Two days at the best tennis venue in the world.
Two close encounters with the best tennis player in the world.
And two tennis matches that confirm Roger Federer is playing some of his best tennis in two years.
For this particular tennis correspondent, things don't get much better.
Day one is Wednesday at Centre Court, and a last-minute seat near the back of the stadium. But the first brush with perfection takes place three hours before play gets under way. Slipping into one of the few seats alongside Court 16, the hopes of a first-hand view of a Federer warm-up are fulfilled.
The quiet serenity of the man himself stands in sharp relief to the growing buzz of excitement as more spectators squeeze into every square inch.
Relaxed barely does justice to his mood: he greets the loyal band of red-clad fans like old friends, then switches his cap from forward to backward, surely to allow his adoring followers a better view of his face.
His practice follows the standard pattern of gentle knock-up from the baseline, gradually cranked up to harder ball striking, forays to the net for overhead and volley drills, and then a retreat for serving and more ground work.
At such close quarters, the lightness of foot, the fluidity of movement, and the elegant carriage draw attention from the play itself.
The indelible impression is the one so often mentioned by fellow players, media and fans—yet so little appreciated in match-play: his calm, gracious and courteous demeanor.
Practice over, he walks the length of the court—carefully signing every scrap of paper and clothing offered, exchanging words, and maintaining eye contact all the while. Yes, he works at PR, but such naturalness cannot be taught. If manners maketh man, then here is the perfect man.
Then comes the vivid contrast of match play.
It’s Federer’s second round game against Guillermo Garcia-Lopez, a respectable No. 42 in the world.
Glimmering in white with just a hint of gilding on chest and shoes, Federer very quickly takes control of the Centre Court, both its grass and the crowd.
His tennis has a quality that draws quiet gasps of awe. He plays a backhand so skimming, it looks destined to drop in the net. He leaps for an overhead so daring, it must overshoot the baseline. He fires an effortless forehand of such an acute angle it must miss the side line. A sigh of fear quickly turns to a gasp and a roar of wonder.
It is the soundtrack to Federer tennis.
The match is sheer pleasure. Continuous, fast play on both sides—the three sets last just an hour and a half—and with a variety and a quality to keep the interest high throughout.
But one of the barometer’s of Federer’s game is worth highlighting: the serve.
The 11 aces in this match, delivered via that effortless sway, are spread across each corner of the service boxes. They are rapiers sheathed in silk, things of beauty yet deadly weapons. They swing and they shoot, they are deceptive and they are fast—indeed close to some of his highest speeds, just fractionally shy of 130 mph.
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