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June 26, 2007
Stakes are high as the great artist tries to fashion new masterpiece
By Simon Barnes, The Times
It was as if Roger Federer were deliberately seeking his place in history. He
played the prematch warm-up in long white trousers, the epitome of languid
elegance, almost consciously recalling the days of Fred Perry and a time
when the phrase “gentlemen’s singles” could be used without irony, or, for
that matter, quotation marks.
He had entered Centre Court in his white jacket, a custom he inaugurated last
year, looking, to tell the truth, like a rather foppish painter and
decorator. And all this retro fashion stuff does rather send out the
message: you are not watching a mere champion, you are watching a legend.
You are watching history.
You are not watching Federer, you are watching ten grand-slam titles all at
once. You are not watching the Wimbledon champion, you are watching the man
who aims to equal Bjorn Borg. Federer aims to win his fifth successive
Wimbledon title – his fifth successive Gentlemen’s Singles
Championship, to be precise – and is not fussy about his choice of
weapon.
The jacket will do and the trousers help, too; and it is all a part of that
thing that great champions do. They use their reputations as weapons as
potent as their forehands and backhands. Federer yesterday flexed his
reputation at a spirited young Russian called Teimuraz Gabashvili and
although Gabashvili chucked the lot at him, Federer ambled through 6-3, 6-2,
6-4.
Every time Federer steps on court in a grand-slam tournament, he is conscious
of history and of the level of greatness he might achieve. You can talk all
you like about taking each match as it comes, but these days at least part
of Federer’s mind is on such high and dangerous matters as a fifth Wimbledon
title to equal Borg, a fifteenth grand-slam title to beat Pete Sampras.
Federer declined to play the match in his longs – “it was cold, but not
that cold”. All the same, his entire style yesterday afternoon, under the
great grey skies above the oddly naked-looking roofless Centre Court, was
one of muted greatness – like a great actor who brings all eyes upon
himself by the means of the deliberate modesty of his demeanour.
You don’t become great. If you are great, you always were great.
Steve Redgrave was great when he won his first Olympic rowing gold medal –
just as great when he won his fifth. Greatness is not something that an
athlete acquires; rather, it is something he reveals. We who watch never
know quite how much will be revealed. And the great athlete himself, does he
know the extent of his greatness? Does every further revelation come as a
glorious surprise, or a confirmation of something he always knew?
Yesterday, Federer eased himself back into action, Gabashvili at times pushing
him almost to the top of second gear. Federer was feeling ball on racket,
feet on grass, in a way you can do only in a proper match, exploring various
parts of his game, establishing a rhythm with serve and especially with
second serve.
The result was not entirely satisfactory, but it was not supposed to be the
finished work. It bore the mark of greatness, though, just as the doodlings
of a great artist bear the same thing, for all that they are not complete
works of art, for all that they are not things they would choose to be
judged by.
An important aspect of Federer’s greatness is that he can play so many
different kinds of tennis. From one point to another, he can be a different
player – for a moment all touch, then all looping top spin, then frank,
flat power. When pushed by a better opponent, he can do all these things –
and a good few more – in a single rally.
It is as if he keeps changing personalities on you; a different opponent to
counter every facet of his opponent’s abilities, and every single one of
them is genuine. We know he’s great, but this is a man who might yet reveal
himself as the greatest ever and so the stakes get higher with every match
he plays at a grand-slam tournament.
Especially this one, especially Wimbledon.
His face looks more careworn than it did a year ago. His failure to win the
French Open this year went deep. He has had – by his standards – a
poorish few weeks. He lost four tournaments in a row, his longest losing run
since he became world No 1. He is 25 and conscious for the first time that
the opportunities he has – that anyone has – for making sporting
history are strictly rationed. And all those people trying to stop him. One
fewer now.
A time, then, for mental discipline – for sport’s great artist to take
each masterpiece as it comes.
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