At last, out he came. Breathlessly carrying all 6 feet 6 inches of his being, Juan Martin Del Potro bundled into the room before eventually settling down in the hot seat to discuss his sloppy, unconvincing but ultimately victorious three-set match that had just concluded.

The loud thud on impact with his chair elicited a chuckle as he half-rebounded out of it before properly adjusting to his seat. He had, probably not for the first or last time, misjudged the distance between his towering figure and the chair crafted for regular-sized humans. The laughter was typical, but he would not be laughing long.

It took another five minutes for the question to arrive. When it did, it crashed head-first into Del Potro’s mood. The atmosphere transformed in the tiniest millisecond. From the smiling, laughing charm that radiates from the Argentine in his usual mood, out came the gloom of frustration.

It was only the Saturday just gone that the Argentine stood around the Gare du Nord in Paris, absentmindedly checking in and awaiting the train that would carry him to the season’s home stretch in London. As he waited, he was double-teamed.  Just as one fan asked for his autograph, the other tiptoed in to swipe the luggage that he had just relinquished, before turning on his heel and swooping into the night.

So, was his unfocused performance a result of those events? The response did not carry with it any kind of irritation. Instead, his bottom lip came jutting out in sadness as the face clouded over and voice dropped to wavering whimper. “Yeah, that’s why.” Had he heard anything from the French police? Now, the bottom lip quivered as the voice became hopelessly dark. “No.”  Did he hold any hope of his belongings returning? “I don't think so.” This time he smiled, but not one that with any kind of joy. Was that a tear? The emotions were clear to see. But, with some encouragement, he continued.

“It is tough to enjoy the fantastic tournament after my really bad Saturday.  I like to play tennis. I enjoy my work a lot.  But someone took some part of my life. It's tough to not think about that. “

“I don't have any news yet.  But I will try to keep going and feel better day to day. One of my things was the rosary.  But I have [other] things which mean a lot from my life.  I don't have it anymore.”

Awaiting Del Potro first in London was supposedly the sacrificial lamb of the extremely strong Group B, Richard Gasquet.  He stood no chance, said most observers, and a single set would be an exercise in overachieving.

As it turns out, Gasquet nearly left the court with a stunning victory, impressively navigating the first set by using the slow courts to manipulate angles and drag the Argentine off the court on his less potent backhand side. Eventually, Del Potro woke up from his sorrow-induced slumber and landed enough forehand piledrivers to escape. It was a vital victory, but not only for what was a point that he simply could not afford to squander.

Rather, the last few months have seen Del Potro steal back into the highest echelons of the game. Flashes of hope have been at a premium for the last few years, but finally the holy grail of consistency appears to be slowly returning. He currently ranks fifth, so the beginning of the new season will present the Argentine with the opportunity to push on even further and truly contend for the majors again. Thus, it is vital for him to continue snapping at the ankles of the elite and make them fully aware that any sign of weakness will be indiscriminately punished by him.

But first, he has an endlessly mouthwatering three-way battle for promotion to contest in London.  His tournament will begin in earnest with round-robin clashes against Novak Djokovic and Roger Federer later this week.