Confessions of a Federer Fan

Roger Federer retired last week. If you follow tennis, you'll know what a seismic event this was in the tennis world. Federer is still considered by many the greatest tennis player ever. When he came onto the scene, he pushed tennis to a new stratosphere of otherworldly genius. His game was not only the most devastatingly efficient the sport had ever seen, but also a thing of beauty. His great rivals Djokovic and Nadal are incredible, once-in-a-lifetime players in their own right. But stylistically they are “grinders”, players who win wars of attrition by making their opponents hit one more ball. Federer, in contrast, played a dazzling style of attacking tennis that took the game out of his opponents’ hands altogether. It's true that, in the end, Djokovic’s and Nadal’s defensive games may have surpassed Federer's in terms of sheer effectiveness. For all his greatness, Federer revealed at times a certain fragility that slightly punctured his aura as tennis’s magician. But somehow this vulnerability only made Federer the more beloved. Whenever and wherever he played, in stadiums around the world, the crowd was on his side.

I was a huge Federer fan. Tennis was “my” sport growing up in Australia. It was a tradition in my family to get up in the middle of the night to watch the Wimbledon finals in the days of Borg, McEnroe, and Connors. I played competitively until my early 20s, with my main claim to fame being a win over Patrick Rafter, who went on to win the U.S. Open twice and briefly became world number one. (He grew 6 inches after I played him, but I usually leave that detail out of the story.) When Federer broke through, I was — like most tennis fans — enraptured by his shot-making genius.

It wasn't just his game, though, that created such a special bond between Federer and the tennis public. He was classy and humble in the way he handled himself in all aspects of life. Even his farewell announcement had perfect pitch — not too much, not too little, full of gratitude, and tender, almost, in his tone toward his fans, knowing that many of them would be heartbroken to see him go.

I felt nostalgic over the weekend, taking in the news. Along with the Queen's death, and the retirement of Serena Williams, Federer's announcement signaled the poignant end of an era. I don't think there will be another like him. It's not that Federer had a cultural significance that transcended his sport (like, say, Muhammad Ali). But he's an example of someone who did it right, in his domain. Such mastery is rare in this world, and worth celebrating.

So in honor of Federer’s retirement, I want to share a short piece I wrote in 2017, when Federer surprised everyone by coming off a long injury break to beat Nadal in the final of the Australian Open. I had made the mistake of not watching the match live, as I couldn’t bear to see him lose another heart-breaker to Nadal. These, then, are my “confessions of a Federer fan.”

Confessions of a Federer Fan

(January, 2017)

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I did not watch the Federer-Nadal Australian Open final live."

“I am sorry son, but for a Federer Fan, this is a mortal sin. You are condemned to live in tennis fan purgatory forever”

“I already know that…I’m there.”

“Do you detest the sin committed?”

“I DETEST it! I DETEST it immensely! I feel GREAT SORROW in my soul!”

“OK, due to the sincerity of your contrition, I will commute your sentence. Your penance is to watch the replay 144 times.”

It was not for lack of love that I failed to get up for the match. Rather, I had loved too much. My heart and nerves could not sustain another dull blow from the Nadal axe.

Indeed, my interest in the sport had waned since the US Open final in 2015, when Djokovic appeared incontrovertibly to have established his dominance over all his main rivals, including Federer. A sense of drama had left the game.

I watched from afar with mild interest, but not hope, as Federer made his way through the early rounds of the Australian Open, his first serious tournament back after an injury-enforced six-month break. I woke up a bit when he swept aside perennial top ten player Thomas Berdych in a dazzling display in the third round. Wow. Did not expect he could play a match like that at age 35 after a long lay off.

I observed with cautious optimism the surprise eliminations of Djokovic and Murray in the early rounds, clearing an unlikely path for Federer to reach the final. Still, at each subsequent hurdle – the talented striker Nishikori, the hefty Wawrinka – I could not bring myself to believe. Imposing the discipline earned painfully from accompanying Federer through too many heartbreaking losses over the years, I refused to allow hope to break through. After all, lurking on the other side of the draw—quietly, inevitably—was Nadal. How many times had Fed fans foolishly allowed ourselves to get carried away by his brilliant early round form, only to see him mown down in the finals by his Great Tormentor? Nadal is still alive. Do. Not. Hope.

But then it actually came to pass. Federer and Nadal were through to the final. Drawn back together by myth and by fate.

I have to admit that I went to bed the night before the final with a small glimmer of expectation (it would be played early the next morning my time). There was something in the way Federer spoke in his interview after the semi-final that gave me the sense he was in a fighting mood. Of course, not having been able to bring myself to watch the quarters or semis, I was going purely on psychic skills.

I had always felt that Federer had been a bit unlucky in how his rivalry with Nadal had played out. In the early years, Federer met Nadal many times in the finals of clay court events, where the slow conditions and high bounce favored Nadal’s heavy topspin game. But Nadal usually lost before the finals on US hardcourt, where Federer was rampant. Thus Nadal was arguably able to establish a greater psychological edge than he might have, had they met more frequently on fast hardcourt in those formative years.

To be sure, Nadal’s game gave Federer fits no matter how you slice it. That’s what gave this match so much potential significance. There is no doubt that the lopsided head-to-head record between Nadal and Federer represented something of a blemish on Federer’s otherwise immortal career.

But, for Federer fans, there was the nagging sense that he had rarely, if ever, been able to put together his best game against Nadal at the highest level of the sport. In many of their biggest matches, Federer seemed vaguely troubled, even nervous, from the outset. He couldn’t seem to find that optimal edge of creativity and daring, especially when he needed it the most.

Very often in their most important matches, for example, Federer seemed chronically unable to convert break points on Nadal’s serve. I don’t have to give specifics – Fed fans will know exactly what I mean. If he was good enough to get to the goddamn break point, why wasn’t he good enough to win it? It didn’t make any goddamn sense.

Federer in full flight was like a Porsche in 5th gear. He would cruise through the early rounds with his customary joy and flair, leaving scorch marks all over the court. But in the final, too many times, Nadal’s Sherman Tank would ram Federer’s beautiful sports car into the ditch. Nadal is a noble warrior, hits an absurdly heavy ball, and could out-will God. But for Federer fans it was just so freaking sad and ugly. A disappointing fact of life one had learned to endure, if not quite accept.

Thus it was that when I awoke that blessed morn’ in late January, and opened my computer with an odd sense of anticipation, I discovered that not only had Federer won the match, he had won it in five; not only had he won it in five but he had won it against a fit and fighting Nadal; and not only had he won it—in five—against a fit and fighting Nadal but he had won it by finally – FINALLY!!! – breaking free of his shackles against his nemesis to play fearless, brilliant, attacking tennis at just the right moments. And I instantly understood how this match had redeemed the entire narrative arc of his career. Recognizing this, I threw my arms to the heavens and rejoiced. And it was good.

In hindsight, I should have seen this unexpected event coming.

How many times since the US election have I actually said out aloud, “Well, I didn’t think in a million years that Trump could be elected President, so I guess [x bizarre and unlikely occurrence] might happen too.” In 2017, at age 35 and after a 6 month lay off, in his first professional tournament back, Federer plays nerveless tennis to defeat Nadal in the final of a Grand Slam. We are clearly living in times in which there are no limits at all as to how far reality can bend. I think contact with ETs may be imminent.

Why does Federer inspire such intense feelings of devotion in his fans? I believe it traces back to some ancient instinct in us that sees beauty inextricably linked to truth and goodness. Verily, I say unto you, there is something objective about the beauty of Federer’s game. Who else would inspire the comment I recently saw on an online tennis forum, “If Federer’s backhand were a person, I would be in love with that person.”?

Indeed, I have developed a new formula that I’m confident will settle the GOAT debate once and for all. Assign 4 points for Grand Slam wins, 3 points for Grand Slam finals, 2 points for Masters victories, and 1 point for every Youtube highlight video watched. The total score is Federer 889,569,378; Nadal 145; Djokovic 136*.

It is often said that sports are a distraction, modern ‘circuses’ to entertain and pacify the masses. Yet sometimes sport brings us a moment so real it touches something deeper. When Federer won, and raised his arms to the heavens in glory, ten thousand people in the stadium and millions around the world opened with him. It was a kind of spiritual victory, a celebration of one who had ascended to the highest summit of accomplishment without sacrificing his essence of joy. Even if we were joined together for just one shining moment, that moment becomes a touchstone, a reminder to us of what is real and sane and good. In our troubled times, we need these moments more than ever.

Praise indeed be to God, for His Mercy (to Federer fans) endures forever.

*Djokovic’s figure includes the one time I accidentally clicked on a video entitled “Top 100 safe, defensive bunts into the middle of the court by Novak Djokovic.”