It was the evening in late August and the red clay courts of the Novak Tennis Center in Belgrade were already lit. A Head backpack rested on the change bench on court eleven with a handwritten message in Cyrillic pressed onto the white polyester frame:
“For Mihailo, from Novak. I love your big smile. Happy birthday.”
Mihailo Topic, eight years old, had just won the first set of a fight against a boy at least a head and a half taller than him, two years his senior. The score was 6-1.
He walked to the bench and, in a routine that mimicked that of the pros, took a few sips of pale orange liquid from an unlabeled plastic bottle, then another sip of water from a larger bottle.
Mihailo, Serbia’s youngest talent, is sponsored by Novak Djokovic. The 12-time Grand Slam champion’s investment in Serbian junior tennis comes at an ebb in his career and the decline of his once top-ranked compatriots, as the Balkan country battles to recruit more tennis superstars from of a shrinking talent pool.
Outside the same court more than two years ago, Mihailo found a man dressed like a serious tennis player and asked him in Serbian if he could hit. The man didn’t understand at first, but when Mihailo’s mother, Nina Topic, translated, he agreed.
Stocky, round and affable, the player was quick to praise Mihailo’s natural coordination and almost impeccable technique. Unbeknownst to the youngster, it was Marian Vajda, Djokovic’s former coach of 11 years.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Nina Topic recalled Vajda telling her. “He’s the next champion.”
Djokovic played with Mihailo the next day. The two will see each other several more times before the summer of 2016, when the sponsorship deal is finalized.
“Mihailo is about two to three years ahead of his age group,” says Dragan Serer, head coach of the Serbian Tennis Federation. “Novak was like that too. This tells us that he might be very good in the future, but we really can’t tell until he grows up and starts playing tournaments; that’s when we’ll know what it’s really made of.
Nicknamed “little Nole” by the tennis club, Mihailo trains five days a week, for two hours, mixing exercises and sparring matches. On the advice of Djokovic’s father, Srdjan, he would not start playing tournaments until he was around 10 years old. Srdjan believes his son’s late start to the competition has given him time to mature to deal with the unforgiving pressure that awaits him.
Mihailo’s coach, Pavle Bulic, a former professional tour player, attributes his student’s precocious talent to a strong photographic memory.
“He watched me hit backhand slices, then I gave him a few balls to try and he’s already hitting good backhand slices. I’m stunned,” Bulic said. “Mihailo has this ability to quickly learn difficult skills that even our older competitors struggle with for months and years.”
Mihailo’s potential is also enhanced by his obsession with tennis. Serer recently observed him, stuck behind the fence, watching the entire training session of rising Serbian star LasloDjere in a mundane scene that could have quickly bored the other kids.
“Mihailo could stay on the field for 10 hours, in scorching heat or in the rain, if you let him,” says his coach. “There was never a moment when he wanted to stop training. We always have to get him off the field to make sure he doesn’t burn out.
Blonde with brown eyes and a robust figure, Mihailo is both an endearing kid with a dazzling smile and a steely professional athlete in the 4’3″ version.
“Even when he’s not playing tennis, he’s ‘playing’ tennis,” his mother said. “He will take a small suitcase, pack all his things and travel from room to room pretending to go to the US Open, in Beijing, in Shanghai. Wherever Nole is, that’s where he is too. Then he’ll lift a trophy and pick up a toy microphone while pretending to give an interview.
Serbia has become an unlikely tennis powerhouse over the past decade, led by a generation that grew up during the Balkan War and NATO bombings. Yet despite the hype this triggered in this cash-strapped country of just over 7 million people, the number of registered tennis competitors fell from around 5,000 to 2,000 between 2007 and 2017, according to the Serbian Tennis Federation.
Serer believes the problem is at the local level, where fewer children are enrolled in tennis clinics compared to when he started teaching under communist Yugoslavia.
“Ana, Jelena, Novak, Victor, Janko are the product of a generation where the number of children was much greater than today,” he says, referring to Serbian tennis stars born in the 80 years.
Migration and shrinking borders have reduced the population by more than half a million but Serer believes that Serbia’s post-war economic conflicts are the main reason why “parents are steering their children towards cheaper sports”.
Mihailo’s coach, court fees and tennis equipment covered by Djokovic (an open-ended sponsorship) can cost some families almost half of Serbia’s average annual cost. income or €4,800 ($5,600).
Sasa Petrovic, the father of 10-year-old Stefan, who plays competitively and trains at the Novak Tennis Center, spends up to €2,000 ($2,350) each year on the sport.
“It’s not cheap for us, but we find a way to make it work,” he said. “The clubs and coaches here understand that and try to help with reduced fees.”
The Serbian Tennis Federation grants its top-ranked juniors financial aid of between 2,000 and 20,000 euros each year. This is usually a group of around 30 players. The money only covers a meager portion of what the top seeds may cost to compete internationally, Serer says. Families and sponsors must provide the rest.
Adrian Garcia, a former Chilean professional player who rose to world number 103 on a shoestring and now coaches at the Novak Tennis Center, says Serbian tennis remains highly competitive even as its junior talent pool has decreases.
“It comes with genetics; a lot of people are big, strong and coordinated,” he says.
Yet what Garcia says is missing is the same backbreaking work he’s used to at home.
“When you come from South America to play tournaments in Europe, you stay for about 3 to 4 months and you play every tournament you can,” he says. “The plane ticket costs around €1,000, so you can’t go back and forth all the time. In Europe, players are more spoiled. They are going to 2 tournaments abroad and they are already tired and want to go home. I try to bring this hard-working mentality to Serbia.
But Garcia predicts Mihailo will push his limits. “He is very competitive. He always wants to win. His mind is entirely on tennis.
Investment in his son’s tennis future, by one of the world’s most famous athletes, forced Nenad Topic, a portly 6’3″ mechanical engineer who didn’t play sports himself, to abandon his work for Mihailo’s crowded tennis and school schedule.
“Honestly, I never wanted him to enter the tennis world.” he says. “I fear most that he will lose his childhood.”
A few junior tournaments he recently watched in Belgrade left him worried about the road ahead. “It’s a tense and superficial environment. Parents are very concerned about their child’s performance. They often discuss phone calls on their behalf. Some families don’t talk to each other at all. When you ask them how many hours their children practice, they tend to underestimate the hours, and only later will you find out from others that they lied.
Topic would have preferred his son to choose a team sport like basketball, where results depend less on individual performance.
“But everyone tells me he’s an exceptional talent and, as a parent, I don’t think I have the right to stop him,” he says.
Two days after the end of the US Open, Mihailo was on court 11, affectionately known as the “little Nole” court. Bulic was hand-feeding him from the corner of the service line.
“I want to see more depth,” he insisted. “Get in the ball, get it early.”
But Mihailo looked irritated. He threw a few balls into the net and raised his eyebrows. A light drizzle quickly turned into heavier drops.
“Keep going,” he told Bulic who hesitated in front of the almost full hopper of bullets.
Minutes later, a downpour sent Bulic, Mihailo and his father sprinting toward the clubhouse, cutting practice short by an hour.
“He is not satisfied,” says Nenad Topic. “His face tells me right away.”
By the time Mihailo emerged from the locker room wearing a dry T-shirt with the words “NOLE” on the left chest and the flag of Serbia on the right, the rain had eased. Puddles had formed on the clay courts.
“Auntie,” Mihailo said, looking at his father. “It’s going to stop raining. Let’s go back there.
