As a man firmly in touch with his spiritual side, who once enlisted a Spanish "love and peace" guru specialising in long hugs, Novak Djokovic might have been expected to go heavy yesterday on the concept of rebirth.
A fourth Wimbledon title, just five weeks after an early French Open exit left him so crestfallen that he doubted whether he would even play on grass this summer: it was enough to make anybody invoke the powers of the divine.
And yet at the moment of triumph 6-2, 6-2, 7-6 (3) over South Africa's Kevin Anderson, Djokovic kept it all delightfully simple. There was no thumping of his chest, no superhero shredding of his sweat-drenched top. His greatest indulgence was to help himself to a double portion of the Centre Court grass, about as much as his strict gluten-free diet, needed to maintain that pipe-cleaner physique, would permit.
Then, in a gesture that lifted the crowd's lukewarm reception, he turned to his box and showed off the golden Challenge Cup for three-year-old son Stefan to admire. While All England Club edicts do not allow for toddlers under the age of five to watch matches on show courts - no tantrums on break points, thank you very much - they were at least relaxed for the after-party.
This was one trophy that Djokovic, even with his ascetic nutrition regime, deserved to celebrate long and hard. For the impression throughout this Wimbledon fortnight was that the Serb had re-established control over not just his game, but his life, too. For almost two years, his private affairs had been the subject of some uncomfortably public debate.