Apricot sunlight dances on the surface of the Yarra alongside the meandering approach to Melbourne Park. The river is an abiding companion, unspooling past Federation Square and along Birrarung Marr, away from the city skyline and towards Rod Laver Arena. This is summer in Australia on the eve of the year’s first grand slam, the event Roger Federer dubbed “the happy slam”.
But this year the pilgrimage ends abruptly at an arrestingly blue checkpoint where masks are affixed and a health declaration is scrutinised – a reminder that this is no ordinary event. Further into the precinct a labyrinth of temporary walls funnel visitors into one of three zones, a solution designed to minimise the fallout should Covid-19 creep its way onsite.
Australia has navigated two waves of significant community transmission of coronavirus with comparative success. Border closures, mask-wearing and lockdowns – if necessary at short notice and for long durations – have nipped outbreaks in the bud. Since Melbourne emerged from a three-month lockdown in October, the country has been operating on what it has called “Covid normal” policies, allowing Australians to confidently celebrate summer holidays and begin a new school year.
“It has been a very hard year for all the world in general,” Rafael Nadal said on arrival. “We are still in a very tough situation, but I think Australia is an amazing example of how to control things in the right way.”
As major sporting events have wrestled with the pandemic the central objective has been maintaining the safety of competitors and officials, to the exclusion of spectators. Here it is the players and their entourages, not the fans, that pose the greater threat to public health. Resolving this conundrum has not gone well.
First, the arrival of hundreds of players and staff on chartered flights sat uneasily with Australia’s inability to repatriate thousands of citizens stranded overseas. Then almost immediately dozens of players were forced into strict lockdown after positive tests were identified on certain flights. This damage was exacerbated by a number of players complaining about their quarantine and how it would lead to competitive disadvantage.
World No 13 Roberto Bautista Agut likened his experience in a quarantine hotel to prison “but with wifi”. Tour prefect Novak Djokovic lobbied unsuccessfully for changes. Nick Kyrgios branded him a “tool”. “My good intentions for my fellow competitors in Melbourne have been misconstrued as being selfish, difficult and ungrateful. This couldn’t be farther from the truth,” wrote Djokovic, in a six-page social media post.
Unsurprisingly, any complaints have been given short thrift by locals unprepared to concede any ground on their hard-earned freedoms, especially after Spaniard Paula Badosa tested positive on her seventh day in isolation. It is unlikely the public mood will ever soften towards the players, 256 of whom are guaranteed at least $100,000 (£50,779) even if they lose in round one of the singles.
Discontent escalated on Wednesday when a man working at a hotel housing hundreds of players and officials tested positive, sending a tremor through the community. This “nightmare scenario”, according to broadcaster Rennae Stubbs, led to calls for the tournament to be scrapped. But while there are many dissenting voices, unifying them into a movement is tricky because the major criticism aimed at Victoria’s approach to the pandemic has been that it is too risk-averse. That appears to be changing.
“The strategy is not zero cases forever,” the Victorian premier, Daniel Andrews, said on Thursday. “The strategy is to try and find that Covid normal, to try and have economic activity, to try and begin rebuilding and recovery, and to manage this risk.”
This all helps explain that despite the striking contrast between a largely unaffected Australian summer and the hibernal catastrophes unfolding elsewhere, there is little hubris. The absence of grandstanding might surprise outsiders but this is a state where Australian rules football dominates, and public servants take a day off for a horse race. The tennis, not unlike the Formula 1 Grand Prix, does not possess limitless goodwill. It can be viewed as an outward-facing enterprise, valued as much for its economic impact.
Tennis Australia does not shy away from the dollars and cents, celebrating the generation of $387.7m (£216m) for the local economy last year. Much of this flows to the tourism and hospitality sectors, areas badly hit by the pandemic. It’s little wonder administrators have done everything they can to get the show on the road, despite the risks to public health.
If this scenario all feels familiar, that’s because it is. In the run up to last year’s Australian Grand Prix the pandemic’s tendrils were extending around the world and Melbourne just happened to be a hub of international sporting activity. The race was eventually cancelled, but not before a stack of damaging PR, including Lewis Hamilton responding despairingly that “cash is king” when asked why the race was still going ahead.
That was an example of what psychologists term the “peak-end rule” working against event organisers. Australian Open officials will be hoping for the reverse: a fuss-free fortnight concluding with celebrated champions taking their shiny silver cups and posing down by the riverside, basking in a glory that will not only be theirs but the whole of Australia’s.