Australian Open Men's Final 2011: Is Djokovic-Murray the New Federer-Nadal?

For the first time since 2008, tennis fans were treated to a final featuring neither Roger Federer nor Rafael Nadal, the top two Grand Slam champions of the last decade.

While that last final in Australia in 2008 had included at least one top five player, Novak Djokovic, who played against the (then) relatively unknown Jo-Wilfred Tsonga, last Sunday's final saw the top two challengers to Federer-Nadal, the increasingly insurgent Djokovic and Andy Murray face for the first time in a Grand Slam.

The novelty of a Federer-Nadal-less final was quite immediate—along with the awkwardness of playing each other for the first time, there was a palpable inexperience, and that first-time dynamic.

Murray was simply unable to find himself on the court early on, being pushed and dominated quickly by the speedy Djokovic, and despite an early contest in the first set, Djokovic's break of serve to win it essentially sealed Murray's challenge.

The Scot would fade badly in the second set, quickly falling 0-5, and while he would manage two breaks of serve in the third, he was thoroughly unable to prevent the inevitable.

Djokovic, on the other hand, was quite remarkable throughout the match. His game-plan played out with that robotic consistency we had become accustomed to over the fortnight.

It was simple, yet deadly—the boxer just laying enough blows to finally down even the sturdiest defense of Murray, arguably tennis' greatest hard court counterpuncher.

Left and right, he moved the Scot all night, while Murray's own offense proved quite insufficient against the unflappable Serb.

For sure, what we witnessed in the final was a Grand Slam champion who had just made the US Open final last year, up against the Kim Clijsters of men's tennis—a Grand Slam final disappointment in his last two (now three) finals.

But Djokovic had none of the airs, that presence or aura we had come to expect of final Sundays—that certain something which descends on the match court when Federer or Nadal take stage.

For all his three slam finals appearances, and one win before this final, Djokovic could be mistaken as simply the Federer-Nadal challenger-plus-plus, and Murray the challenger-plus.

There was, instead of royalty or divinity, the adolescence of the usurper and unqualified successor.

Yet the tennis was, evidently, of the highest order. While we have been spoiled and have taken for granted the spectacle of a Federer or Nadal on Grand Slam final Sundays, we were arguably witness to something new, and something perhaps akin to an inchoate, transcendent rivalry.

Here were, instead of the world No. 1 and No. 2, the world No. 3 and No. 5 (although Murray is more or less the de facto world No. 4) took their places, and emulated that brand of first-class competition and intensity, as well as dramatic narrative hype, we had come to expect of every Federer-Nadal clash.

Djokovic and Murray are each players in their own right of terrific and almost unworldly talent, only overshadowed in recent years by the utterly unworldly abilities of Federer and Nadal.

Yet Djokovic managed, somehow, to dominate and bully Murray, a man of less talent than himself, in quite the same way that we had come to expect Nadal to bully Federer.

While it had been Nadal's topspin forehand which killed the Federer backhand, we were treated to a ruthlessness and determination of no lesser an order—in his unswerving assault on Murray's sidelines left and right could be perceived that same precision and purpose we had always seen in Nadal.

Murray, on the other hand, soon found himself outmatched and driven to desperate measures pressed beyond his comfort zone, having to play perfect points just to edge ahead of Djokovic. The story has been the same for Federer against Nadal almost all throughout their rivalry.

Yet there are some objections to such a neat comparison. Federer's brilliance against Nadal had always been patchy and unsustained, yet at his best, even Nadal would have been, for moments in a match, unable to touch him.

Yet Murray could find no such extra gear—he just lacks, perhaps, that defining big shot that Federer, Nadal and Djokovic have.

It must be hard for him; having worked so hard to get so close, and now three times a finals loser. It has come down to that extra bit to his game, which he found himself seriously lacking. Aggression, after all, is that secret recipe to success and true Grand Slam glory, not confused and uncertain defensive play.

Yet even for this, and the fact that the final scoreline of 6-4, 6-2, 6-3 looks more a blowout thrashing than anything, there were some signs of incipient Federer-Nadal-ness about the match.

We had, after all, the top two players of that so-called new guard of youngsters play each other, and in no less an occasion than one of tennis' four biggest matches—a Grand Slam final.

So what, this may have been the first time. I guess all greats get the jitters, and rivalries get the jitters when newborn. But maybe on Sunday we were witness to the birth of Gods, ugly as it is often retold in myths, but coming inevitably to something glorious.

Might we have in Djokovic and Murray, at last, the Olympian Grand Slam heirs to the Titans of Federer and Nadal?