novak Djokovic, whose resilience is almost mechanical in its precision. Djokovic has battled elbow injuries, mental struggles and public controversies, yet he remains the epitome of consistency. His ability to adapt his game post-injury, whether altering his serve or improving his fitness, is a masterclass in survival.
What ties these three together is their extraordinary mental toughness. Injuries for them aren’t roadblocks; they’re puzzles to be solved. While their stories inspire, they also set an impossibly high bar for players like Thiem. Not every player has the resources, support systems or sheer willpower to mirror the Big Three’s comebacks. That’s not failure, it’s a reminder of how remarkable these three players are.
A Subjective Journey
Injuries in tennis are as subjective as line calls. For some players, these injuries are hurdles to leap over. For others, they are walls that refuse to be scaled. Such was Thiem’s story. That is the cruel subjectivity of injury— there is no single playbook for recovery. When I was ranked 19 in India as an U-18 player, tennis was everything to me. Every serve, every sprint, every bead of sweat on the court felt like part of a larger journey. But one day, during what could have been a “career-changing” National Series tournament for me, did indeed turn out to be a “career-changing” one— just not the way I imagined. An ambitious sprint for a short angled backhand had me crashing into the side fence and with it, came crashing my dreams. The sharp pain in my ankle was immediate, but the long-term consequences were far worse. A ruptured ligament— just two words, yet they carried unimaginable weight.
Six months of gruelling rehabilitation followed. Each day brought a new battle, whether it was against the pain, the monotony of exercises, or the fear that I’d never return to the court. And when I finally did, I wasn’t the same. My footwork was hesitant, my confidence shaken. The sense of invincibility I once carried had vanished, replaced by a gnawing fear that another injury was just one bad step away.
Eventually, my love for tennis couldn’t outweigh the constant uncertainty and anxiety. I stepped away, like Dominic, not with a fiery final match but with a quiet acceptance that my dream of going pro had slipped out of bounds. And here I am.
Love, Loss and Lessons Learnt
Thiem’s career, like my own journey, speaks to the fragility of the body. For him, every shanked backhand or mistimed forehand became a painful reminder of what his wrist had taken from him. What injuries teach you, however, is a kind of humility that few other experiences can offer. In tennis, we glorify comebacks, the triumphant recoveries that dominate headlines. But the truth is, not all recoveries end in victory. Sometimes, as Thiem and I both learned, the hardest battles are the ones we lose, and those losses teach us the most.
Tennis has a way of imitating life. It’s a sport where momentum can shift with a single stroke, where perfection is fleeting, and where the greatest opponents are often internal. And of course, like life, the sport isn’t always fair. Sometimes, you lose the match despite giving everything you have. But the true victory lies in the effort. It lies in the willingness to fight, to adapt, to give yourself a chance, even when the odds are stacked against you.
Thiem’s story, intertwining with my own, feels bittersweet. I have always idolised him and as a young kiddo, I simply wanted to grow up to be like him. Not just as a player, but as a person. A young Sarthak would step onto the court with a Babolat Strike in hand (Thiem’s racquet), an Adidas bandana neatly tied over his forehead and grit written all over his face. But here we are. From waking up at 4 a.m. to watch Thiem’s matches to sleepless nights in my Ashoka room, pondering over my own incomplete journey, the fire to compete is slowly dying.
I don’t know if the same will happen to Thiem, but alarmingly, I find my love for the sport vanishing. It’s an odd place to be, but the effort and hard work that I continue to put in to stay mentally and physically sharp, an effort that is inspired by the grit I’ve seen from the likes of Thiem, is almost not for “this” Sarthak but for that younger, more ambitious kid with an Adidas bandana and a Babolat Strike.
As Dominic Thiem hangs up his racket, his legacy remains one of incredible promise, hard-fought battles, and a vulnerability that makes him relatable to fans and players alike. In his retirement, we see not just an ending but a reflection of the countless untold stories of players whose careers were defined by injuries they couldn’t overcome. We see a reflection of how tough it is to let go of what you love, and how gruelling it is to not.
Danke Domi.
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