At last on the terre battue

For the first time since King of Clay Rafael Nadal won his maiden title on the Parisian terre battue in 2005, a first-time Grand Slam winner would raise the Coupe des Mousquetaires. 

Would it be Alexander Zverev, the heavily favoured German with a long trail of heartbreak, or Flavio Cobolli, the fresh-faced Italian who had never played – or been close to playing – a Grand Slam final. 

A buzz filled the air as spectators filed into their seats, done up in their sporting Sunday best.

Inside Chatrier the photography pit was packed with an armada of telephoto lenses, each focusing (from behind boxes of well-appointed white geraniums) on the two players who hoped to make history for themselves and for their countries. 

Tension? Thick enough to pick it up with chopsticks. Pressure? A hefty yet welcome privilege. 

Toeing his baseline on one end of the fabled showcourt, Zverev. A loser of his first three major finals, the 29-year-old was desperately seeking a shot of redemption. Out of the 32 men in the Open era to have reached four or more singles finals at the Grand Slams, Zverev stepped onto court as the only player not to have won one. 

At the other baseline Cobolli, the out-of-the-blue finalist who was bidding to become the lowest-ranked men’s champion in Paris since 44th-ranked Gaston Gaudio in 2004. 

Ready? Play

A group of nine German women set the festive tone early, each clinging to a letter of their hero's name — Go Sascha! — and dancing happily at the change of ends after Zverev took the first set. They swayed to Lenny Kravitz’s ‘It ain’t over till it’s over' - a sign that the final was far from done.

On the opposite side of the stadium, 60 or so azzuro-clad supporters crammed into the tribunes behind Cobolli’s box — quite an entourage — were not the only ones screaming Andiamo! 

When the 24-year-old ripped an overhead smash to level at two-all in the second set, the fiery Italian thrust his arms into the air, encouraging the fans to join the chorus. 

Did they ever. 

They hooted, they hollered, they chanted ole ole Flavio! and suddenly Chatrier had taken on the identity of a Roman football stadium. 

There were 50 years of yearning for an Italian champion at Roland-Garros in those chants. Adriano Pannata, the last Italian to win in Paris in 1976, was on hand to present the trophy, looking dapper as ever in a crisply tailored suit in the president's box.

Longing was a central theme on Sunday on Chatrier — a German man had not won the Roland-Garros singles title since 1937. That’s 89 years if you’re scoring at home.

No pressure, Sascha. 

The match hung in the balance as it drifted into a third, then a fourth, set. 

Tremors of euphoria. Echoes of past classics. The Italian tricolour and the German bundesflagge hanging over rafters, spread across knees, brandished with pride after critical points. 

A German woman had her black, red and gold standard completely swaddled around her head — anything to calm the nerves.

For the players, there was no such respite. Zverev battled the scar tissue of three previous failures in Slam finals, including squandering a two set to one lead against Carlos Alcaraz in the 2024 final. His hopes have lived and died on Court Philippe-Chatrier, he even shattered his ankle into pieces during a physical battle with Rafael Nadal in 2022. 

Cobolli, on the other hand, struggled with his own inexperience — at times he took flight like a player of destiny, at others he crash-landed like one who is not quite ready to do the unthinkable.  

After four nip-and-tuck sets, shadows completely covered the court and two-thirds of the tribunes as Zverev finally pulled away in the fifth. Ear-splitting decibels rocked the stadium one final time when Zverev survived a Cobolli onslaught with two miracle defensive lobs in the fourth game. 

It was all over but the shouting, and the shouting never stopped.

In the early evening light, the lenses in the photo pit took aim on Zverev. The German had come through the storm — now it was his time to shine.

Hundreds of photos, straight to the wires, as the first-time champion lay on his back in ecstasy. He didn’t move for a long while, and they didn’t stop cheering.