For those who don’t know, it was during the Wimbledon final in 2008. Second set tiebreak. Nadal charged at the net after hitting a slice serve at championship point, Federer sliced back. Nadal whipped a forehand, which Federer hit for a clean passing winner.
It was incredible. That one backhand. A movie can be made about that particular shot. Just four seconds worth of a backhand looped again and again and again.
Not many people are privileged enough to see their idol play. I thank my stars I was. In Dubai, when Federer walked on court and took his racket out with that trademark flourish, I would have locked time. I knew his game inside out. I knew the exact angle of his serve. I knew how he’d crack the backhand, but nothing prepares you for the moment he actually strikes the ball. It’s like watching magic. One can’t appreciate the dimensions of a court till he’s actually standing near it. The television set does not do justice.
When you watch Federer practice, it’s a bit of a joke really. Murray, Nadal, Djokovic and nearly everyone else have a regimented hitting session. They’ll switch groundies to volleys, overheads and serve for a complete twenty minutes. It’s like a proper workout before the match.
Federer, on the other hand warms up like a kid who’s been asked to play around the court for a casual treat. He’ll hit with a continental grip, he’ll hit double handed backhands, he’ll slice rally for minutes at a time, he’ll play football with his trainer. Then he’ll hit about 20 services from each end, and hey presto, he’s ready to go and play a final. It’s unfair almost to be filled with the kind of talent he does.
When Federer actually plays in the match, and your own eyes are watching it, you will just come home with a hauntingly beautiful memory. The backhand – I kid you not, but that stroke of his is like a Monet painting. I always thought it’s a weak point, but it looks incredible. It’s like a wave.
He rises with the ball, the hand almost commanding the ball in whichever direction he wishes it to go. You will spend at least a good twenty minutes wondering what kind of muscle his forearm is built of.
The forehand was the stroke I had come to watch after waiting for nine years. It’s like a missile. There’s no better way of putting it. I’d feel threatened on the other end just seeing him bend his knees to hit it. Federer does this thing where he hits a winner and turns away from the net before the ball bounces the second time about three times out of five. He knows how good he is.
I was lucky enough to watch a match where Federer was playing at 70 per cent of his once imperious form. This was last year. He dismantled Del Potro. He dismantled Murray. People often ask me what would happen if they met at their best form. I’ve always said a silent prayer for the unfortunate person at the other end.
I’ve heard people saying his days are over. He’s battling time. He’s barely winning titles. I feel sorry for the ones who even question his command over the game. He’s 32 and in the top five. He ‘s achieved more than all the other players in today’s game put together, at an age which had the toughest competition I know off. At an age where the simple physicality of the game makes it brutal beyond ten years.
People add the word legend as a prefix to a player more as a simple adjective today. They don’t understand what adding the word to a players name means. It means he was so good, it’s almost unbelievable. It means he was supernatural in every aspect. It means he will stay in stories for the rest of eternity, even if his bones leave the face of the earth.
Happy birthday Roger Federer, you’ve made the world of sport a touch more magical from this very day, thirty-two years ago.
Who Are Roger Federer's Kids? Know All About Federer's Twins