Rain. Total chaos. A guy ranked 125th in the world holding the most prestigious trophy in sports while sobbing on a patch of dead grass. Honestly, if you scripted the Wimbledon 2001 men's singles tournament for a Hollywood movie, the producers would probably reject it for being too unrealistic.
It was weird.
For years, SW19 had been the private property of Pete Sampras. The guy was a machine on grass. But 2001 felt different from the first Monday. The weather was acting up, the seeds were falling, and there was this tall, eccentric Croatian named Goran Ivanišević who only even got into the draw because the tournament organizers felt bad for him and gave him a wildcard. He was a three-time finalist who had lost his nerve, his ranking, and—according to some—his mind.
The Changing of the Guard: Federer vs. Sampras
Before we talk about the People's Monday or the wildcard miracle, we have to talk about the fourth round. This was the exact moment the tectonic plates of tennis shifted. Pete Sampras, the seven-time champion, met a 19-year-old kid with a ponytail named Roger Federer.
It’s easy to look back now and say, "Of course Federer won." But at the time? Nobody saw it coming. Federer was just a talented kid who hadn't quite put it together yet. Sampras was the king. They played five sets of pure serve-and-volley bliss. When Federer hit that final forehand return winner down the line to break Sampras in the fifth, it didn't just end Pete’s 31-match winning streak at the All England Club. It essentially ended an era.
That single match validated the Wimbledon 2001 men's singles as a tournament where the old rules simply didn't apply. Federer didn't go on to win the whole thing that year—Tim Henman eventually took him out—but he cleared the path. He proved the giants could bleed.
Goran Ivanišević and the Three Gorans
Goran Ivanišević was a head case. He’d admit it himself. He famously said he had "three Gorans" living inside his head: the good Goran, the bad Goran, and the one that just wanted to go home. In previous years, the bad Goran usually showed up in the finals. He lost to Agassi in '92 and Sampras in '94 and '98. By 2001, his shoulder was held together by tape and prayers.
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His run to the final was a fever dream. He took out Carlos Moyá. He beat Andy Roddick. He took down Marat Safin. By the time he reached the semi-finals against home favorite Tim Henman, the entire UK was convinced this was finally "Henman Hill's" year.
The semi-final was a three-day ordeal. Rain kept stopping play, stretching the match across Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Henman was leading two sets to one and was absolutely dismantling Goran before the clouds opened up on Friday. If it hadn't rained, Henman wins that match in four sets. Period. But the break allowed Goran to reset. When they came back, the "Good Goran" showed up, found his serve, and broke British hearts in five sets.
The People's Monday: A Final Like No Other
Because the semi-final dragged on, the Wimbledon 2001 men's singles final couldn't be played on Sunday. Instead, we got "People's Monday."
This is the secret sauce of why 2001 was so special. Usually, the Wimbledon final crowd is... well, polite. It’s a lot of ties, pearls, and quiet clapping. But because the tickets for Monday were sold on a first-come, first-served basis to the people camping out on the sidewalk, the stadium was filled with 10,000 screaming Australians and Croatians. It felt like a football match. It was loud. It was rowdy. It was exactly what tennis needed.
Patrick Rafter was on the other side of the net. Rafter was the quintessential Aussie—athletic, serve-and-volleying til his legs gave out, and incredibly well-liked. Both guys were desperate. Rafter knew his career was winding down; Goran knew he’d never get another wildcard miracle.
The scoreline was a rollercoaster: 6–3, 3–6, 6–3, 2–6, 9–7.
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In that fifth set, every serve felt like a life-or-death situation. Goran was serving for the match at 8-7. He was shaking. He double-faulted on match points. He cried between points. He crossed himself. He looked like a man who was about to spontaneously combust. But then, on the fourth match point, Rafter hit a return into the net.
Goran fell to the grass. 125th in the world. Wildcard entry. Champion.
What This Tournament Taught Us About Grass Court Tennis
The Wimbledon 2001 men's singles was actually the end of an era in a technical sense, too. It was the last year they used the old grass mixture. After 2001, the All England Club moved to 100% Perennial Ryegrass.
The old grass was faster and more slippery. It favored the "chip and charge" style. In 2001, you still saw guys rushing the net on almost every first serve. If you look at the stats from the Ivanišević vs. Rafter final, the baseline rallies were almost non-existent compared to the modern game.
- Serve Speed: Goran was regularly hitting 130mph+ bombs.
- Net Points: Both players approached the net over 100 times each.
- Duration: The final lasted 3 hours and 1 minute of actual play, but a lifetime of emotion.
The transition to 100% ryegrass in 2002 made the courts harder and the bounce higher. This allowed baseliners like Lleyton Hewitt and later Andre Agassi to compete more effectively. You could argue that the 2001 tournament was the final "pure" serve-and-volley spectacle we ever got to see at the highest level.
Why We Still Talk About 2001
A lot of people think sports is about who is the "best" player. Sometimes it is. But 2001 was about narrative. It was about the guy who was supposed to be "done" finding one last spark.
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There's also the "Henman Factor." For a decade, the British public lived and died by Tim Henman's results at Wimbledon. 2001 was his best chance. He had the momentum. He had the crowd. He had the lead. The fact that he lost because of a rain delay is one of those "what if" moments that still haunts British sports fans. If Henman wins that semi, does he beat Rafter? Probably.
But then we wouldn't have the image of Goran hugging the trophy in his Teletubbies shirt later that night.
Lessons from the Wildcard Winner
If you're looking for the "so what" of the Wimbledon 2001 men's singles, it's pretty simple: rankings are just numbers on a page.
Tennis is a mental game played with a physical ball. Goran didn't win because his forehand was better than Rafter's—it wasn't. He won because he embraced the chaos of the "People's Monday" and finally decided that he wasn't going to let the "Bad Goran" win the internal argument.
It was a tournament of firsts and lasts. The first time Federer announced himself. The last time a wildcard won a Major. The last time the grass played that fast.
How to Relive the 2001 Magic
If you want to understand why this tournament changed everything, don't just look at the scores. Do these three things:
- Watch the Federer vs. Sampras Highlights: Pay attention to how often they both charge the net. It's a style of tennis that basically doesn't exist anymore in the Top 10.
- Find the Fourth Set of the Final: Watch Goran's body language. It's a masterclass in how to manage (or fail to manage) extreme performance anxiety in real-time.
- Check the Draw: Look at the names in the quarterfinals. You’ll see a mix of legends like Agassi and Rafter alongside names that defined that specific pocket of the early 2000s, like Thomas Enqvist and Nicolas Escudé.
The 2001 tournament remains the ultimate outlier. It reminds us that every once in a while, the underdog doesn't just bark—he takes the whole trophy home. If you're ever feeling like you've missed your window of opportunity, just remember Goran Ivanišević standing on Centre Court with a wildcard in his pocket and a dream that everyone else had already given up on.