Sam Querrey vs. Marin Cilic: Psychology of a Heartbreaker

(Photo by Hamish Blair/Getty Images)

But once again, Querrey had the top down. He's only 21 after all. The stereo was cranking and he couldn't hear those thoughts. Maybe he didn't think them at all. Maybe this is why he's never, in spite of his atomic serve and triple-digit ground strokes, been past the fourth round of a major.

Here was his chance.

And as Cilic scratched and clawed and found a way to force a second-set tiebreaker (later winning that tiebreaker), you could feel Querrey's vehicle start to decelerate.

The psychological advantage was clearly shifting hands.

Now Cilic, quiet as a mouse for the better part of two sets, suddenly realized that he had been near death, and that his opponent was nice enough to lack the stomach to put him out of his misery.

Give a world class tennis player almost two hours, and he'll more than likely start to find his game. Cilic, the world class striker that he is, must have felt like he was born again.

Emotions. Psychology. Tennis warfare. Boys trying to become men. Sweating it out on the most timeless, ageless stage known to tennis. What could be better?

After the two players traded sets beneath the balmy British sun, it became clear that both players were feeling that this could be their day. But neither seemed quite convinced.

As the fifth set began, a duality set in. Querrey finally did what he should have done in the second set when he held what was very close to being an insurmountable lead. He pulled the top down, gritted his teeth, and placed his foot firmly on the accelerator. He was near his destination and he played like a maniac.

After winning 17 consecutive points on his serve; however, he still hadn't managed to gain an advantage on the scoreboard.

Cilic had no answer for Querrey's atomic serve, but he did have courage to keep fighting. He hung onto his serve, but it wasn't pretty. Though he couldn't seem to dial in with his first serve, he didn't let it phase him.

Querrey, meanwhile, was cruising. If this were a race, Querrey would have already been at the finish line, waiting to shake hands with his opponent.

But you can't win a fifth set in tennis without a service break. No matter how superior Querrey looked compared to Cilic for the first nine games of the set, no matter how much faster his sports car was travelling, nothing was gained.

And when Querrey stepped up to serve in the 10th game, needing only to reproduce exactly what he had been doing in the last four games to prolong the match, everything was lost.

Tennis isn't about how good you are. It's about how you good you are when you need to be.

When Querrey absolutely needed to be good, he couldn't muster the form that had been with him all set. A double fault and some uncharacteristically nervous points later, he was still a boy on a man's stage. His final backhand sailed long and Cilic sank to his knees in celebration.

Grace under pressure and a killer instinct are the tools of men who have helped write the storied history of Wimbledon's past. Unfortunately for Querrey, he possessed neither.

Perhaps someday he will.

Sometimes the only way to learn to succeed is by being so painfully close to victory that the sting of falling short never leaves you.

In Querrey's case, we know he was so close. The question that remains, is how much will it sting?

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