But it won’t last forever. Time comes for everyone in the end. This year it came for Novak Djokovic, the most formidable player in history. Going into the tournament, he hadn’t lost a match at Melbourne Park since 2018. This year he meekly succumbed in the semis to 22-year-old Jannik Sinner, who went on to win the final. Watching the 36-year-old Joker run out of answers, you felt the sun setting on an era.

No other game reveals the personality, or the character, the way tennis does. The distinction between those terms is important. Martin Amis once said that in tennis, “personality” has effectively become a synonym for another word – one that starts with “a” and ends with “hole.” He also observed that the game’s all-time greats – Rosewall, Ashe, Navratilova – didn’t need “personality” because they had character.

Among the current Aussie players, Alex de Minaur has the best blend of character and talent. Like Ash Barty and Dylan Alcott, the Demon comes across as an exemplary human being – a paragon of pluck, energy and commitment.

This year he was stopped in the fourth round by the flame-haired Russian Andrey Rublev. Even as his dream unravelled in the fifth set, the Demon continued to applaud Rublev’s canonball winners in the time-honoured way, by clapping the heel of his spare hand against his strings.

Meanwhile, up the other end, Rublev was being a personality. With a hairstyle like the top of a Bunsen burner, Rublev ranted in Cyrillic after every bad shot. This would have been easier to take if he was losing, as opposed to crushing the Demon’s dream. But I’d be lying if I said that Rublev’s anger-management struggles were not, in themselves, deeply fun to watch.

By historical standards – the standards of McEnroe and Connors – Rublev is a poor excuse for a tennis bad boy. But tennis misbehaviour is a dying art these days. The Australian Open did away with line judges in 2021. Since then the line calls have been fully computerised.

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As a result, today’s tantrum-chuckers have precious little material to work with. You can’t argue with a computer. A modern hothead like Rublev has nothing to rage against except his own shot selection.

This is why I’m calling for the Australian Open to scrap the computers and bring back human line judges. Gripping as this year’s tournament was, something vital was missing from it. Tennis has robbed itself of the crackle of suspense – the tasty danger that a bad line call, real or imagined, might trigger a spectacular psychological meltdown at any moment.

Purists will say that’s a good thing. But I freely admit that I’m not a purist. I watch tennis for the theatre as well as the skill. I appreciate a good drop volley, but I also like watching cheesed-off adults behave appallingly under controlled conditions.

I’m also a sucker for quality sports commentary. The best line of the tournament was uttered by Peter “Salty” Psaltis, during an epic five-setter between Alexander Zverev and Cameron Norrie. As the final tie-break began, Salty dug deep for the clutch phrase, and delivered the line that said it all. He said, “I just feel sorry for people who don’t have sport in their lives.”

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