Serving 3-1 up in the opening game of his Olympic bronze medal encounter against Lee Zii Jia, Lakshya Sen attempted a high serve against his Malaysian opponent.
Lakshya lifted the shuttle high, trying to force a high clear from his backtracking opponent. Lee looked at the trajectory of the projectile and simply left the shuttle as it sailed over the backline of the court.
Service errors are fleeting in men’s badminton. Lakshya had made one just four points into his match against Lee. Just a day before, he had made another service error while three game points up against Viktor Axelsen. The Dane would make the most of the opportunity, save the remainder of the game points and end up winning it.
He’d win the match, reach the Olympic finals and defend his title from Tokyo.
While Lakshya’s error had come at a critical time against Axelsen, the one against Lee had come early on. There was enough time to recover. But the fact that he made one at all, suggested there was something in what Axelsen had said a day before about competing in the Olympics.
“These rings, they do funny things.”
Indeed, they do. Before the Olympic bronze medal match, Lakshya had played Lee five times. He’d beaten the Malaysian on four occasions, including in their last encounter, at the 2024 All England Championship, where Lee was a former winner.
The initial service error aside, for about 30 minutes into their bronze medal match, it looked like Lakshya was going to coast to another win. He had taken the first game 21-13 and was up 8-3 in the second. He had all the answers to Lee’s power. He was defending well. The Malaysian seemed, at times, to doubt his own judgement, leaving shuttles that landed inside the court.
Then, all of a sudden, the momentum shifted. The Malaysian won the next nine points in a row. Lakshya tried to mount a comeback but there was none. Lee would never trail again. He’d go on to claim the match and the bronze medal 13-21, 21-16, 21-11.
The shift happened almost imperceptibly. There was a moment where Lakshya was wrong-footed by a change of direction from Lee. He still managed to get the racquet on the shuttle. But he was not able to control it – 4-8 and Lee was clawing back. In the next point, the shuttle was hit with too much power and went long – 5-8. Lee then pounced on a clear that had little power and smashed it violently past the Indian. The momentum had decidedly shifted.
Everything that could go wrong went wrong. Lakshya had been carrying a bruise on his elbow and it started bleeding on court. As he waited for his arm to be bandaged, chants of ‘Malaysia, Malaysia’ rang in his ears.
Lee would take a 12-8 lead, but Lakshya would fight back. He’d close in to 15-14. Then, inexplicably, he hit another long serve. The first one, early in the match, was perhaps inconsequential. The second won was far from it. The lead extended.
There was no further comeback to follow.
Lee ran away with the third. You almost pitied the Indian for having to stay on the court. Smashes were missed, line calls were wrongly guessed. “I just didn’t have any answers,” he’d say later. The end came soon enough.
Lakshya would be later asked what he thought went wrong. He had played and medalled at the World Championships and the Asian Games. He had played and beaten Lee before. Just what difference did the Olympics make. Was there just too much pressure to win a medal? Just how did all of this work? Are the Olympics just that different?
Lakshya had a thousand-yard stare, and his voice was barely audible over the cheers of the Malaysian fans still celebrating. He held on to his injured elbow, the pain of returning without a medal being many magnitudes more intense.
“I don’t know.”
Lee would be asked the same question. “The Olympics are…” he said, and then paused to collect his thoughts. “They are just different.”
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