Psychodrama in Melbourne: Eva Lys fades away as Sorana Cirstea takes advantage in big Australian Open win

There are matches that bang on center court. And there are matches that quietly bite. In the first round of the Australian Open, Eva Lys against Sorana Cîrstea was exactly the second kind: a duel that didn't rely on spectacle, but on suspense. Control changed hands like a baton, nerves were the secret protagonist.

Lys was initially the one who wrote the story. She played the first set with a mixture of patience and courage, 6:3, cleanly constructed. Not blindly going for it, but precise attacks when the gap appeared. Particularly striking: her sudden changes of side, those changes of direction that can turn a rally around in an instant.

Cirstea often stood well, sometimes even perfectly - and then had to regroup because Eva Lys steered the ball exactly where it became uncomfortable.

It wasn't that Lys completely collapsed. It was more subtle, more annoying, more dangerous: clarity was lost. Decisions took one shot too long, the mistakes crept in, the arm got a little tighter. Suddenly her tennis no longer seemed like a plan, but like a question: do I go for it or not?

Cirstea didn't need any miracles for that. She just needed that one quality that makes experienced players so brutal: she recognizes hesitation immediately. When Lys had two break points at 4:4 in the second set and was about to slam the door shut, Cirstea stood there like someone accepting an invitation. A few precise serves, a few longer rallies, a few extra balls back - and things turned around. 6:4 for the Romanian, set tied, everything open again.

Cirstea went 3:1 ahead, which seemed routine, like a script she already knew. Lys kept at it, fought back, also with a bit of luck, a net roller here, a point that stuck. And it was in this phase that the most exciting thing happened: Lys switched completely. No more waiting. She took the balls earlier, went further in, played all-in.

It was electrifying for a few games because it tore the match open again and took Cirstea out of his rhythm.

The closer we got to the finish line, the narrower the ridge became. And at 4:4, it was too narrow. Cirstea did what she does so well: She didn't give Lys any clear gifts, but she posed the question anew with every ball. Will you stay brave? Will you stay precise? And at some point, the answer was one mistake too many. Break at 5:4, then a composed service game - no panic, no delay, just played to the end.

For Lys, a match like this feels doubly difficult because it's not just about the moment. In Melbourne, there are points, expectations and ranking mathematics involved. You could tell that the longer it went on, the more that also played a part.

Cirstea, on the other hand, seemed as if she wasn't letting herself be gripped by any of this - as if she was in a mode of clarity rather than a mode of fear.

In the end, the result doesn't tell the whole story. Lys had this match in her hands, she had the ideas, she had the phases in which she was better. But from about halfway through, she started to struggle - not just with Cirstea, but with her own timing, her own consistency. Cirstea didn't win because she worked her magic.