Roger Federer: The Man, The Matches, The Rivals

By Peter Bodo

Introduction

I started writing my Peter Bodo’s TennisWorld blog in 2005, the year

after Roger Federer won his first Grand Slam event, at Wimbledon. Over the

ensuing years, as TennisWorld evolved into the most popular tennis-related

weblog, I wrote —literally—reams of posts about Federer, both while covering

events in which he was entered and between times, when I was moved to

write what is commonly known as a “think piece.”

As I write this, Federer is 30 years old and the all-time male Grand Slam

singles champion. He’s still going strong, as his brilliant record between the

US Open of 2011 and late May of 2012 amply demonstrates. Yet it’s become

harder and harder for him to mount the required resistance against two much

younger rivals, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic. He hasn’t won a Grand

Slam tournament in two-and-a-half years.

This tells me it’s a good time to collect some of what I consider my best

work about Federer. I’ve selected what I feel are my most interesting posts,

culled mainly from that golden middle period of his career (2006-2009). While

I believe many of Federer’s interesting and memorable adventures occurred

at sub-Grand Slam tournaments, most of the posts collected here are from

the Big Four events, the Grand Slams around which the tennis world revolves

—the Australian, French and US Opens and Wimbledon.

I hope that these posts not only do justice to Roger, and shed light on

his beautiful game and deceptively compelling personality (has there ever

been a great, great athlete less seemingly affected by an unprecedented

degree of success?).

However, I have to caution those who are expecting pure hagiography—

I’ve tried to keep a level head and appreciate not only the accomplishments

and personality of the man, but to identify and analyze what shortcomings

he’s had, or mistakes he’s made. That’s a critic’s job, and the combination of

my 40 years of experience covering tennis and my evolution into an opinion

journalist has turned me into just that.

Long time readers of TennisWorld know that I have consistently referred

to Federer as “The Mighty Fed (TMF).” I liked the sound of that, because of

the overtones the I can best describe as cartoonish (I often called his great

rival Rafael Nadal “Jet Boy” for the self-same reason). I felt at the time that

those nicknames would add a bit of whimsy and levity to our discussions of

these somewhat larger-than-life characters, and somewhat alleviate the

temptation to treat these sports heroes as demi-gods.

At first, I was unsure of just how to organize the material I had, given

how much of it is rooted in daily coverage of Roger’s matches. I finally settled

on creating three loose categories: The Man, The Matches, and The Rivals.

In the first of those sections, The Man, I am including mostly interpretive

posts about Federer’s character and personality, both as a competitor and a

human being.

In The Matches, I focus on some of his greatest wins as well as some

toughest losses; every portrait of an individual, especially an athlete who

competes as frequently as TMF, is incomplete if you leave out the difficult

bits.

In The Rivals, I include posts about the men who have given him the

most trouble or had a long and rich history with him.

There is admittedly some overlap between these categories; the posts

don’t fit quite so neatly into predetermined niches—not least because they

were all written on the trot, influenced by the events, mood, and ambience of

the day and event. Taken together, I hope they convey a sense of where

Federer—and his rivals—were at specific times in recent years. And I hope

the end result is a kind of living, day-by-day history of Federer at the peak of

his career.

In the interest of clarity and continuity, I’ve made some minor revisions

to some of these posts, and I added a brief introductory note as a preface to

each one.

Pete Bodo, New York, June 2012

The Man

Does ‘Federer’ Exist?

September 6th, 2007

[This post was written during the US Open of 2007, where Federer won his

fourth consecutive US Open title; it was, in retrospect, the last year of his

absolute dominance, which helps explain why I chose to write this.]

About midway through last night’s second set of the US quarterfinal

between Andy Roddick and Roger Federer––meaning about the time that The

Mighty Fed was getting so close to having a break point that he could almost

see it with the aid of the Hubble telescope––a smitten female fan somewhere

behind where Steve Tignor and I sat hollered, “Federer, you’re unreal!”

Now that got me thinking. TMF certainly is unreal. But what if were,

well, really unreal?

What if this “Federer” didn’t really exist, except as some Jungian

figment of the imagination of all those aesthetes who ever had to sit through

a Luis Horna vs. Mariano Zabaleta match on clay? Or perhaps this “Federer”

is an android, built by a bored, unemployed, Swiss timepiece designer. I

mean, come on––doesn’t this whole thing about “Federer” coming from

Switzerland have “Jamaican Bobsled Team” written all over it, except for the

fact that the Jamaicans in question couldn’t find their way to the bottom of

the hill with a map, while “Federer” is already, according to some, the GOAT

(Greatest of All Time)?

Doesn’t it strike you as just a little bit suspicious?

Hail, maybe this “Federer” started out as an idea in the mind of some

Sega Genesis game designer, but the algorithms just got out of hand and

“Federer” leaped across the Great Divide like some android or a replicant out

of a Philip K. Dick novel. Or maybe he’s just a good old-fashioned hologram,

like on your credit card. In any event, I think it’s high time we asked: Does

Roger Federer really exist?

The arguments for those who suspect there is no such thing as a Roger

Federer, that we’re just the victims of some humongous cosmic tennis prank,

falling head-over-heels for a character no more “real” than Bart Simpson,

Superman, or Zac Efron, were never better articulated than last night. Andy

Roddick has a gigantic serve. He’s a former US Open champion, and he’s

been World No. 1. And he’s bigger, stronger, and more experienced now than

he was back then.

Last night, Roddick was flat-out playing his best tennis on a court that, if

you believe what many of the players are saying, is faster than Wimbledon’s

Centre Court. And he was doing this was in front of an adoring American

crowd, willing him to win with a vibe so strong that it put all that harmonic

convergence baloney of a few years ago to shame.

And yet. . . at the end of the second set, what was the score? “Federer”

was rolling toward the finish line, 7-6, 7-6, to be continued. . . Now, isn’t that

enough to make even the Cartesian reality freaks among you wonder, at

least a teensy-weensy bit?

How about what Roddick said after he lost in straight sets: “You know, I

thought I made him play as well as he could play. . .” Personally, I think it was

just tact that kept him from finishing that sentence: “. . . for somebody who’s

really an android, hallucination, psychic projection or some other weird

thing.”

Beyond that, do you ever notice that this so-called “Roger Federer” has

perfect hair that never seems to get mussed or out-of-place––the dude looks

like one of those pictures your local barber has tacked up all around his

mirror, hoping you’ll be hoodwinked into dropping an extra Jackson on the full

“I want to look like I’m in a boy band!” look.

You ever see human being Rafael Nadal’s hair? Notice how wet and

stringy it gets, and how it flies all over the place when he runs around,

because he’s working so danged hard? Now that’s genuine human hair––

tennis player cum rock star hair. How about Nikolay Davydenko? Okay, he

doesn’t have hair. Forget him. I think whatever “Federer” is, that hair is just

painted on, like on those old-fashioned pink, soft-plastic dolls that smell so

cool.

Have you ever noticed how this “Federer” doesn’t really sweat?

Oh, late in a third set he gets this sheen on his forehead and cheeks,

but that could just as easily be some kind of cooling apparatus meant to keep

the machinery from overheating, like those sprayers that keep the

vegetables fresh at your local Whole Foods. How about the fact that the guy

never freaks out, pitches a fit, or, having broken serve (which he does quite a

lot, actually), rolls out one of those flying scissor kicks and punches the air,

yelling whatever is Swiss-German for “Vamos!”

Androids only have feelings in strange movies like Blade Runner; in real

life, they’re probably real quiet dudes like “Federer,” whose idea of an in-

your-face end-zone dance is making a small fist and quietly aspirating a

“Yes.”

Here’s another thing: You know an awful lot about “Federer,” right?

You’d recognize him across a crowded room in an instant, and if you

exchanged a little friendly banter, you’d pick your moment to use the phrase

“it’s a pity,” and then wink and jab him in the ribs with your elbow. But how

do you know your elbow would actually hit flesh and bone? Have you ever

touched “Federer,” or do you know anyone who has?

Michael Barkann, you say? Ha! You wouldn’t believe the things they can

do at a digital video mixing board these days.

My own alarm bells started going off when I noticed that “Federer” has

no known eccentricities, or distinguishing characteristics. His face is smooth,

fox-like, handsome and well-proportioned. It’s the kind of face you might put

on a child’s toy or doll, where you don’t want to go with a big honkin’ nose,

weak chin, or Charles Manson eyes and a soul patch (that would the Janko

Tipsarevic doll).

Perhaps it’s significant that “Federer’s” game is equally smooth, clean

and seamless. This is a guy to whom an unforced error is a challenge that

gets overturned by Hawkeye. Everybody says that in order to survive on the

tour today a player needs at least one weapon, yet “Federer” is so danged

good at everything that you can’t say he’s got a weapon. Ergo, by the very

logic of all the pundits and players, this “Federer” couldn’t possibly survive,

never mind dominate, on the tour today––unless something fishy is going on.

With thoughts like these in mind, I went back through some of

“Federer’s” recent press conference transcripts and found these telling

exchanges:

Q: [Feliciano] Lopez didn’t realize that you had won that many points on your

serve. Were you aware of it as you were doing it? 35?

“Federer”: I don’t know. What are you talking about?

Q: From the time you were down love-40 in the first game of the third set,

you did not lose a point of your serve until that mishit.

“Federer”: That’s awesome. What, was that the last game, or what?

Okay, how could “Federer” not know? I submit to you that only a

creature or fabrication without emotion or the power of abstraction (yet

cleverly programmed to mimic a young human by frequently saying

“awesome!") could be so oblivious to what he/it had just accomplished.

And before “Federer” played John Isner, he was asked how he would

handle the big fella’s serve. He replied: “I saw he had a good serve. He’s got

a good second serve, too. It’s going to be interesting to see how I handle that

because the trajectory of a big guy like this, tall guy, it’s always different.”

Note how “Federer” himself expresses an interest in seeing how. . .

“Federer”. . . handles the Isner serve. This suggests that perhaps this

“Federer” is remotely operated by someone (perhaps inside the IMG luxury

box, or via Tiger Woods’ BlackBerry) who really is curious to see how the

machine, having been designed to handle serves from guys 6’6” and under,

will handle the task.

During one press conference, “Federer” was asked how he relaxes

between matches. He answered: “What do I do? I relax. I don’t know, I

just . . . I’m in the city. Take it easy. Have nice dinners and lunches. I have

some treatment, massage, stretches, hang out with my friends and family.”

Okay, work with me here. You’re a voice-software programmer, right?

You’re told that you’d better build in some default answers to certain

recurring stock questions that have nothing to do with the Nadal kick serve to

the backhand, or the Novak Djokovic injury timeout. What kind of filler would

you write?

At one point, “Federer” said: “I’m happy with my game, to be honest.

I’ve been serving well basically since the day I arrived in North America.”

You know what I think he meant to say, before he caught himself?

“Since the day I arrived in North America. . . in that container ship used

to smuggle me into New York harbor in order to avoid the Bush regime’s

religious extremist laws against androids taking the Greatest Road Trip in

Sports along with the Roddicks, Sharapovas, and Chelas!

After “Federer” beat Isner, he was asked: “Was that a fun match for you

today?”

He answered, “Yeah, I enjoyed it actually, believe it or not.”

Okay, how about that believe it or not? Why wouldn’t we believe it? I’ll

tell you why––because we know a robot is incapable of feeling human

emotions like joy. That’s why! And finally. Remember how “Federer” collected

a handful of second serve aces and won bushels of points by seeming to

know exactly where Roddick was heading to field his shot. When he was

asked about this in his press conference, “Federer” said, quite alarmingly if

nonchalantly, “Well, it’s good if you can read his mind sometimes.”

Now, how many of you so-called regular human beings can read

someone’s mind?

I rest my case.

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