|
January 16, 2005
Roger Federer, outside court
By Jake Niall, The Age
Countless words are used to describe his breathtaking
backhand, and commentators fall over themselves to anoint him one
of the all-time greats. But what is known about Roger Federer the
man? Jake Niall went in search of answers.
The world's greatest tennis player does not have a manager and,
in the course of 2004, when he played at a level that no champion
has managed in at least two decades, he did not have a coach
either.
Roger Federer follows what one ATP official described as "the
Rafter model". Like Aussie Pat, Federer's family runs his affairs,
rather than a slick management company. His parents, Lynette and
Robert, handle the business, with his South African mother also
taking care of the Roger Federer Foundation, the charity that
supports disadvantaged children in her homeland.
Federer's girlfriend, the former Swiss tennis player Mirka
Vavrinec, is his "personal assistant" - not only in the Les
Patterson sense - and handles media requests when Federer is on
tour. In practice, what this means is that Federer runs his own
show and that few, if any decisions, are made without his
input.
Rafter's mum ran Pat's charitable foundation, his brother was
his management group and the whole operation had a relaxed,
semi-formal feel - reminding us that Patrick Rafter was, in fact, a
tennis player, not a corporation and did not have to consult with
his shareholders or, as they now say, "stakeholders," to decide
when he got up in the morning.
Federer has followed the Rafter model to the extent that he has
even hired as his coach, on a part-time, ad hoc basis, the great
Australian mentor Tony Roche, who performed the same job for "our
Pat" when Rafter was the nation's flagship athlete and all-round
good guy. From a broader perspective, Federer walks in Rafter's
shoes by treating everyone - including an insatiable media - with
courtesy and respect.
He is accommodating to an unusual degree for a superstar who is
bracketed not so much with contemporaries Lleyton Hewitt, Andy
Roddick and Marat Safin - none of whom is within cooee right now -
but with Pete Sampras, Rod Laver, Ivan Lendl, Bjorn Borg and John
McEnroe.
Federer is blessed to share the Rafter trait of utter normality,
a state that makes him an oddity among the standard-bearers of
professional tennis. Rafter and Federer are grounded, with a
balanced outlook rare in a game that rewards obsession and
pathological parenting.
"The parents are normal people," said Peter Lundgren, the
Swedish former pro who served as Federer's coach until December
2003. "He's not spoilt. He's coming from a normal family."
Lundgren, who now coaches Russian star Marat Safin, said that in
some ways Federer was much like Rafter. "It's very similar. Also,
Pat is a very normal guy, very nice and funny and polite all the
time."
Federer speaks three languages - four if you count the Swiss
variant of German - and says he thinks differently in each of them.
Lundgren reckons Federer is a gifted linguist, "so talented, it's a
joke", his grasp of the Swedish accent such that "you think he's
actually Swedish".
As a Swiss national, he is interviewed in each of those three
tongues (English, French and German) after nearly every match, a
routine most sportsmen would find intolerable. Back in November,
when he defeated Hewitt at Houston in a Masters Cup match that
stretched to midnight, Federer stayed back completing interviews
until 2.30am, repeating an entire radio interview, his last
commitment, in French when the Swiss reporter's audio equipment
failed to record.
Unaccustomed to a No. 1 who is polite, forthcoming and patient,
the media are scratching their heads, wondering whether there was
ever a dominant force in men's tennis - an undisputed benchmark -
who was so easy to deal with, so unflustered, calm and decent.
"If I start fighting with them, or get in a mood not to answer
their questions, this is when I can get into problems," Federer
said last week, on the subject of his media policy. "I am who I am
and really just don't try to change for the media."
The wolf pack has rewarded this laconic courtesy by leaving his
private life alone. Not that there's much to talk about. Who wants
to read an open book? With no siege mentality, no one bothers
laying siege to Federer Castle. There is not much scope for tabloid
invasion when the girlfriend arranges the interviews.
No.1s are not supposed to behave like this. They are meant to be
difficult and suspicious, carefully managed and off-limits at the
least, or just obnoxious, with the compassion of an assassin; the
ironic consequence of a defensive mentality is that everyone
strives to penetrate the walls that have been erected.
"He's a very good guy," said Philippe Bouin (of French sporting
newspaper L'Equipe), doyen of the continental tennis
writers. "That's a very unusual thing for a No.1 in the world."
Another tour regular recounts an anecdote that is instructive.
In the hours after winning the US Open, Federer is on his way out
of Flushing Meadows and heading back to Manhattan when a cluster of
excited kids stop him for his autograph. The problem was that none
of them could find a pen.
Instead of slipping into the waiting vehicle and disappearing
into the night, the newly crowned champion pauses while one was
found, smiles and signs.
Bouin thought that over the past 20 years or so, only phlegmatic
Mats Wilander, a transitory No. 1 rather than uber champion, might
have been as helpful and as friendly as Federer. The only other
unfussed numero uno was Wilander's countryman, Stefan Edberg.
McEnroe and Jimmy Connors were volcanic, Sampras did not give
much away and Hewitt's vexed relationship with the fourth estate
and the odd official has been well covered. Moody Boris Becker had
his angst, Jim Courier displayed an aggressive edge and would not
suffer fools. Andre Agassi, a brat turned elder statesman, does his
professional duty, but you would not call him open or
accessible.
As a No. 1 about the only area in which Federer could not be
considered a role model is when it comes to the concept of the
tennis entourage. There are no biomechanists, hynotherapists,
actors or Russian blondes in his camp.
On this Australian tour, he has a minimalist party of three - a
girlfriend who doubles as media handler, his physio Pavel Kovac,
and a Swiss mate, Reto Stobli, who has accompanied him at the grand
slams lately. His conditioning coach was not needed, having helped
Federer prepare in the fortnight he spent in Sydney before
Christmas.
Lundgren thought Federer's private persona was reflected in his
graceful artistry and gracious demeanor. "It just comes natural for
him." Lundgren cautioned, though, that chronic winners could afford
to relax. "When you start having bad months, or bad weeks, it's
totally different."
Federer was not always such a gentlemanly presence on the court.
In his late teens, he was apt to howl, curse and hurl his racquet.
"At one stage, I was too nervous, too wild, swearing, throwing
racquets, all those bad things," Federer said. Lundgren, who
succeeded the late Australian, Peter Carter, as Federer's coach,
told him he was "showing too much emotion".
"He was really hyper (active) when he was younger. He was
incredibly hyper, he had so much energy." Lundgren recalled a
Hopman Cup in Perth in which a restless Federer banged on his door
at 5am, just to have a conversation.
Federer then over-corrected for his teenage aggro, turning from
racquet hurler to tranquilised pacifist. "Then I got into a mood
where I was too quiet. It was very difficult to get over that and
start pumping the fist again," he said last week. Finally, with the
aid of a mind coach, whose name he would not divulge, Federer found
the winning balance between the ears.
As one blase victory follows another, it's easily forgotten
that, a matter of two years ago, Federer was on the cusp of being
labelled an under-achiever, whose musical tennis had never been
properly expressed in the grand slam matches that count. "It was a
tough time for him," said Lundgren. "He put so much pressure on
himself. I told him, ‘Stop reading the papers'."
The Federer of 2004 was born in the course of Wimbledon 2003.
Until then, Federer's on-court anxiety had been palpable. He was
carrying a back injury and, according to Lundgren, needed a rest.
Happily, the English weather intervened, granting Federer a long
rain delay before the quarter-finals that enabled him to demolish
Sjeng Schalken. He went on to smash Mark Philippoussis in a
lopsided final.
"It was like a relief for him," said Lundgren of the Wimbledon
breakthrough. "After he won Wimbledon, look at the results - it's
amazing."
The self-belief he had withheld was unleashed, a torrent that
has washed away Roddick, Hewitt and the rest. Now, in a neat
transfer, Federer's competitors own all the anxiety. They can hope
only that he will lose his mental compass, get hurt or dump tennis
for soccer, or for his other great love, cars.
The unoriginal question must be asked of Lundgren: did the
former coach ever think Roger the artist would become such a
victory machine? "I knew he had it inside him," said the coach.
"But I didn't expect it to come that quick."
|
