Roger the Soul-Searcher

The days of late, concerning and reflecting upon the Australian Open final of Feb. 1, have moved me to words. It was a vow that I had made after the Wimbledon final, which truly, not only exceeded all expectations, but brought men's tennis, and the definition of rivalry, to a new level.

And I will not deny it, but proudly, and perhaps now doubtfully, pronounce it, that I am a whole-hearted supporter of Roger Federer. I am a Federerian. Which does not mean that I do not support Nadal, in matches when he doesn't play Federer, because I do, but only because for the vitality of their contrasts.

When Nadal has played Federer, and most noticeably in their last two five-set encounters Nadal has had to step up, and out of a comfort zone - to go for his shots, and to become aggressive, and offensive, and damaging in a way he could not have imagined as a teenage Mallorcan.

This article, however, remains very purely about Federer.

I admit that I am crushed. And so would all other Federerians out there. I was also furious, in the moments right after the bludgeoning realisation that he had lost, and when he had sent that last forehand long. I was furious that he had given up, and evaporated, in a way we had not seen at the fifth sets at Wimbledon.

Now, weeks after, the disappointment, and a realisation of just how career-changing that match might have been for Roger, is beginning to surface. One wonders about the tidal wave that so often afflicts great tennis matches, coming after, circulating amongst the media.

There were two narratives which might have ensued form that night. Firstly, Federer wins. He wins his 14th grand slam, equals Pete Sampras, and improves his head-to-head against Nadal to 7-12, giving himself a chance, at the same time, to get back the much coveted No 1 ranking, which he had cited as one of his major goals for the season.

Had he done so the gap between No. 1 and No. 2 would be perhaps half the size it is now. He would have won the last two grand slams, just as Nadal had won tow in a row.

His tears at the presentation ceremony would have been tears of joy, of intense, indestructible happiness, and the significance of Laver's presence, just as in 2006, would be tangible.

Federer would be on his way to history—just one more, we would all think, and he would be the greatest ever, with 15. 

But of course it didn't turn out like that. Surely, within the space of the match Federer lost, perhaps, only by a small margin. One recalls the point in the third set, with a Nadal serving at break point, at four or five all. Nadal approaches on Federer's backhand, and Federer attempts to pull off an unbelievable pass cross court, catching the net.

Jim Courier would later say that the roof of Rod Laver arena would have blown off had that shot been made. Federer, yes, cold very conceivably have won that match. But one cannot, of course, deny Nadal's brilliance, his tenacity, his ferocity, and consistency—the determination to win.

These were the qualities that made the him the deserving man at the end of the day, and the reason, perhaps, why he was ultimately the champion. What does that match mean for him now, in tennis land?

He is the undisputed world No 1. He has well and truly gone beyond his days as merely king of clay. He has defeated a man who has never lost in a hard-court slam final.

He has won a slam on three different surfaces (Agassi of course being the last to do so), and in so doing has achieved a greatness which is unique, and even a grandeur the Mighty Fed, whom we had all thought untouchable roughly less than a year ago, would sorely desire.

Nadal had won the French four years in a row, that only point of difference between him and Roger. Now he has stepped into true grand slam territory, and perhaps is worthy of consideration for GOAT status.

I read a wise, and perhaps not improbably prognostication about Nadal's carer a few days later on the Internet, that Nadal would need to win just two more slams for the next five years to get to 16, at just Federer's current age—two more than Sampras, and more than, it seems, Roger might ever get a shot at.

These are the statistics, and signs that periodically flood in, in convulsions in the tennis world known generically as the "Changing of the Guard".

Perhaps this match was ever more a change of the guard than the Wimbledon final every might have been—but then I believe, and through thorough analysis, and not partisan bias, that it was not.

Federer's game, I kept telling myself through the last season, and now evermore, perhaps in a vain, albeit dying belief, is too complete to ever warrant such problems.

No one has ever played like Federer, and for that reason alone his mastery of the sport, most decidedly as an art, would preclude any possibility of him being outplayed. But perhaps now is a time in tennis history, and in the history of the Federer fanhood, when such beliefs, such imaginary Federer kingdoms, should no longer have any reason to exist.

Federer alas, most apparently, has weaknesses. He was at the top of his game, coming into the final, crushing both Del Potro and Roddick.No one could beat him in this form, we all thought.

Especially after Nadal had narrowly escaped a loss to Verdasco in the semis, 6-4 in the fifth after five hours and 14 minutes. 

What ensued in the final was largely, in my belief, a failure in belief. A failure to believe that he could beat Rafa. I admit, there were many crucial moments when Nadal was just too good, as in the three straight, aggressive points on break point in the third set, or simply overpowering, animalistic savagery, wearing down the mighty Roger.

But there were also moments, as in the final set when Federer had 30-0 at 1-2, and then lost the game five minutes later. One can speculate endlessly about the thoughts that were ploughing through his head - What do I have to do to beat this guy? Can I win 14? Can I really be the greatest ever? 

And perhaps most importantly now, Do I even deserve to be challenging for No 1, or am I simply the No 2 player, beaten by the No 1 five times in a row? At points Federer had an empty, drained look, not, probably, a physically drained look, but a look of despair.

We had all seen in at Wimbledon, and at the French. In my opinion what we have all been witnessing has been a bad, if not terrible case, of Nadalitis. 

So what, essentially, does this match mean for Roger Federer? Well, for one thing, he can take a negative, and depressing, and eternally damning decision. He can sit back, and pretend that nothing has happened, and that indeed, the match as only a matter of points.

This, as all Federerians fear, might be the step the swishy attitude of the Swiss. He can prolong the agony, the buoyed up hopes reaching into major finals, of finally being able to beat Rafa when it really counts. There is no doubting, and this should be said above all things, that the man certainly has the ability to do this.

The rivalry between him and Nadal is being consigned, I fear, to the status of the Federer-Roddick.

But Roddick might only have excited, at his best, the loss of a set, or a break of serve. Federer, on the other hand, will, with his infinite abilities, be much more impressing on his rivalry with Nadal, able, at times, to break up the rhythm of the Nadal forehand-Federer backhand situation.

Remember that Roger was serving poorly, and still won two sets in the final 6-3. What I feel, for Roger, on behalf of all his fans, is the ability to channel his abilities, and to channel his mind.

At this moment he is dishevelled, torn, and beaten, as he should be. He has succumbed to the overpowering depression, and despair, that is the mark of Nadal's totalistic conquests. 

What Federer, on the other hand, might do, if he is to follow his typically positive self, and perhaps do even more and become creative, is to seriously assess his situation, and his mental preparation for the war against Rafa.

I am no tennis coach, or tennis expert, but what I feel as an innocent bystander is Roger's greatest problem in matches against Nadal is his mind crumbling after Nadal hits, say, one or two great, unbelievable gets.

It happened at too many important moments to recount. What, perhaps, Roger is going to have to draw upon, is a reserve within himself, a desirous, albeit, hopefully, not hybristic beast. How much do I really want this? he will have to ask himself.

How much do I want to be the greatest of them all? What it is that he is going to have to do is soul searching, searching for meaning.

I only write with such fervent passion because it is for many the sight of it, and the witnessing of greatness in the making—it will thus be this soul searching, and this quest not only for the elusive 14 and 15, or the no1 ranking, that shall be so captivating this season.

It will bring, one hopes, joy, and a divine happiness, not only to him, but perhaps to his spectators. But it may, and it seems that it will, bring, tragedy and gloom. At any rate it will be a tale, a tale of a struggle, and a search, which, as I have felt it, is now bordering on the existentialist and philosophical.

Will Roger get a coach? How is he going to pan out against Rafa the next time they meet, should they meet? What will he do to address his crises? Nothing, I will say on behalf of all, can be done to affect his choices.

Only the lone Roger, in the recesses of his mind, of his unquenchable ambition, will answer that for us.

I will conclude, essentially, by pronouncing again, that I am a beaten spectator. Beaten in my belief in a man. Beaten in the chance to see history. All I might have been able to say today is how much I would, desperately, as many others would, like to see Roger beat Rafa, and finally triumph in the war of art vs science, divinity vs man.

As I have said what it remains for Roger to do, as so many pundits have put it, is to look at himself.

He will be, undoubtedly, a soul-searcher. In so many desperate moments against Rafa in the past he had had the benefit of a certain confidence to draw upon—at Wimbledon in 2006, despite a 1-6 record he was having the season of his life, and was three time champion.

In the final the next year he was world number one, and had the confidence to attack and bewilder the Spaniard in the fifth, as he does not have now, and perhaps may never have again.

Roger will have to dig deep, and come out as he did post-Wimbledon last year, to storm past some unsettling early losses in Canada and Cincinnati to win the Open. Perhaps it was his luck that it is, still, only the beginning of the year, and that he has three more chances to achieve what he wants to.

But then again one recalls a certain appalling, and frightening predestination for Roger centering around Melbourne Park—in 2004, Roger wins and becomes world No. 1, to win three majors in a year for the first time since 1988; in 2006 he wins to set up discussion of the Roger Slam; and in 2008 he loses, and sets course for his most disappointing season since 2003.

Then there were the other years—2005, when he lost in the semis, and still had a decent year; in 2007, when he won, and still had a decent, albeit slightly worrying year; it would be only fitting for such an airy fairy article, that I conclude with signs from the gods.

Maybe 2009 might be, as its number suggests, one of those "other" years, but even then they were still less than the great years were. It is precisely this kind of a year that Roger might only expect, at the very best. But in that time, as King Croesus was once told, a great man will fall.