Your Honour, the charges my client, Roger Federer, of Switzerland, has been accused of for the past half a decade are heinous and defamatory. Other than being called a ‘bad clay court player’, and ‘Roland Garros challenged’, it shames me to even mention the last two epithets that have been used to tarnish his demeanour, those being ‘old’ and ‘losing his mojo’.
In most cases, your Honour, I would have to slowly build up the list of my client’s achievements to prove his worthiness and his spotless reputation. If I choose to start naming Mr. Federer’s accolades in ascending order, this court would have to cancel all its scheduled food and restroom breaks for at least a week to allocate enough time. Riots may break out in the sporting world should I, by my foolishness, choose to place his 17 grand-slam titles below his 23 consecutive semi-finals and countless other jewels as I, like several others, cannot pick which merits more glory. The conflicts that bombard one’s mind in an effort to pick why Mr. Federer is the greatest male player of all time, are huge. It could be because one cannot be taught magic, it’s something one is born with. How one creates angles and slices and prances on court from two opposite ends looking like a cheetah fresh from a beauty salon – the entire while being studied – is magical at most times. Such talent is beyond science. One cannot study it; one simple admires and reflects on it.
I tend to wander, so it’s time I got back to the original case on hand. As it so happens, it’s that time of the year when tennis players are at war again to try and get their hands on the Musketeers cup. Two weeks before the commencement of this tournament, media all over the world launch their usual tirade on how the tournament is a jinx for my client. Their behaviour is not unlike a 7-year-old child’s, who will continue giving reasons month after month about how his/her favourite pokemon is bad only while fighting a fire-type pokemon and eventually says that the terrain just isn’t meant to suit him.
When most tennis players turn 31, they find themselves looking at their forearms in the same way Arnold Schwarzenegger feels about his present pectorals. It is an age where one considers buying that dream home in Monte-Carlo, to enjoy a tax free life for the rest of their burnt out careers. My client calmly sits at number three in the rankings at 31 and a half. He hasn’t budged from the top four in over a decade. I’m fairly sure he won’t budge out of the top 10 in the next five, even if he wanted to.
A person, who in my knowledge has finished second best in the sand dunes of Roland Garros four times – and having said that, won it once – can calmly march out of the tennis world having achieved a huge amount of clay court success. By adding about 5 clay Masters titles, it should seem enough for a lifetime. As my client had once said, “I’ve created a monster”. People seem to depict him more as a Herculean demi-god rather than an extraordinarily talented human being with human limitations.
People wonder why the French Open is said to be the toughest slam to win. Against popular belief, clay is not one of the toughest surfaces to play on. It is a surface which the majority of the draw feels comfortable playing on. It accommodates the style of play most European players grew up getting used to. It is better suited for the body, softer on the legs and more relaxing for movement. The violent heat of Australia, the winds of New York and the temperamental rains of London don’t rock Paris night in and night out. The conditions suit a majority of players as compared to just a few. This is what makes the tournament so tough. It brings out the best in so many. Let’s not forget that Paris hired a fire-breathing Spanish dragon called Rafael Nadal, guaranteed to singe the spin out of the rackets of so many, vanquished only once till date. His presence, along with all the factors mentioned above, has made this tournament what it is in the past few years.
Most tennis players aim to win one Slam through their careers. The feat in itself is of huge magnitude. To defeat player after player seven times before emerging the best in a draw where some of the fittest athletes from all over the world hack at each other’s throats with everything they’ve got, is a huge achievement. To do it seventeen times over ten years re-defines both the words ‘legend’ and ‘extraordinary’.
I say these words because we have now reached that point in tennis where a change in the status quo is imminent within the next two years. Every now and then, we have a spell where 3-4 particularly talented individuals dominate a sport, followed by a period where everything is up for grabs by everyone. Like Nostradamus felt reverberations in the world, any seasoned tennis observer can feel the same in our mini-universe.
Mr. Federer and Nadal have shotgunned so much silverware over the years that it seems ridiculous to keep asking them how they kept doing it. What would Mr. Federer say if a reporter asked him how he won at Wimbledon for a fifth time. It’s because he’s bloody good. Saying “I played well” is a euphemism for covering up how bad the others are comparatively. Top athletes are far too cultured to rave about their prowess and thus show the naked shortcomings of most other players. Ernests Gulbis fails to understand that. The 7,100 point difference between my client and Gulbis doesn’t need someone to scream “I’m a better player” to understand the difference in standard.
We’ve reached a point in our sport where observing and appreciating seems to be a much better option to supporting and criticising.
With that, the defense rests.
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