Like Bjorn Borg, Rafa Nadal has, more than once, achieved what’s said to be the greatest back-to-back achievement in tennis — winning the French Open and Wimbledon within weeks.
Like John McEnroe, he has power and touch and an iconic collection of tics and twitchy signature gestures.
Like Andre Agassi, he has eight Slams.
But, more than any other player, he suggests the love of battle Jimmy Connors once imbued.
Sure, Connors’ shots were flat. Nadal has more loops than Chicago. Connors didn’t collect a single French Open trophy. Rafa’s mantle boasts five of them. Connors —explosive, vain, in-your-face — unleashed a me-against-the-world bluster and bravado that brought tennis civilization quivering to its knees. Nadal — gentle and unassuming — is a gentleman. “Never break your racket,” his uncle/coach, Toni Nadal, taught him. “There are thousands in Africa who would treasure it.”
But in the heat of the moment, like Connors, Nadal has unsparing focus: left-handed and right thinking. Little gets beyond him. Grinding and grunting — every game, every point, every stroke is a war. Explode into your shots — always! Catch a second breath — never! Cruise and reload — forget it! Loose games not permitted. Turning defense into offense — now you’re talking — that’s my religion. And when the most is on the line – break points, the fifth set, championship glory — that’s when Rafa raises his level to a just-less-than-frightening ferocity. The sky is indeed falling. (Stat flash: Nadal has won eight of his 10 Slam finals and 17 of his 22 Masters Series finals.)
But, of course, it’s Rafa and a certain Swiss gentleman — Roger Federer‘s the name — who are truly linked. Indeed, the two are attached, quite firmly, at the hip; tennis rivals very much in the tradition of Pete and Andre, Chris and Martina, Mac and Borg. Since ’05, they’ve accounted for 20 of the last 23 Slams. Simply put, the two have stamped the post-Sampras-Agassi era with a sustained dominance like no other duo.
Of course, Fed and Rafa’s differences are as distinct as a frosty alpine peak and a balmy, please-pass-the-sunscreen Mediterranean beach. Last year, proud Federer sashayed off of Wimbledon’s Centre Court in a traditional cream blazer that featured “15” emblazoned in gold embroidery to subtly (or not so subtly) celebrate his newly minted record for Slam majors. After his victory over an overmatched Tomas Berdych at Wimbledon, Nadal — the ecstatic man-child — uncorked an athletic, schoolyard somersault, which is not exactly in the refined repertoire of the metro-hip Mr. Fed.
Roger’s all about style, grace, majesty and ease. Smooth and athletic, he provides ample beauty — the serenity of silence, little sweat. There’s little ease in Rafa’s grunt-and-grind, open-throttle onslaught. A caged lion, a bullish dynamo — all pulse and power — he picks at his backside and powers apart his opponents. Okay, if you weep after your defeat, Nadal, such a sensitive soul, will comfort you. But on his court, mercy is an orphan.
Now a dazzling duopoly, Nadal and Federer actually eased into their rivalry. For years, the deferential Nadal seemed comfortable in his Avis role as No. 2. “What Roger does,” he told us time and again, “is amazing, no? He is the best.” But the pendulum swung after Rafa won the best match of all time — the ’til-dusk-do-us-part ’08 Wimbledon final, and again prevailed in the famously tearful ’09 Aussie Open final. Then came another swing. Nadal — his family in turmoil, his knees in pain, his confidence in tatters — suffered a stunning 11-month slump. He missed last year’s Wimbledon. He didn’t claim a single title. He lost five times to foes ranked in the top five. His ranking slipped to No. 4.
All the while, Federer, (in what could be the autumn sonata of his career) soared high above. He won three Slams — the French, Wimbledon and the Australian Open — and reached the U.S. Open final. But since his Melbourne triumph in January over Andy Murray, it’s been Roger’s turn to go off the boil, losing in little and large tourneys to both mighty and mild opponents like Albert Montanes, Marcos Baghdatis and Ernests Gulbis. In Paris, Robin “Giant Killer” Soderling put a halt to the greatest streak in tennis (and arguably in all of sports), Federer’s ethereal run to 23 straight Slam semis.
Federer did manage to survive a first-round, five-set fright at Wimbledon imposed by the little-known Columbian Alejandro Falla. But the 6-foot-5 Berdych crushed him in the quarters. Then, in the pressroom, Roger suffered his greatest loss of the year. Usually so graceful and adept, he offered a string of tone-deaf explanations. For starters, he shocked many by saying that his quarterfinal showing was a decent result, and added that he was struggling with “a little bit of a back and a leg issue. That just doesn’t quite allow me to play the way I would like to play.” “When you’re hurting…you just don’t feel as comfortable. You can’t concentrate…you can’t play freely…If I’m healthy, I can handle those guys…I played these guys 10 times. They’re not going to reinvent themselves in a year…I got the unlucky bounce once in a while…I definitely gave away this match.”
Say it isn’t so, Regal Roger. Fed seemed ungracious, in denial and rationalizing. A firestorm of criticism ensued. “It wasn’t his back that failed, and it wasn’t his leg,” claimed Peter Bodo. “It was his nerve. That’s how it is when a great champion’s determination and courage begin to ebb. And, like the proverbial cuckold, he’s always the last to know.”
Yet Nadal, too, struggled at Wimbledon. Yes, he’s upgraded his game. More aggressive than ever, he’s stepped up closer to the baseline, improved his once suspect serve, his volleys and approaches and he doesn’t sprint so much to run around his backhand. Still, in London, his knees wobbled and twice he was pushed to five sets by little known foes Robin Haase and Philipp Petzschner. But he was brilliant and unflinching in the semis against the home-standing Andy Murray, and more than good enough against the overmatched Berdych in the final. Now ranked No. 3, the immediate question is whether Federer has enough to reverse his slide and regain his ascendance.
No, the Good Ship Federer is hardly sinking. But too many times we’ve seen the Baron of Balance off his game, scampering from corner to corner, lunging or leaping, defensive and revealing just the slightest hint of desperation. We wondered, where is the serene artist who once flawlessly used his court as a canvas for his Picasso strokes? The tennis world asked, “Does his forehand still have its bite?” “Has he lost a fraction of his speed?” Certainly, his once imposing fear factor has faltered. He’s lost eight times this year. All the while, Federer’s face – awash with worry, squinting one moment, sullen the next – reveals that his confidence is wavering. Belief matters.
Not surprisingly the headlines screamed: “Roger, Over and Out,” “From Sharpest Shot to Bullet Dodger Roger,” “Federer Survives Scare but the Wolves Are Circling.”
Analyst Jon Wertheim was more compassionate, noting, “He’s won everything in sight, so forgive the guy if his hunger isn’t exactly at Donner Party levels.” ESPN’s Greg Garber looked at the big picture, suggesting, “For two years now and counting, the forensic psychologists in the tennis world have been searching for the hidden ark – the jewel-encrusted relic that would indicate that Federer is no longer the dominant player in the game…[Now] they might have found it.”
But beware! This is an athlete apart, The Mighty Fed — the greatest of all time, a tennis genius. Dismiss him at your own peril. Like Tiger Woods, Michael Jordon and Wayne Gretzky, it’s impossible to underestimate his pride, his athleticism, his will for victory, his hunger.
Still, there’s no stopping age. Everything must pass. The field — young, tall, fearless — is rising and will have its day. Andy Murray, having failed late in Slams twice this year, is hungry. And Rafa, after his wins in Melbourne, Paris and London, now craves a career Slam, which will at last require a victory in that vortex of noise and frenzy they call Flushing Meadow. Men’s tennis has rarely had more of an edge. It should be quite a U.S. Open. We don’t know if Rafa will prevail. But we know this: If he does win, we doubt he’ll offer us another somersault. The hard asphalt of New York can be unforgiving.
