Roger Federer: Close to Perfection At Wimbledon

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.

In the first round, against an inspired Yen-Hsun Lu, Federer managed “just” 10 aces in a slightly longer match. By this third round match, he is up to 15 and, even more telling, tops out at 131 mph.

Where his serve leads, the rest of the Federer weaponry follows. It gives him time and energy, and it applies pressure and intent. Thus far, it is another part of Federer that comes pretty close to perfection.

The outcome of this match, of course, never looks in doubt. There is almost a swagger in Federer’s broad shoulders and swinging walk that defy defeat. And the crowd laps it up like the richest cream. The Centre Court rises as one in a standing ovation worthy of the final: half admiration, half adoration.

So to day two, Friday, near-perfect Centre Court seats won, months ago, through the ballot. But again, the perfection takes me by the throat more than two hours earlier, this time at Court 9.

It could not be a greater contrast from Wednesday. Standing hoards crowd against an exposed expanse of grass, and there is a hint of panic amongst the security staff. Again though, a calm if more serious Federer focuses on the job in hand.

And through the camera lens, the Botticelli perfection of face, colour and proportion come into sharp focus.

Today there is no cap and no bandanna. Nor is there strong sun and shadow. Everything is simpler and softer: boyish loose hair, honey skin, plain white clothing. He looks barely 20.

As the practice winds down, the crowd winds up, chairs go flying, children are thrust forward by parents demanding photo opportunities. The still point at the centre of the cyclone is, as ever, exuding gentleness towards the proffered children, signing—this time in silence—and eventually seeking escape amidst the now frantic security guards.

The perfect photo shoot is replaced by the perfect Wimbledon experience, with seats just rows back from the net, opposite the umpire’s chair. The clouds part to drench Centre Court in sunshine. Then, two players offer up a quality of tennis that extends to an audience-pleasing four sets.

It begins at a vicious pace that is maintained through to the end. Rallies of such intensity grow in number as the match moves from what seems a predictable Federer win to a spirited and classy challenge from Philipp Kohlschreiber.

Where the winning shot of a point garnered gasps on Wednesday, four, five or six shots in succession draw shocked sighs as each player pounds the ball ever harder, faster, lower and deeper to the other. Throw in volley exchanges, daring drop shots, defensive squash shots and the crowd becomes ecstatic.

But no matter how well Kohlschreiber attacks, defends and serves, he cannot dominate. Even his winning of the third set tie break seems an aberration, the result of Federer practising a few new plays, getting wound up by a succession of poor line calls, or thrown by two heavy falls.

Inevitably, Federer throws the turbo switch and reels off the fourth set in under half an hour.

And which shot from the Federer artillery comes closest to perfection this time? Without question, the backhand.

Pounded at by Kohlschreiber—is there now a player who doesn’t target Federer’s perceived weakness?—it came back with whispering slice time and again, executed to such perfection that defense turns into attack on the greasy grass.

Federer opens his chest to deliver backhand drives across court and down the line, and for good measure, thows in a number of looping topspin backhands that drop like stones on the far lines. He may have tried out the odd double-hander in practice, but he has no need of such crude ball punching on court.

This piece opened with the assertion that Federer is playing some of his best tennis in two years. To prove the point, Federer’s victory over Kohlschreiber takes him to his longest winning streak—15 matches in a row—since the summer of 2007. And this is the man who, just months ago, many described as being in serial decline.

If Federer goes on to win the Wimbledon title next week, he will beat his own winning streak of 18. Perhaps that would make his tennis closer to perfection than it’s ever been.

From where I’ve been sitting, it’s already as close to perfection as I could ever wish.

Part 2 is the slideshow companion to this article