I have made a few good choices in life; following Federer is perhaps the foremost among them. With most of my icons, at one stage or another, I wanted to be them or at least like them. But with Federer, I have never entertained such a thought, for I feel watching him is a greater privilege than playing like him. I wonder if he can fully appreciate the beauty of his Tennis when he is playing it himself. Of course he watches tapes of his matches, but would his experience be anyway similar to mine? I doubt so. At least I would like to doubt so, for I want to feel being a Federer fan is a bigger blessing than being Federer himself. 

As is the case with most people, my relationship with Federer began in that fourth round match against Sampras in the 2001 Wimbledon. But it has not been a blind drive on a highway all along, for it has been a journey of its own. I attempt to capture the various phases of that journey through this post.

Back to the roots 

I had seen Federer play before, but more as a journeyman than as a potential champion. But all that changed after one match. In 2001, Sampras may have been past his peak, but he was still the King on grass. He had annihilated Agassi in ’99; cruised past Rafter in ’00; entered the 2001 Wimbledon as the overwhelming favorite, and his tag as the greatest grass courter well intact. That Federer took him on and downed him in a classic is worth “a champion is born” story of its own, but the real deal was the way he downed him.

I started following Tennis when I was 6, an age when I couldn’t tell a Deuce court from an Ad court, leave alone the nuances of the game. But I was absolutely absorbed by Edberg’s Tennis in the ’90 Wimbledon final. I didn’t care about how many Grand slams he had won, or his ranking, or for that matter the result of the match in itself. I could close my eyes and relive those moments even now for I had not seen anything remotely as graceful as Edberg’s tennis before. His rather exaggerated service action, the one-handed backhand, that most swift move to the nets, and those cotton-wool volleys – there’s not a more fulfilling experience.

Watching Federer on this day against Sampras took me back to the roots, for he began where Edberg ended. All silken grace.

Internal struggle 

My Tennis following lineage is a rather weird mix of Edberg-Agassi-Federer.  I can’t point out when Andre took over the mantle from Stefan, but somewhere they started existing in almost parallel universe for me. While Edberg helped me fall in love with tennis, Agassi’s fandom reached borderline obsession. I had grown up, and all of a sudden these sports icons meant a lot more to me than when I was first enthralled by Edberg’s volleys. They started representing me. “Tell me your Sports icons, I’ll tell who you are” I said.

From a compulsive serve and volleyer to a guy who puts up a tent at the baseline, from a guy who played as if he didn’t want to hurt the ball to the one who could treat it as his worst enemy, it was a rather strange transition. It was partly Agassi’s personality, but largely his Tennis though. It was weird. But if given another chance, I would still do the same. With Edberg, I would have killed to watch him; With Agassi, I would have killed to be him. I wanted to have the long hair, the earing, the bandana (at the later stage) and what not. What possibly drew me to Andre was the fact that he was more than holding his own in an era of great serve and volleyers. He had an awkward serve and a double-handed backhand, but he also had those thunderbolt returns, the all powering groundstrokes, and an all surface game. Outside of Sachin, I hadn’t followed anyone with as much intensity till then.

When Federer took me back to the roots, Agassi was still closer to his peak – in fact he had the best year of his career a couple of years before, in ’99. I couldn’t shift loyalties for I had invested too heavily in Agassi. But Federer was magical and impossible to defy. They played each other in the US Open Semifinal the same year, and Agassi beat him comfortably in straight sets. It was a bit awkward. Thankfully Federer delayed his appointment with invincibility by a couple of years; by then, Agassi was fairly past his peak. I watched Federer play the best grass court tennis of his life in 2003 and ’04, and was looking for odds on him surpassing Sampras. He had taken over my temple completely.

And just then, Agassi chose to have a fairytale run in the 2005 US open to set up a title clash with Federer. The worst nightmare came true. The guy that I have always wanted to be, is playing some of his best tennis at 35, and has a chance to walk out of the game in style, against the guy who plays Tennis like no else has done before. Could it get any worse? Those 3 hours (or a little more) were the most annoying Tennis I have ever seen. Agassi came back from a set down to put on a masterclass on playing in windy conditions, only for Federer to better it. It was suffocating to watch. If there’s one match of Federer that I wouldn’t want to watch again, this is the one. There was just no winner in it.

Thank God, that was their last match against each other.

Basking in the glory

Sidvee wrote a lovely post on Roger recently, in which he says he lost Federer to greatness. I don’t know much about his other sports icons, but for me this was the first such experience. I couldn’t have enough of it. Edberg didn’t exactly set the world on fire; With Agassi it was always a roller-coaster ride; even if I could borrow from another sport, Sachin provided such moments as an individual, but it was always accompanied by the rather volatile fortunes of the team. I was awake till 4 am to see Andre go down to Sampras in the 2002 US Open, to hand his rival and friend, a dream finish to his career. It was masochistic at times.

Watching Federer was liberating.

He curtailed his volleying a lot more for what was the Gold Standard in the previous era, had become the stock groundstroke by then. The change of grass in Wimbledon made the surface slower; the players became fitter and more powerful; the racquets and more importantly the strings (Agassi called the polyester strings illegal when he first used them!) were getting better all the time - pronouncing the near death of the serve and volley brand of Tennis. The artist had to operate within constraints, but it didn’t matter, for Federer made playing from baseline just as attractive. I could switch on the TV, fully secure about the result, sit back in my bean bag, and ponder over: what in those array of the finest strokes would I pick as the play of the day; is his forehand the perfect Tennis stroke that there could be?; has there been a better a single-fisted backhand ever before? (of course yes, Edberg’s!), so on and so forth.

It was absolutely liberating. Except when he was playing the French Open final.

At one stage, it appeared extremely easy to be Federer and even easier to be a Federer fanatic. Thank God for Nadal.

Initially, Nadal had two things going for him. That he was an extremely good left- hander and that he was near unbeatable on clay. Federer is the closest to a perfect Tennis player, but not quite perfect. A single-fisted backhand gives you a greater reach, but lesser maneuverability, especially at an awkward angle and height. That’s exactly what Nadal brought to the table, especially on clay. He could keep hitting forehands high on to Federer’s backhand all day, putting him in a tangle. He was finding out vulnerabilities that nobody imagined existed.  Not because he was the better player overall, but because he was particularly better against Federer.

Then Nadal got better, made huge strides as an all-surface player, reached the finals of Wimbledon in successive years (’06, ’07), only to lose to Federer. It wasn’t ‘Champion vs Challenger’ anymore, but Champion vs possibly a lesser Champion. And he raised the stakes ever further next year by demolishing Federer in the French Open final like no one has done before. Damn, he even bagelled him in the final set. As if that’s not enough, he went onto conquer Federer in Wimbledon, in what is touted as the greatest match of all time. It ceased to be a blind drive in the highway anymore.

Worse was still to come. Federer lost to Nadal in yet another classic in the ‘09 Australian Open final. It hurt Federer so badly that he broke down. But what appears to be the lowest point of Federer’s career is quite strangely the best sporting moment I have witnessed in my life. That Federer cried while losing was endearing, and the grace with which Nadal carried himself was absolutely heartwarming.

When I can’t find the words, I generally resort to Rohit Brijnath. So here we go:

“I like sport like this - big-hitting, big-running, big-hearted sport. I like it when we are reminded, because we do forget, that these impossible-shot-hitting, insane-tension-managing automatons are in fact men. Unlike us, yet just like us. I like it when men let go and reveal themselves occasionally, so we know what's going on inside.”

Tennis wasn’t just about Federer any more. It was about Fedal. It’s a fascinating rivalry. Nadal, a product of his times, and Federer – a timeless classic.

Federer can travel back in time, play with a wooden racquet against Laver and still hold his own; travel 50 years ahead, play against athletic marvels, with ultra light raquets, who can hit monstrous groundstrokes with great accuracy and still not look out of place. That’s the beauty of Federer’s Tennis, for his game is designed on the founding principles of Tennis.

On the other hand, Nadal is this super athletic, big-hitting, double-fisted backhand player, aided by polyester strings and an everlasting stamina. Of course his game has finesse, a beauty of its own, hitting winners from angles that no other player can dream of. But he is unmistakably a product of his times.

Apart from the quality of Tennis, these two are as classy as they come.  

Bittersweet Symphony

While I didn’t have a problem in celebrating the Fedal rivalry, that Federer wasn’t as successful as before started to irk me. Losing to Nadal was fine, but Soderling? Berdych? That too in Wimbledon. No one expected his invincibility to last forever. In fact some believe he isn’t the same player since he was down with mononucleoisis in late ’07 and early ’08. But he was still winning titles, albeit a little lesser. Now they started to dry up. He was losing the clutch moments to lesser players. He wasn’t starting as favourite in Grand Slams. Hell, he wasn’t defending any of the majors in a long time. Meanwhile Djokovic started to realize his potential and then some more. He made it a trivalry. He went onto have one of the most successful runs in the history of the game, pushing Federer and Nadal to the backpages. He had a swagger about him now and sure as hell, he earned it. He beat Federer in Australian Open, defeated Rafa in the Madrid finals. They said Madrid isn’t the real clay. For good measure, he beat Rafa again in the Rome finals. He was making a mockery of the trivalry. He was playing the new age game they said. Federer is too old to catch up they said. It’s even beyond Nadal on clay they said.

In a perverse way, I had been yearning for this moment. I had it in abundance with Agassi, but Federer rarely provided it. He hardly tested us. He didn’t give us a chance to lose faith. Not even when Rafa was dominating him in majors. Now he did. For the first time, supporting Federer meant we were supporting the underdog. The markets were quoting 19-1 odds on him winning the French.

Then began the French Open. He was cruising through the early rounds to be there to face Djokovic yet again this year. Down 0-3 on head to head in the year so far. This was the moment I had been waiting for. And Federer turned the clock back! He was tactically brilliant and technically sublime. And that twirl of the finger after winning the match – ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

He went onto lose the final to Rafa. But that has happened before. Even when he was at his absolute best. In fact this one was far more close than some of the previous encounters at RG.

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter. 

I have always been a cricket person. It's been my cardinal passion since childhood. But quietly, in its own understated way, Tennis has had a parallel run with Cricket, sometimes even eclipsing Cricket. The earliest memory that I have of watching a live tennis match is the 1990 wimbledon final between Stefan Edberg and Boris Becker. I must have been 6 years old then. I don't remember much of the details of that match now, but what I'll never forget is that swift, graceful, attacking serve & volley exhibition that Edberg put on. That was that. I fell in love with Tennis.  A love which at times became borderline obsession.

Sport in general, has this extraordinary ability to elevate our spirits through its drama, its ebbs and flows, the skill and the thrill of it all. But very few sportspersons have the ability to elevate our spirits by taking the actual performance out of the equation (and the performance on this occasion was quite splendid as well). It didn't matter to me if he won or lost that day, I just wanted the match to last longer so that I could watch more of Edberg, that's it. It was poetry in motion.

It's hard to describe the beauty of Edberg's Tennis. To say that he was the most swift serve and volleyer ever is stating the obvious. It's more than just that. He had such a fantastic attacking game that his sense of volleying is almost pavlovian. His volley seemed to be an extension of his serve, a mere follow through, not any specific strategic ploy. Add that to his grace, style and those most wonderful backhand volleys and passing shots. Ah, it was a spiritual experience too (as much as watching Federer is).  No one in the game has had a better backhand. "His backhand was constructed in God's design studio" wrote Rohit Brijnath. 

For someone as gifted as Stefan was, he never had the problem that his nearest counterparts in Cricket - David Gower and Mark Waugh - had. As easy and naturally as Tennis came to him, no one can accuse him of underselling his talent. Surely not if you had seen his resurgence in the US open in '92. If that's not a mentally tough athlete, then no one is. But to me, none of this mattered. Many people point out he doesn't have a French Open title to boast of. But it would have made no difference to me, even if he didn't have any Grand Slams to his credit. For it would be a gross injustice to judge Stefan just based on his record.

 For a long time I grew up under the impression that Stefan had the better of Boris in their exchanges, comfortably at that. To say that I was devastated to discover that it's not true (in fact the opposite is true - 25-10 in favour of Becker) would be an understatement. And that's when I realized that I didn't like Edberg because he was a champion, surely he wasn't. But because no one made Tennis look more beautiful and attractive to watch as he did. It was sheer fluid brilliance. He never played percentages, he attacked, always. He didn't have the best of forehands. But that didn't hold him back. Nothing did.  

Since Stefan left the scene, Andre took over the mantle of the Tennis star that I worshipped. And then Federer happened. There's not a better Sportsman that I know. He just took over my temple entirely, well almost! No one displaces Sachin, not even TMF. It's impossible not to worship Federer. He ticks all the boxes. He can give Stefan a run for his money in a contest for the most graceful Tennis player ever and at the same time make Nirmal Shekar look stupid for declaring Sampras as the greatest Tennis player ever. How could you ask for more?

Well, If I could then I would. Just one day, one match, an important match at that, I wish he played Edberg's style of Tennis. If there is anyone who's a heir throne to Stefan in spirit, it is Roger. If he doesn't, then no would, in fact no one could. And the way Tennis is progressing, there may presumably not be many serve and volleyers in the future generation. Come on Fed, do it once. Just once. Maybe today. Against Nadal. For all you know, it might improve your chances of beating Nadal too. but that doesn't matter. For one day, play like your spiritual predecessor. Go all out broke. And your grace will take care of the rest. Frankly, the result can go to dust bin.