There were 13 players on the field. But one stood out. And
he knew it. There was a swagger to his walk, poise in his posture and his
entire demeanour was of a man who knew there were a million eyes on him; who
not merely was aware of and acknowledged it, but also courted the attention,
craved for it and feeded of it. As the ball soared off his bat, 50,000 rose off
their chairs in unison; but even before the triumphal act was concluded, the
smiles were wiped off their faces and there was tension in their eyes. The
fielder settled under the ball; it was to be a regulation catch. But, was it to
be? The floodlights shone down upon him, almost sinister in their intensity,
but that did not matter; he has done this a thousand times before. What
mattered though was the thousands of eyes boring into him, the unnatural
silence, the searing hostility of strangers, the expectations of teammates and
most of all the stature of the man of whose bat the ball has soared from and
was now hurtling down towards him. The fielder dropped the catch. The mighty
Eden Gardens, as only it can, erupted in a cacophony of noise, a naked
expression of violence but also an exquisite display of camaraderie. Among
thousands, the fielder stood alone. Kohli smirked and resumed his batting.
And so this then is the nature of sport. Not merely a
contest between bat and ball or even a battle between two great players. Of
course, it is all of that, but then it is also so much more. It is the fan who
makes the sport, who gives it meaning, nourishes it with context and adorns it
with significance. A fan is not just a passive spectator, but an active
participant, who is not just influenced by the action on the field but also is
an influencer of it. And it is also why, the men’s final of the Australian Open
today, between Roger Federer, arguably the greatest Tennis player of all time
and Rafael Nadal, perhaps the strongest counter to this argument, is so very
special. It is a critical chapter in the stories of Federer and Nadal but it is
also a special chapter in our story; for each of us.
Federer’s story began in earnest on a cold blustery July
evening in Wimbledon in 2001. Then, all of 19 years, Federer announced himself
to the world in spectacular fashion, defeating Pete Sampras in the fourth
round. It was an astonishing achievement. Sampras, by then, was widely
acknowledged as an all-time great and he had 13 grand slam titles to his name,
more than any other player till then. He was gunning for his 5th
straight Wimbledon title, and his 8th Wimbledon title overall,
again, unparalleled achievements in the history of the game. This one title
could be his claim to immortality. Federer by contrast, till then, never had progressed
beyond the first round. But, as so often happens in sport, it is the seemingly
innocuous battles such as these that later assume epochal significance. This
was one of them. But what was so striking though, was not just the result, but
the beauty of the performance, and the promise that it held. It was apparent to
all those who witnessed it, that it was no flash in the pan, but greater things
were to come, for a long time after. The great Sampras himself, even as he was
smarting under the pain of unexpected defeat, seemed to have recognized
something of himself in Federer. He was effusive in his praise and had this to
say of the young contender; “There are a lot of young guys coming up but Roger
is a bit extra-special. He has a
great all-round game, like me doesn't
get too emotional and you have to give him a great deal of credit.” Despite
this, few would have had the clairvoyance to predict the sheer scale of
Federer’s future achievements. In fact,
Federer promptly crashed out in the next round, losing to the local hero,
albeit, a perennial under-achiever, Tim Henman, and it took Federer a further 8
attempts to finally win a grand slam. The rest as they say is history, but in
this case, happily, an incomplete one with more tantalizing chapters promised.
This is one of the greatest joys of sporting fandom. To
recognize the spark in a young talent and to hope for great things. The
investment gives a handsome return, when the player not just fulfils the immense
promise that he has shown but goes on to far exceed it. As we live the fairy
tale vicariously, the bonds of affection and adoration that we form with the
player often prove to be just as strong if not even stronger, than the bondage
of family that destiny has bestowed upon us or the bonds of choice that we
forge with friends and lovers. They become a part of our story, a fraction of
our lives and a fact of our very existence and identity. For some, it was Tiger
Woods, for some others, Sachin Tendulkar and for many more, it was Roger
Federer.
And yet greatness can never exist in isolation. For
greatness is a relative term, feeding not off the mediocrity of others, but
being nourished by the excellence of opponents, by the determination of
challengers and by the bloody-mindedness of rivals. And thus enters Rafael
Nadal. It was his 19th Birthday. He was playing in his first French
open. He had steamrolled his opponents in a display of exhilarating tennis and
today found himself in the Semi-Finals. But across the net was a certain Roger
Federer. By now, Federer had become a seasoned pro and claims of greatness sat
lightly on his shoulders. He had already won 7 grand slam titles, was
victorious in his last three and only needed the French Open to complete the
elusive set. This was to be the tournament when the claims of ‘Greatest Ever’
were to graduate from being mere whispers to an undisputed fact. Roger Federer
wanted to win this and was going to win this. Nobody could stop him, least of
all, a 19 year Spaniard playing his first French open. Nadal won. And Nadal won
his next match. The King of Spain, Juan Carlos, reached down from the front of
the president’s box and clasped Nadal in a fierce hug. It was almost as if he
was anointing his subject as the ‘King of Clay’. This is another of the great
joys of sport; this affront to fate, snub to destiny; the shock and awe of a
monumental upset. In his next 9 attempts, Nadal would go on to win the French
Open a further 8 times, thwarted once only by a cruel injury. King of Clay, he
was.
Federer, hailing from the border town of Basel, a prominent
cultural centre in Switzerland, is all class and grace. Nadal, in stark
contrast, is from the holiday island of Mallorca, off the coast of Spain, and
with his cut-off piratical trousers, sleeveless shirts and long black hair might
as well have walked straight off the beach into the centre-court. While Federer
eased past his opponents, Nadal destroyed them and while Federer serenaded his
genius, Nadal displayed his determination. Federer was hard not to love, Nadal
was difficult to like. While we rushed to embrace the genius of Federer, we
grudged Nadal his greatness. Even as Nadal began to accumulate fans of his own,
many preferred to ignore him and some chose even to hate and ridicule him.
Federer was the timeless champion, Nadal was to be the eternal number two. Until
that match.
Sport produces brilliance often; an outrageous catch, an
extraordinary save or a thrilling dunk. But only rarely, does it elevate itself
to divine heights. It happened on the evening of the 6th of July, 2008,
on the centre court, in Wimbledon, London. Two men, who were at the peak of
their prowess were playing to secure their legacy. And as the match progressed,
it became apparent to all those fortunate enough to witness it, that here was
something very very special in the making. One magnificent shot followed
another, and extraordinary rallies became the normal. Even as Nadal made us
aware of angles that we knew not existed, Federer unfurled his one handed
backhands, coating the ball with his genius. And as the evening wore on, and as
darkness began to set in, it almost seemed as if even the gods had risen from
their slumber to witness divinity. These were not two players playing against
each other, but two performers putting on a flawless synchronous performance
and in the process taking the game into unchartered territories. The match was
scheduled to start at two in the afternoon and finally ended at 9.15 in the
night in near darkness. The match time of 4 hours and 48 minutes was
interrupted by two rain breaks, almost as if, the gods themselves could not
bear to witness such sustained excellence of the highest calibre. In the end it
did not matter, for the match transcended time and space and will remain an
eternal classic. That day was coated with gold dust and the memories will
continue to burn brightly for a long time. Nadal won the match but there were
no losers. And the players themselves knew as much; as the pride in their
performance was overwhelmed by the respect towards the opponent’s grit and
skill.
Nine years have passed since that match, but there have been
only two more grand slam finals since between the two; until today. In the meanwhile,
age seemed to have caught up with Federer. And as his performance has slipped,
measured by his lofty standards, calls for his retirement have grown louder
over time. For us fans, who had been pampered with genius so far could not
accept Federer’s mortality. It little mattered to us that Federer still managed
to reach the semis and finals consistently. For us, anything less than a
victory was a failure. But the man himself battled on, never losing his grace,
and not once, abandoning his innate dignity. For he played on because he loved
the game. And he played on because he believed. Believed that he could lift a grand
slam trophy yet again. For it is that belief that makes them the champions they
are. And so he played on.
Meanwhile, as Federer looked a spent force, Nadal looked all
set to overhaul Federer’s achievements. But curiously enough, the fall of
Federer seemed to have affected Nadal more than any of us. After 2010, Nadal
won only one other grand slam outside of the French Open. But in a way, it is
perhaps not that curious, not that strange. For these two defined each other.
The rivalry got the best out of them and we lapped it up greedily. And so
without Federer to push him, Nadal wasn’t the same anymore. He too fought on
though, for after all, determination built over a lifetime can be a hard habit
to give up.
6 years after their last meet in a grand slam final, we have
gotten used to it. We still miss it of course but we have made peace with it.
In the meanwhile, new heroes have emerged, and new rivalries have taken shape.
And yet, deep down, we knew it was not the same; it was never going to be the
same. In this Australian open, even as Federer and Nadal negotiated their way
through the early rounds, we dared not hope. We were cynical; we had been let
down far too often over the past few years. And so even as Djokovic exited
early, we refused to acknowledge the magical possibility. There were others
dangers lurking, like Wawrinka and Murray, and we will not give them the chance
to break our hearts again. And so today, as they faced off against each other
in the final, we were almost caught by surprise.
But the sheer improbability of this has made it all the more
special. For a few hours, we have been able to forget our troubles and abandon
our worries. We have been transported back in time. And what a treat this has
been. Anything less than a five setter would have been an anti-climax. And this
match has been anything but that. The familiarity has ironically only increased
the suspense and the intimacy has only sharpened the thrill. The drop shots of
Federer have been just as delectable as ever and the returns of Nadal just as
brutal. The 5th set was truly worth the stature of the players
involved and the enormity of the occasion. And you could see it on their faces,
how much it meant to each of them. Today, we have been treated to the best of
Federer, we have been treated to the best of Nadal, and to the best of Tennis
and Sport itself.
Federer might have won this match but that doesn’t mean a
thing really. They have been greats for long now and will remain greats for
long to come. Their rivalry has defined them, elevated tennis and enhanced our
lives. This match though, is not just about Federer or Nadal; it is also about
each of us. We have been part of their journey and stakeholders in their
rivalry. And this was our reward. If today proves to be the exclamation mark at
the end of a glorious chapter in Tennis, we have played our part in it.
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