WHAT’S wrong with admitting we can’t cope, that at times in our lives we need a father figure to turn to?

The tennis news emerged this week that Novak Djokovic is to hire the services of Andre Agassi, to steer him through the French Open.

On the technical face of it, there is no doubt Agassi can look at the Serbian’s game and suggests adjustments. But they will be subtle.

Now thirty, there won’t be too much to change in the Djokovic technique. He has been involved in battering a little green ball over the neck since he was four. Habits are formed.

But specialised coaching in backhand or serve is not what this is about.

The narrative suggests that Djokovic is very much in need of an arm around his shoulder. He needs a life coach. He needs a friend. It’s been claimed he’s had relationship problems. What’s undeniable is he can’t get over the finishing line. He’s lost his mojo. And as a result, he’s losing finals - and self-belief.

However, Agassi seems perfect to become Don Quixote to his Sancho Panza. The American winner of four grand slams is a man blessed with emotional intelligence, a real value system.

He’s a caring individual who gives back. He’s not Ivan Lendl. He’s not laid back or lugubrious. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He’ll be able to share his own torments, and there have been several; his experiments with Class A drugs, his loss of control, his love-hate relationship with the game.

Of course, Djokovic has a real father. And he’s part of a loving family. But at times a father figure can be more important than a real dad. He arrives at the door without the unconditional love, so he can take an overview.

He comes without the need to be a father first, so he can be a friend. He can talk man-to-man, rather than father-to-son.

Sure, it’s great to have an Atticus Finch-like father, or the sort of dad Richie Cunningham had in Happy Days.

But neither of them was once put out on court aged nine to beat adults for money.

Sure, Djokovic’s recent coach Boris Becker could bring life experience to the world of tennis; his broom cupboard relationships, the wild years. But perhaps Novak needs a little more in the form of a sage, a Morse to his Lewis, a Yogi Bear to his Boo Boo.

And Agassi fits. He turned it all around. He came back relatively late. And for Djokovic (and Murray, both thirty) time is running out. The new kids on the block such as Zverev, who beat Novak into the Roman clay last week, and Dominic Tiem, who I watched stretch Nadal to breaking point in Madrid, (then beat him in Rome) are the next generation of tennis greats.

They are banging on the dressing room door. And the greats now need great advice.

You make think none of this matters right now. All that matters is coming to terms with Manchester. But that’s not the case. What matters is survival, in whatever form. What matters is going on defiantly for as long as you possibly can.

And sometimes a father figure is called for.