I am carrying a monopod in my left hand. I have two Canon EOS-1D Xs slung from my shoulders, dangling on each side of my hips: I’ll be using these to take telephoto shots of Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic, who will shortly make their entrance into the arena. I also have a Mark III, fitted out with a 16-35 mm wide-angle lens, tucked inside a camera bag around my waist. I’ll switch to this baby if an opportunity presents itself: say, if I want to capture some shots of fans indulging in revelry after a particularly scintillating shot by Murray or Djokovic. This is my third year at the Australian Open; I’m on assignment for EPA, a German photo agency, and my cameras are ready to roll.

I scan the crowd around me to get a feel for the fan turnout. I see more Andy Murray fans—there are many here who have their faces painted with the blue and white colours of the St Andrews Cross, the flag of Scotland (Murray has Scottish origins) and many others are waving the Union Jack. There are also pretty large contingents of fans carrying the red, blue and white flags of Serbia, and many of them have their faces painted in the Balkan country’s colours too. The two fan-groups seem pretty evenly represented, but we’ll know for sure whom the crowd is rooting for once the game begins and the players pull out their shots from their arsenal. Unlike at football and cricket matches, the crowd noise, this being a tennis match after all, is rather subdued. The stadium is filled with a burbling buzz made up of spectators talking to one another, many of them sipping beer from plastic mugs.

At around 7:15, a sudden roar flares up: I spy Djokovic making his entrance into the arena; he’s decked out in white shorts and a blue t-shirt, his gear riding on his back. He strides in confidently, occasionally waving to the crowd and quickly makes his way to his chair. Then Andy Murray walks in, and the crowd goes crazy—the noise the crowd makes is louder for him. My guess is that this being a former British colony, Murray has got more people in the crowd who share his lineage.

The next few minutes pass in a blur, as I turn from passive observer to professional photographer. I scope out the places in the concourse that will allow me the best angles to capture the players as they go about whizzing 200 kmph aces and passing shots that fly around like green bullets.

I’ve learned my lesson well about preparing to capture the strokes and the shots. When I first covered the Australian Open in 2013, I had to learn things the hard way—after many wasted shutter clicks—that I was to home into a shot using my ears, not my eyes. Professional tennis players play at such a fast pace, that milliseconds after they crack the ball, the green orb is already on the other end of the court. I learned back then to time my shutter clicks with the thudding, smacking sound of ball meeting racquet gut. This year, I won’t be wasting my shots. My ears are fine-tuned.

I start going over my gameplan—I want to capture both the fluid motions of the athletes mid-action and get closeup shots when they recline on their chairs, which are placed in the vicinity of the boxes where their coaches sit. I want to capture their reactions, especially the way they communicate with their coach after a stellar shot or a silly one. I usually follow the player who is zoned in. The match is about to start. I hover around an area close to the net. As the match progresses, I will spend more of my time around the more animated player. It will all depend on how the match plays out.      

The first set is on, and it’s a tough battle that goes all the way to a tiebreaker, with Djokovic taking the set. During game changeovers, I scurry around the concourse, sometimes parking myself behind the umpire, sometimes edging closer to the court, and sometimes hunching near the corners where the players talk strategy with their coaches.

During the second set, Murray picks up the momentum that I thought he might have lost after the first set’s tiebreaker, and wins the set. The set offers me great moments of Murray firing aces, but I can also sense he is tiring.

By the third set, I can see that he is losing steam and Djokovic pounces at the opportunity. Murray’s body language gives his despair away—he hangs his head and shouts at himself as the match starts slipping away. But for me, Murray’s actions make for great drama, and I get to capture him yelling at himself after losing a crucial point.

Djokovic is on a roll now, and with the eye on the prize, he absolutely steamrolls Murray. On his way to a dominating 6-0, Djokovic flies around the court, and I try my best to capture him at his speediest best—the way he sprints and comes to a skidding stop right before he smacks the living daylights out of the ball. I am happy that I have some of these looks in the bag.

This has been my best Australian Open by far. I have got the shots I wanted: Djokovic has provided the crazy action on the court, and Murray has offered the all-too-human moments. Moments in sports captured through a viewfinder make for a great study in human character and emotion. This final offered them all.

Shrestha is the Photo Editor at Kantipur Media