Culture
Carlos Alcaraz hasn't won a title since Wimbledon. So what's going wrong?
Let’s start with a big qualifier: Carlos Alcaraz is probably going to be just fine.
He’s 20 years old. He’s already won two Grand Slam titles, with neither of them coming on clay, which may be his best surface and is certainly the one he is most familiar with. At 19, he became the youngest man to achieve the No 1 ranking.
Even his top rivals, including contemporaries such as Jannik Sinner, expect Alcaraz to be the greatest player of his era. He is going to win a lot of tournaments, many of them Grand Slams. It’s just that he hasn’t won a tournament since he beat Novak Djokovic in five sets in the Wimbledon final eight months ago.
That is his longest stretch without an ATP Tour-level title since he started winning them in 2021.
And that is, well, a bit weird.
Remember those heady days after Wimbledon?
After he came back to beat Djokovic, the best grass court player in the world, on Centre Court, there was a sense that he had wrestled the torch out of the hands of the Serbian champion, a player who had won more Grand Slam titles and just about everything else than just about everyone. This was supposed to be the start of Alcaraz winning just about everything for a very long time.
Alcaraz celebrates with the Wimbledon trophy last year (Julian Finney/Getty Images)
That might still happen. It just hasn’t happened yet.
He’s a respectable 24-11 since winning Wimbledon. Then again, Sinner won his first title at the Australian Open in January, took two weeks off, then went to Rotterdam and won another title. He’s undefeated this year and hasn’t lost a match since mid-November. Both begin play at the BNP Paribas Open in Indian Wells, California, the so-called “fifth major”, later this week.
“I have to improve a lot of things on the court and off the court, as well,” Alcaraz said earlier in the year.
He has lamented his dips in focus in the middle of matches. He has been at a loss to explain nights when he struggles to find the court with his usually lethal groundstrokes. He said when he practices occasionally with Djokovic, he studies how he concentrates, aspiring to one day be able to approach every match and every practice session with the intensity of the man who has set the standard for the sport the past decade and bested the two players, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, once considered untouchable.
Like every player, Alcaraz knows his weaknesses, such as they are, are some mystical combination of the physical, technical and mental.
Alcaraz has resisted getting too specific about just what he needs to do to improve, leaving everyone else to figure out the answer to a question that feels a little silly given he has already won $27.5million in prize money and tens of millions more in sponsorships. He is 71-15 since the start of 2023.
But here it goes anyway: what’s wrong with King Carlos?
The short answer is, not too much, except when it’s a lot.
Djokovic, Sinner, Daniil Medvedev and Alexander Zverev, four of the best players alive, are responsible for six of Alcaraz’s 11 losses since July, which includes his retirement with an ankle injury in Rio in February. There’s not a terrible amount of shame in that, except that he had been beating everyone on that list except Djokovic fairly comfortably the past year.
Alcaraz retired with an injury in Rio (Buda Mendes/Getty Images,)
To figure out what, if anything, has changed from the version of Alcaraz that won 11 tournaments in 17 months during 2022 and 2023, we enlisted the help of the wizards at TennisViz and Tennis Data Innovations, who collect ball and player tracking data with high-speed cameras and analyze them in real-time to understand the effectiveness of every shot.
The numbers show that Alcaraz has hardly become a shadow of his former self since Wimbledon, compared with an aggregate measurement of his play over the past year, but he has fallen off just enough to make himself more regularly vulnerable. That is especially true against the best of the best, when the slightest drop can result in a loss.
Yet, his drop-offs have been dramatic in four surprising losses since last summer, to Nicolas Jarry and Roman Safiullin, and less surprising ones to Grigor Dimitrov and Tommy Paul (who has been a sneakily hard match-up for Alcaraz).
Tom Corrie, a former coach who is the head of performance for Tennis Viz and has spent more time than most studying Alcaraz, has a theory about this, which involves the Spaniard being almost too talented for his own good.
“The guy has endless tactical options,” Corrie said. “He’s unbelievably skilful, he hits with so much power, but sometimes he doesn’t play with a tactical framework that is as defined as some of the other players. Therefore, he goes missing in matches and plays at a bad level. When he drops off, he drops off quite big.”
Also worth noting – men’s tennis is crazy deep at the moment. Even the second half of the top 100 has some serious quality. Have fun with an early-round match-up against Tomas Machac (No 63) of the Czech Republic. Freebies can be few and far between. Alcaraz’s opponents, who are almost always extra motivated, have to get some credit for making him play poorly.
Still, some top-line numbers for Alcaraz stand out.
One measure is how often Alcaraz is ‘on the attack’ — defined by Tennis Viz as when a player has received a low-quality incoming shot, has a positive court positioning (up the court), or has a comfortable contact point with the ball (not on the stretch). A player will be ‘in defense’ if they have received a high-quality shot, have bad court positioning (particularly deep or wide in the court), or are playing the ball on the stretch.
The tour average for shots played in attack is 25 per cent. On average, Alcaraz is on the attack 24 per cent of the time, but since Wimbledon, that figure has dropped to 22 per cent. That might not sound like a lot, but tennis is a game of small margins. A few points can make a big difference and it’s harder to win them while defending.
(Marcelo Endelli/Getty Images)
The other numbers that show relatively dramatic changes are the effectiveness of his service return, his forehand and his backhand. The high-speed cameras and computers generate a score for each of those shots based on their speed and placement — extra credit for painting the lines or getting very close very often.
On average over the past year, Alcaraz was near the top of the game in each of those categories.
On a scale of one to 10, Alcaraz’s service return averaged a 7.6, a full point better than the tour average and fifth overall. Since Wimbledon, his return rating has dropped to 7.0, still better than most but just 13th overall.
His backhand, an 8.0 on average over the past year, good for sixth overall, has fallen to 7.6 since Wimbledon— 15th place. And his deadly forehand, the shot that makes players shudder, has had one of the most dramatic drop-offs, from 8.8 to 8.1, tumbling from second best to 15th.
Alcaraz essentially magnified these trends during the surprising losses to Paul, Dimitrov, Safiullin and Jarry.
Against Paul at the National Bank Open in Canada in August, he was on the attack during just 19 per cent of the match. Against Dimitrov in Shanghai and Jarry in Buenos Aires, the attack rate was just 20 per cent.
That might not be such a problem if Alcaraz had continued to do the thing that has made him such a fan favorite — his ability to magically win a point from a defensive position when everything seems lost and he rockets a ridiculous forehand down the line on the run. That is known as his ‘steal score’.
His steal score has averaged 37 per cent since the Wimbledon title — but in those four surprising losses, it was 30 per cent. Playing more defensively and less miraculously pretty much guarantees a loss. Add in sub-par execution on the most basic shots and there was no way Alcaraz was going to win those matches.
His forehand quality was 7.3 against Paul and 6.8 against Jarry, both well below the tour average. Same for his backhand against Jarry and Safiullin.
His performance against Jarry wasn’t just below his standards but way below pro tennis standards. As can be seen from the next two charts, his numbers were below the tour averages in 10 statistical categories, everything from the speed of his forehand to the percentage of points won when the rally lasted more than eight shots.
Against Safiullin, he converted just 50 per cent of the points when he had established control and been on the attack. The tour average is 66 per cent.
The effect of all this can be stunning to the eye. Since Alcaraz has established a reputation for the spectacular, it makes the bad performances look terrible.
“When it goes wrong, it goes really wrong,” Corrie said. “If you beat Medvedev, he’s still putting thousands of balls in the court. He’s not disappearing so aggressively like Carlos is.”
(Top photo: Marcelo Endelli/Getty Images)
Culture
What Happens When We Die? This Wallace Stevens Poem Has Thoughts.
Whatever you do, don’t think of a bird.
Now: What kind of bird are you not thinking about? A pigeon? A bald eagle? Something more poetic, like a skylark or a nightingale? In any case, would you say that this bird you aren’t thinking about is real?
Before you answer, read this poem, which is quite literally about not thinking of a bird.
Human consciousness is full of riddles. Neuroscientists, philosophers and dorm-room stoners argue continually about what it is and whether it even exists. For Wallace Stevens, the experience of having a mind was a perpetual source of wonder, puzzlement and delight — perfectly ordinary and utterly transcendent at the same time. He explored the mysteries and pleasures of consciousness in countless poems over the course of his long poetic career. It was arguably his great theme.
Stevens was born in 1879 and published his first book, “Harmonium,” in 1923, making him something of a late bloomer among American modernists. For much of his adult life, he worked as an executive for the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company, rising to the rank of vice president. He viewed insurance less as a day job to support his poetry than as a parallel vocation. He pursued both activities with quiet diligence, spending his days at the office and composing poems in his head as he walked to and from work.
As a young man, Stevens dreamed of traveling to Europe, though he never crossed the Atlantic. In middle age he made regular trips to Florida, and his poems are frequently infused with ideas of Paris and Rome and memories of Key West. Others partake of the stringent beauty of New England. But the landscapes he explores, wintry or tropical, provincial or cosmopolitan, are above all mental landscapes, created by and in the imagination.
Are those worlds real?
Let’s return to the palm tree and its avian inhabitant, in that tranquil Key West sunset of the mind.
Until then, we find consolation in fangles.
Culture
Wil Wheaton Discusses ‘Stand By Me’ and Narrating ‘The Body’ Audiobook
When the director Rob Reiner cast his leads in the 1986 film “Stand by Me,” he looked for young actors who were as close as possible to the personalities of the four children they’d be playing. There was the wise beyond his years kid from a rough family (River Phoenix), the slightly dim worrywart (Jerry O’Connell), the cutup with a temper (Corey Feldman) and the sensitive, bookish boy.
Wil Wheaton was perfect for that last one, Gordie Lachance, a doe-eyed child who is ignored by his family in favor of his late older brother. Now, 40 years later, he’s traveling the country to attend anniversary screenings of the film, alongside O’Connell and Feldman, which has thrown him back into the turmoil that he felt as an adolescent.
Wheaton has channeled those emotions and his on-set memories into his latest project: narrating a new audiobook version of “The Body,” the 1982 Stephen King novella on which the film was based.
A few years ago, Wheaton started to float the idea of returning to the story that gave him his big break — that of a quartet of boys in 1959 Oregon, in their last days before high school, setting out to find a classmate’s dead body. “I’ve been telling the story of ‘Stand By Me’ since I was 12 years old,” he said.
But this time was different. Wheaton, who has narrated dozens of audiobooks, including Andy Weir’s “The Martian” and Ernest Cline’s “Ready Player One,” says he has come to enjoy narration more than screen acting. “I’m safe, I’m in the booth, nobody’s looking at me and I can just tell you a story.”
The fact that he, an older man looking back on his younger years, is narrating a story about an older man looking back on his younger years, is not lost on Wheaton. King’s original story is bathed in nostalgia. Coming to terms with death and loss is one of its primary themes.
Two days after appearing on stage at the Academy Awards as part of a tribute to Reiner — who was murdered in 2025 alongside his wife, Michele — Wheaton got on the phone to talk about recording the audiobook, reliving his favorite scenes from the film and reexamining a quintessential story of childhood loss through the lens of his own.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
“I felt really close to him, and my memory of him.”
Wheaton on channeling a co-star’s performance.
There’s this wonderful scene in “Stand By Me.” Gordie and Chris are walking down the tracks talking about junior high. Chris is telling Gordie, “I wish to hell I was your dad, because I care about you, and he obviously doesn’t.”
It’s just so honest and direct, in a way that kids talk to each other that adults don’t. And I think that one of the reasons that really sticks with people, and that piece really lands on a lot of audiences, and has for 40 years, is, just too many people have been Gordie in that scene.
That scene is virtually word for word taken from the text of the book. And when I was narrating that, I made a deliberate choice to do my best to recreate what River did in that scene.
“You’re just a kid,
Gordie–”
“I wish to fuck
I was your father!”
he said angrily.
“You wouldn’t go around
talking about takin those stupid shop courses if I was!
It’s like
God gave you something,
all those stories
you can make up, and He said:
This is what we got for you, kid.
Try not to lose it.
But kids lose everything
unless somebody looks out for them and if your folks
are too fucked up to do it
then maybe I ought to.”
I watched that scene a couple of times because I really wanted — I don’t know why it was so important to me to — well, I know: because I loved him, and I miss him. And I wanted to bring him into this as best as I could, right?
So I was reading that scene, and the words are identical to the script. And I had this very powerful flashback to being on the train tracks that day in Cottage Grove, Oregon. And I could see River standing next to them. They’re shooting my side of the scene and there’s River, right next to the camera, doing his off-camera dialogue, and there’s the sound guy, and there’s the boom operator. There’s my key light.
I could hear and feel it. It was the weirdest thing. It’s like I was right back there.
I was able to really take in the emotional memory of being Gordie in all of those scenes. So when I was narrating him and I’m me and I’m old with all of this experience, I just drew on what I remembered from being that little boy and what I remember of those friendships and what they meant to me and what they mean to me today.
“Rob gave me a gift. Rob gave me a career.”
Wheaton recalls the “Stand By Me” director’s way with kids on set, as well as his recent Oscars tribute.
Rob really encouraged us to be kids.
Jerry tells the most amazing story about that scene, where we were all sitting around, and doing our bit, and he improvised. He was just goofing around — we were just playing — and he said something about spitting water at the fat kid.
We get to the end of the scene, and he hears Rob. Rob comes around from behind the thing, and he goes, “Jerry!” And Jerry thinks, “Oh no, I’m in trouble. I’m in trouble because I improvised, and I’m not supposed to improvise.”
The context for Jerry is that he had been told by the adults in his life, “Sit on your hands and shut up. Stop trying to be a cutup. Stop trying to be funny. Stop disrupting people. Just be quiet.” And Jerry thinks, “Oh my God. I didn’t shut up. I’m in trouble. I’m gonna get fired.”
Rob leans in to all of us, and Rob says, “Hey, guys, do you see that? More of that. Do that!”
The whole time when you’re a kid actor, you’re just around all these adults who are constantly telling you to grow up. They’re mad that you’re being a kid. Rob just created an environment where not only was it supported that we would be kids — and have fun, and follow those kid instincts and do what was natural — it was expected. It was encouraged. We were supposed to do it.
They chanted together:
“I don’t shut up,
I grow up.
And when I look at you I throw up.”
“Then your mother goes around the corner
and licks it up,”
I said, and hauled ass out of there,
giving them the finger over my shoulder as I went.
I never had any friends later on
like the ones I had when I was twelve.
Jesus, did you?
When we were at the Oscars, I looked at Jerry. And we looked at this remarkable assemblage of the most amazingly talented, beautiful artists and storytellers. We looked around, and Jerry leans down, and he said, “We all got our start with Rob Reiner. He trusted every single one of us.”
And to stand there for him, when I really thought that I would be standing with him to talk about this stuff — it was a lot.
“I was really really really excited — like jumping up and down.”
The scene Wheaton was most looking forward to narrating: the tale of Lard Ass Hogan.
I was so excited to narrate it. It’s a great story! It’s a funny story. It’s such a lovely break — it’s an emotional and tonal shift from what’s happening in the movie.
I know this as a writer: You work to increase and release tension throughout a narrative, and Stephen King uses humor really effectively to release that tension. But it also raises the stakes, because we have these moments of joy and these moments of things being very silly in the midst of a lot of intensity.
That’s why the story of Lard Ass Hogan is so fun for me to tell. Because in the middle of that, we stop to do something that’s very, very fun, and very silly and very celebratory.
“Will you shut up and let him tell it?”
Teddy hollered.
Vern blinked.
“Sure. Yeah.
Okay.”
“Go on, Gordie,”
Chris said. “It’s not really much—”
“Naw,
we don’t expect much from a wet end like you,”
Teddy said,
“but tell it anyway.”
I cleared my throat. “So anyway.
It’s Pioneer Days,
and on the last night
they have these three big events.
There’s an egg-roll for the little kids and a sack-race for kids that are like eight or nine,
and then there’s the pie-eating contest.
And the main guy of the story
is this fat kid nobody likes
named Davie Hogan.”
When I narrate this story — whenever there is a moment of levity or humor, whenever there are those brief little moments that are the seasoning of the meal that makes it all so real and relatable — yes, it was very important to me to capture those moments.
I’m shifting in my chair, so I can feel each of those characters. It’s something that doesn’t exist in live action. It doesn’t exist in any other media.
“I feel the loss.”
Wheaton remembers River Phoenix.
The novella “The Body” is very much about Gordie remembering Chris. It’s darker, and it’s more painful, than the movie is.
I’ve been watching the movie on this tour and seeing River a lot. I remember him as a 14- and 15-year-old kid who just seemed so much older, and so much more experienced and so much wiser than me, and I’m only a year younger than him.
What hurts me now, and what I really felt when I was narrating this, is knowing what River was going through then. We didn’t know. I still don’t know the extent of how he was mistreated, but I know that he was. I know that adults failed him. That he should have been protected in every way that matters. And he just wasn’t.
And I, like Gordie, remember a boy who was loving. So loving, and generous and cared deeply about everyone around him, all the time. Who deserved to live a full life. Who had so much to offer the world. And it’s so unfair that he’s gone and taken from us. I had to go through a decades-long grieving process to come to terms with him dying.
Near the end
of 1971,
Chris
went into a Chicken Delight in Portland
to get a three-piece Snack Bucket.
Just ahead of him,
two men started arguing
about which one had been first in line. One of them pulled a knife.
Chris,
who had always been the best of us
at making peace,
stepped between them and was stabbed in the throat.
The man with the knife had spent time in four different institutions;
he had been released from Shawshank State Prison
only the week before.
Chris died almost instantly.
It is a privilege that I was allowed to tell this story. I get to tell Gordie Lachance’s story as originally imagined by Stephen King, with all of the experience of having lived my whole adult life with the memory of spending three months in Gordie Lachance’s skin.
Culture
Do You Know the Comics That Inspired These TV Adventures?
Welcome to Great Adaptations, the Book Review’s regular multiple-choice quiz about printed works that have gone on to find new life as movies, television shows, theatrical productions and more. This week’s challenge highlights offbeat television shows that began as comic books. Just tap or click your answers to the five questions below. And scroll down after you finish the last question for links to the comics and their screen versions.
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