This is a slightly more incisive analysis than the classic brain fart that afflicts so many religious athletes: the asinine notion that their victories are divinely choreographed.

If, for argument's sake we assume one or more deities are indeed at large, and if we also assume they watch sport on weekends, would any of them choose to squander their holy time and precious God-juice on fixing matches in favour of unusually devout athletes?

No. The average supreme being would surely rather spend a free afternoon tormenting those sportsmen who are narcissistic enough to consider their sweaty antics worthy of celestial support. Those idiots richly deserve every baffling reverse that comes their way. But in some cases, the punitive hand of a bookie in the sky seems visible even when the victim is neither a God-thanker nor a God-blamer.

A case in point was Rafa Nadal's horrible experience in the early hours of yesterday morning in Melbourne. This is a man who takes full responsibility for all his actions.

He has commented that "religion is the biggest killer in history". There can be few souls on this planet who put more effort, commitment and self-reliance into their work than Rafa. He even scratches his own ass.

Sadly for the Spaniard, one of the more scientific-minded gods has collaborated with the forces of natural selection on a highly profitable joint venture called Novak Djokovic. The scrawny Serb may sport a retro wooden crucifix, but his brain is apparently made of fibre-optic cables, diamonds and truffle oil.

Djokovic is a next-level humanoid organism who doesn't understand ancient practices such as surrender or frailty. When things go badly in a match, he simply presses Ctrl-Alt-Delete on his internal keyboard and reboots between points.

Since Rafa is similarly incapable of retreat, we were treated to one of the greatest sporting contests you're ever likely to endure.

It's just a pity that Rafa's near-psychotic belligerence was so tamed by the post-match rituals. He was a broken man, but he wasn't allowed to be broken. Instead he was obliged to deliver a tediously gracious, box-ticking speech, in which he even thanked the ball kids, the sponsors and caterers.

To hell with the ball kids and the sponsors! This was epic, near-mortal combat, not a junior-school bake sale. Did Achilles thank the organisers of the Trojan War after slaying Hector? When David stood trembling over Goliath's twitching corpse, did he warmly acknowledge the support of Valley of Elah Donkey Rental?

We should of course be grateful that Rafa was still alive and capable of talking. But he could have done without the inane patronising from Tennis Australia boss Steve Healy, who suggested he would "leave here a winner".

Bollocks. Rafa left as a loser, finish and klaar. And he blames nobody but Djokovic.