A glimpse of a bygone era

The round of sixteen. Roger Federer played Xavier Malisse. It seemed like a simple game, on paper. However, games are not won on paper, as the cliché goes. Federer did end up winning. He won in 4 sets: 7-6 6-1 4-6 6-3. On reflection, it was not really that tough a game for the Swiss. It is not really a game that you will, ten years down the line, remember as a classic. However, it is a match that I will remember, and so should you. Why? It was a match from a bygone era, that’s why.

The match was pretty much an antithesis of all that has come to characterize the men’s game of today. There was hardly any power hitting. I mean, sure, these guys do play at a power level that is a one above yesteryear’s but this game was something else. After a long time, there was a wonderful touch to it.

Federer felt his back in the first set and although it did not, in the end, turn out to be a factor in the overall outcome, it did lend itself to add to the beauty of the game. Federer has never really been one to move at the speed of light and hyperextend but is always known to glide around the court with an economy of movement and a reach that gracefully hides his speed. In this game, however, it seemed that he was hardly doing even that. He seemed languid; lethargic even.

Malisse has always had a game that is easy on the eye. Right from the minimal service action, Malisse always seems to be at ease on the court. He too seems to be one who does not really believe in going for every ball like Rafa or slide around as if on roller skates, a la Djokovic.

It must be said that as much as Roger played with elegance and almost timeless beauty, Malisse merits a mention for adding to the spectacle. Both men appeared content, to play almost at a canter when the majority of men’s tennis today is played at breakneck speed.

There were beautiful slices on both wings with players liberally using the underspin to buy some time and approach the net. And the net approach; ah, the net approach. It was hardly one of those typical games where one would only see one approach the net on the back of a certain approach that would yield not more than one volley. There was none of that in this game.

The approach was quite often sliced into the middle of the court that would most definitely entail a follow up volley to be made; at least one. The returner obliged of course. There were hardly any unplayable passing shot that clipped the tram lines. Shots quite often came back straight to the volleyer and he duly obliged in putting it back. The passing shots did come. And when they came, ah! Absolute things of beauty they were. Not all power but more precision, style and beauty.

It was 5-1 in the second set. Malisse was serving love fifteen. Federer slices the return. It falls almost in the middle of the court to Malisse’s forehand. Malisse gallops gently towards it. Federer has stopped. He has given up the ghost. The whole of the court is open. Malisse reaches it with a bit to spare. He whips the forehand. As soon as he makes it, he knows that he has put too much top spin on it. It misses the line. Love thirty. He is nonplussed. He shrugs his shoulders. Oh well!

Fifteen thirty. Malisse serves. A good serve. Federer returns. Malisse comes in, a good volley. Federer runs, nay, labours towards it. He just about reaches it, it seems. The running forehand down the line. Surely. The running forehand, it sure is. Down the line, it is not. A fantastic short cross court. Malisse looks on as the ball beautifully floats over the net. One clicks one’s tongue.

Those two points right there; a microcosm of an era gone by.