In the day, it was a theme of abstruseness, of obscurity, of unknown: the epitome of the word revolution. This so-called revolution, the internet, has done us our good, but of course, given birth to cyber-borne soldiers.
Instead of lining on a battle field, these soldiers jab at each other like birds fighting for the last worm. But for them, a cause infinite times more worth than a worm; it's the Fedal War.
Before 2004, none of this subject was ever brought up, or even given the merest thought. Now, it's a full-blown struggle in a world of nothing but air, screen, wire, and nothingness.
It couldn't be Roger Federer's case, it doesn't fit.
Federer. Even the name is soothing, not as in a subject of mollification, but as in a Monet painting, with Federer as Monet himself. Rafael Nadal gives the sensation of energy, a bull in a fight in his native Spain.
No, it is the force of the soldiers rising about morals, ethics, ground, and simply put, class.
Two raging forces fighting for one word: better.
Backhanded statements, low volleys, comebacks: words of life, words of tennis. Oh, how these two forms of artistry and life are so intertwined, and yet so separate. Tennis, a game. Life, the real deal. Yet the soldiers camp out for tennis, not the art of which created tennis, which created itself.
Tennis is life itself, except in the form of drama: it's life to the core, a display of raw passion.
So why must these soldiers taint the 'perfect' image of tennis, the classical game of sportsmanship and geniality. Then why would there be a net to separate the two players?
Mark my words, the war will be longer than the Hundred Years' War. It may meet with Oblivion, but the soldiers, also forgotten, will still rage about the simple, one syllable word: better.
Isn't tennis better without this war? Isn't tennis better off with Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal?
In a game of modern romantics, dwelling on the past, why must we, as spectators, have to bet at the losing-end of this unstoppable, incurable, ever-raging war?