The US Open is about to begin, and once again the usual questions dominate the conversation: Who will win? Who has the best draw? Who is in the best form? Who can survive two weeks of hard-court tennis in New York? But there is another question that may prove more important than all the others: Who can keep believing when the match begins to turn against them?

Carlos Alcaraz returns as defending champion after a four-month absence caused by a wrist injury. Novak Djokovic arrives at 39 still chasing the historic 25th Grand Slam title. Aryna Sabalenka enters as the defending women’s champion and world No. 1, but with her confidence tested by a series of unexpected defeats. And emerging players such as Alex Eala are showing that there may be another route to success, learning to compete intensely without allowing the occasion to become overwhelming. These are different stories, but they all lead to the same place. The mind.

Not psychology in the complicated, academic sense. Simply the ability to remain calm, trust your game, recover from mistakes and continue believing when the scoreboard is no longer friendly. That quality is often what separates a champion from a very good player.

Alcaraz provides perhaps the most immediate example. The Spaniard has already established himself as one of the most exciting players of his generation. He has the speed, power, imagination and athleticism required to dominate modern tennis. He also knows what it takes to win at Flushing Meadows, having lifted the US Open trophy in 2022 and 2025. But none of that completely removes the uncertainty surrounding his return.

His first singles match since April will be against Roman Safiullin, and his draw places him in the same half as Djokovic, meaning the two could meet in the semi-finals if they both progress that far. Their head-to-head record is level at 5-5, with Alcaraz winning their only meeting in 2026 in the Australian Open final. Yet the first challenge for Alcaraz may not be Safiullin. It may be himself.

Then there is Djokovic. At 39, he has reached a stage of his career where every tournament carries a historical dimension. His pursuit of a 25th major title is no longer simply about adding another trophy to an extraordinary collection. It is about pushing the boundaries of what a champion can achieve at an age when most players have already left professional sport behind. The evidence going into New York, however, does snot make him the obvious favourite.

He has played only six tournaments this season and recently lost his opening match in Cincinnati. His preparation has not looked like that of a player arriving in dominant form, and his draw is difficult from the beginning. And yet this is Djokovic. That sentence explains much of the problem with trying to predict him.

There is a quality in Djokovic that statistics cannot fully capture. He has repeatedly turned matches around after they appeared to be slipping away. He has made a career out of surviving situations in which the opponent had the momentum, the crowd or the better start. His own description of the Serbian concept of inat, the stubborn force to prove doubters wrong, is revealing. It may be one of the simplest explanations for why he remains so dangerous.

When everyone expects an athlete to decline, the athlete has a choice. Accept the judgment or fight it. Djokovic has spent much of his career choosing the second option. That is why writing him off because of age or recent form is dangerous. Djokovic’s greatest advantage may be his belief that such moments belong to him.

But the women’s draw offers an equally interesting psychological story in Sabalenka. There was a time earlier this season when the Belarusian appeared almost impossible to stop. She lost just one of her first 24 matches and won the Brisbane title before completing the Sunshine Double at Indian Wells and Miami. Since then, however, something has changed.

Her defeats at the French Open and Wimbledon exposed vulnerabilities that were not so obvious earlier in the season. Against Diana Shnaider in Paris, Sabalenka lost ten consecutive games despite being just one game from victory. Against Naomi Osaka at Wimbledon, she again struggled when the decisive moments arrived. More recent losses in Toronto and Cincinnati have added to the uncertainty. This is not evidence that Sabalenka has suddenly become a poor player. Quite the opposite.

The more interesting question is what has happened to the belief surrounding her. Former player Johanna Konta made an important observation: opponents appear to believe more strongly that they can beat Sabalenka now. The aura of invincibility that once accompanied the world No. 1 has weakened. That may sound like a small difference. It is not. In elite sport, reputation has power.

Sabalenka’s task in New York, therefore, is bigger than defending her title. She must reclaim her authority. And she has a strong case for doing exactly that. Her record at Flushing Meadows remains outstanding, with 34 wins against only six defeats according to the supplied material. That history matters.

There is another lesson in this year’s tournament, and it comes from a much younger player. Alex Eala’s approach before her US Open campaign is striking because it is refreshingly uncomplicated.

In an exhibition against her friend Iva Jovic, she spoke about finding a balance between having fun and being fully locked in. She described the experience as a useful way to relax after the relentless intensity of competitive matches. That attitude should not be mistaken for a lack of ambition.

The US Open is already a huge occasion. There are enormous crowds, television cameras, media attention, rankings, prize money and expectations. If a player allows all of that to enter the mind at once, the actual task can become buried.

The best approach is often simpler: Play the point in front of you. Not the previous point. Not the next round. Not the final. Not the trophy. Just the next point. That philosophy is one of the quiet foundations of championship tennis.

It is also why a Grand Slam draw tells us only part of the story. The draw can tell us who might meet whom. Rankings can tell us who has been consistent. Recent results can suggest who is in form. But none of these things can measure how a player will respond at 5-5 in the deciding set. That is when tennis becomes deeply personal.

A player has to confront doubt, fatigue and fear. There is nowhere to hide. Unlike team sports, there is no teammate who can take the next possession or make the decisive tackle. The player standing behind the baseline must solve the problem alone. This is what makes tennis so fascinating. Two players may have almost identical technical ability, but one can remain composed for five minutes longer. That may be enough.

The 2026 US Open also arrives with several broader storylines. Serena Williams has returned to the tournament in mixed doubles alongside Alcaraz and will also appear in women’s doubles with her sister Venus, adding another layer of nostalgia and spectacle to an event already filled with major narratives.

But beneath the stars, the records and the commercial spectacle, the fundamental contest remains unchanged. Someone has to win the important points. Someone has to recover after losing them. Someone has to believe when the other player begins to doubt.

That is why, this US Open could ultimately be remembered not simply for who wins the trophy, but for how the leading players respond to pressure. Alcaraz must trust his body again. Djokovic must defy the logic of age and form. Sabalenka must rebuild the authority that made her so formidable. And the younger generation must learn that confidence does not always come from taking everything seriously. Sometimes it comes from being free enough to enjoy the moment.

There is a temptation in sport to search for complicated explanations. Often, the answer is simpler. The strongest player is not always the winner. The player with the best ranking is not always the winner. The player with the biggest serve is not always the winner. At the decisive moment, the winner is often the player who can think clearly enough to play the ball in front of them. That is the great mystery of the US Open.

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