All-nighters

Professional tennis takes only a brief break around the holidays, and then it's right back at it. For the top players, who go deep into tournament runs, it's grueling. But that's why they make the big bucks, I guess.

They've been in Australia for the last few weeks, and this weekend, it's the finals of the big tourney down there, the Australian Open, played in Melbourne. The midsummer weather's been hot, and so has the competition.

Last night they held the men's singles semi-finals, and both matches were truly epic. I caught most of the first one, which went nearly five and a half hours. Carlos Alcaraz, the man child from Spain, defeated Sascha Zverev of Germany in as narrow a fashion as possible. The whole match was up in the air until the last point. Both men were gassed, but Alcaraz, who is 22 years old, was able to squeeze out a few more drops of energy than could Zverev, who is 27.

I love Carlitos – it's hard not to – but I felt bad for Zverev. He's always the bridesmaid at the four "major" tournaments around the world. Lately he's in fine shape and has really been working on his game, despite his being, by his own admission, handling depression over the past few seasons. I would have loved to see Sascha win the whole thing, but he finishes tied for a frustrated third.

I saw the first two sets of the other semi-final, but eventually gave in and went to bed. At that stage it was one set apiece for Jannik Sinner, the redhead from far northern Italy, and Novak Djokovic, the aging yet still raging champion from Serbia. At 38, the Djoker is regularly outplayed on paper by the younger men, and in this match he was once again statistically outshone by Sinner. But the ancient Serbian is relentless and wily, to put it mildly, and he wound up pulling out the victory in a four-hour five-setter. If Novak wins the final, it will be his 11th Australian Open crown, and his 25th win in a Grand Slam tournament, more than any player, of any gender, in history.

As I'm writing this, they're getting ready to play the championship match on the women's side: Aryna Sabalenka of Belarus versus Elena Rybakina, a Russian transplant to Kazakhstan. I can't bear to have the sound on when Sabalenka is playing. Her relentless screaming with every stroke of her racquet is simply intolerable. The other night, the chair umpire warned her about it, as it constitutes hindrance of her opponent, but within a few minutes she was back to her blood-curdling shrieks. (Speaking of the mute button, I'll bet ESPN is going to have that Chris Fowler guy droning into the microphone in the television booth for both finals, and I can pass on him as well. It's time for that door to revolve.)

I'd like to see Rybakina, who lost to Sabalenka in the Aussie final three years ago, take this year's title. You can have Belarus, and you can have the howling banshee. But the matchup doesn't exactly inspire what I'd call fan fervor. The men's showdown tomorrow, on the other hand, could be one for the ages.