Carlos Alcaraz’s Wimbledon journey continues with a blend of brilliance and vulnerability, as he shook off the challenge of world No 733 Oliver Tarvet in straight sets 6-1, 6-4, 6-4. The scoreline might suggest control, but the performance offered just enough friction to stir debate. Double faults, net scrappiness, and periodic lapses in intensity were all there. Tarvet even earned more break points than the reigning champion. But this is part of the Alcaraz experience he invites critique as easily as he dazzles with magic.
Alcaraz’s game is a canvas open to interpretation. He commits errors, then follows them up with breathtaking winners. He is emotive and impulsive, unafraid to miss and just as unafraid to try again. Some call it inconsistency. Others call it courage. And those quick to highlight his missed drop shots rarely mention his 90% win rate this season, five titles from six finals, or the fact he’s assembling one of the most formidable years in recent memory.
His match against Tarvet was less about dominance and more about managing resistance both from across the net and within himself. Tarvet, a wildcard British hopeful with a compelling underdog story, stood firm and even confident at times. He read the Alcaraz serve early and countered with baseline rallies that earned the crowd’s appreciation. At one point, he even complimented a body serve that pinned him in place. Alcaraz, amused, responded with a knowing glance the kind only a champion can give.
While Tarvet made his moments count, the gap in quality was clear. Alcaraz teased him repeatedly with drop shots, sometimes failing, mostly succeeding. Tarvet, for all his heart, was bringing a single sword to a duel where his opponent wielded six. Alcaraz’s variety, feel, and improvisational genius gradually suffocated any belief Tarvet carried.
Yet the questions remain. Is Alcaraz too erratic to dominate? His critics think so, pointing to isolated defeats and stylistic gambles like drop shots as signs of mental fragility. But these judgments often say more about the need to find fault in greatness than they do about the player himself. In truth, his so-called inconsistency is a stylistic choice a risk-laden, instinctive approach built on belief.
He’s still young, still learning the grass, still navigating fame, and still fearless. He will keep aiming for the lines, keep missing sometimes, and keep thrilling with his unpredictability. Because that’s who he is. The real question isn’t what happens when he misses it’s what if he doesn’t?
