I’ve been a tennis fan for years, and take every opportunity to see live matches. Until this week, however, I’d never had the opportunity to see Roger Federer play live.
Federer, obviously, needs no introduction. He is, we are told, the greatest player of all time, a living legend blessed with supernatural grace, speed, and precision. He’s contributed a huge amount to the sport, through his rivalry with Rafael Nadal, and his affability and modesty. Everyone loves him.
The thing is, though, I’ve never been much of a Federer fan. His subtlety and serenity were always a bit lost on me. When deciding who to support, I tend towards extroversion and drama in both play and personality, and I prefer to watch a hard-fought, grinding match than a flawless but one-sided display of the kind Federer so often produces. My love for Nadal, for example, was cemented during his five-set marathon against Robert Kendrick at Wimbledon 2006, a thriller of a match during which Nadal battled against the odds to win from two sets down for only the second time in his career.
So when I found out that I would be lucky enough see a Nadal-Federer match this week, I knew who I would be supporting. All weekend, I bored my friends and colleagues with my over-excited nonsense. I cheered and squealed as Nadal came on court. The stage was set for what I was sure would be a classic match, close and dramatic, with Nadal, of course, as the eventual victor.
A classic it was not; Nadal never had a chance. But far from being disappointed, I experienced a revelation, one which everyone else had years ago: Roger Federer is a tennis player of devastating genius. Within two games, all my fervor for Nadal had evaporated. I hardly noticed him during the hour the match lasted; he was reduced to little more than the wall against which Federer could practice his breathtaking single-handed backhand. Federer covered the whole court without ever seeming to move, he hit astonishing angles with even more astonishing frequency, and all the while his hair swished gracefully as though he was in a L’Oreal advert. It was as though I finally fully understood all the praise directed at Federer; I have never seen tennis so captivating or beautiful. As Nadal graciously admitted after the match, only Federer can play like that.
Unfortunately, I’m a bit late to the party. But like his career so far, Federer’s autumn years will surely be incomparable to anyone else’s.
of life and other distractions 