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July 9, 2007
Timing is everything as Federer picks moment to reveal greatness
By Simon Barnes, The Times
The
touchstone of champions is not how well they play at their best: it’s
the timing. It’s when they actually do so. And in this glorious and
enthralling Wimbledon men’s final, Roger Federer waited until the sixth
game of the fifth set, 3½ hours after the start, before raising his
game to the dizziest heights that even he is capable of reaching. So
much had been thrown against him. He had been finding his A-game only
intermittently and Rafael Nadal, the opponent who stalks him across the
courts of the world, had seized the momentum of the match with his
utterly unquenchable spirit. Time after time, Federer found his
best coming back over the net with added zip. For Nadal, nothing is a
lost cause. This, and his phenomenal power, make him the best in the
world when it comes to turning defence into attack. It was an inspiring
performance. The fourth set of the match was extraordinary
enough: a bold and tumultuous grasping of the initiative by Nadal, a
flat refusal to allow Federer to settle into his preferred mode of easy
serenity. Federer is not a man easily rattled, but Nadal was at it with
a will yesterday. He reeled off four games in a row and Federer was
struggling for respectability.
It
was all Nadal. Federer, so fine a user of his natural authority on
court, was unable to boss anything. Nadal was controlling the match:
controlling the tempo with his interminable time-wasting, controlling
the point by consistently out-duelling Federer from the baseline. Into
the fifth set they went, Federer struggling to hold serve, pushed hard
on every point. And then. And then it happened: so swift it was hard to believe. Federer
captured the game by means of a sudden explosion of pure and
unadulterated brilliance. Playing what might be the finest tennis of
his life, and from absolutely nowhere, he ripped Nadal’s service apart.
A running forehand pass, an outlandish flip to the corner, and then a
miraculous rally. All of a sudden, Federer was home, and the
history boy was saluting Björn Borg, knowing that five Wimbledon
championships in a row put him unequivocally in the category of the
all-time great. Nadal did his best to spoil it, for that is his job,
but it was was Federer’s day, just as it has been Federer’s half-decade. The
battle for world domination with Nadal will continue and good, for this
is a rivalry that brings the best from both – and the best behaviour
from both as well, for they were both charmingly free with the
compliments afterwards. Sport really is better like that, for all the
nonsense spouted by American coaches. The best rivalries have
their being in contrast and as John McEnroe and Borg brought us hot and
cold, so Nadal and Federer bring us heart and soul. Even their
entrances made an exaggerated contrast: it looked as if Rambo was
taking on Fred Astaire. That’s a mismatch, but the result depends on
whether it’s a dance movie or a fight movie. Federer can play
many parts, that is his strength. He can play in a dozen different
ways, just as he can deal with any ball with a dozen different shots.
He is sport’s great shape-shifter: an artist who, yesterday, was forced
to show us every fighting quality he possessed. When it was necessary –
when it was the only option – Fred Astaire turned streetfighter, and he
fought viciously with all the elegance and certainty he is capable of. Federer
also gave us his own Rambo, as well as his Fred. What’s more, he threw
in D’Artagnan, Houdini, Picasso, Lao-Tzu and Dr Strange. He can be as
mellifluous as Noël Coward, as harsh as Bob Dylan. He can he as canny
as Ulysses, as defiant as Hercules, as brilliant as Einstein, as brutal
as Genghis Khan All this and more. For that fit of perfect brilliance
came when the match was slipping out his control. Merely staying in the
match, fighting for those service games, was a severe and searching
test of character. To come up with something sublime at this of all
moments showed something far beyond mere tenacity. It was the
revelation of a character trait that very few possess. Call it the
instinct for championship: the understanding of oneself not just as
mere winner, but as the best of all. It is something so powerful that
it more or less guarantees the occasional miracle: and in a few perfect
shots at the absolute pluperfect time, Federer showed himself for what
he is. A champion: a
great champion.
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