Federer has just broken back for the second time in the first set! It’s 5-all and he is serving, but it is advantage Nadal.
That last point was more than a little lucky when Nadal’s passing shot clipped the net to go out. Federer’s nerves are tingling as he moves to serve. He goes for it, and the ball is way long. Damn. Just then a gnarled little green fellow with long pointy ears tugs at his consciousness.
“I have something to say….”
“Please! – crucial moment here Master Yoda, could you call back?”
“…It is better to burn out than fade away…”
“…Master?”
“Time have I stopped in this moment, young Jedi apprentice. A better player than your foe, you are. Frustration against him, does this cause you. Win, you know you should.”
“This is not helping. This is worse than when I was a boy.”
“Peaceful thoughts, young one. Something important, I have to say to you…”
“What is it Master Yoda?… the Sock Stealing Elves are real, aren’t they? I knew it. Those bastards have been looting my socks for years…”
“…I sense great disappointment in you…”
“Was it you in cahoots with the Elves then?”
“…Listen! When play you he first did, that match he won convincingly. He had the advantage.”
“What – Nadal did? How do you mean?”
“So sure of yourself you were, grown accustomed had you, to facing timid opponents. Impetuous did you become. Dragged you back down to earth, did he. Unaware, were your allies, of the extent of the boy’s power.”
“Is he the one, though, Master – does he bring balance to the force?”
“Hmmm. Matters it does not, only that you believed it to be true. His side made you believe it. Accomplished on that day, the later damage to you was. A long time had his acolytes spent, dissecting your game… your style… and… your mind: how to thwart you did they teach him for years. Realise at that time, he did not. Matches from your junior years onwards did they watch with him. As he grew into a man – instilled in him a sense of control over you they did. Fear you, he did not.”
“Then haven’t I lost already?”
“Fear is no lifelong ally. He feared you not, but much anger I sensed in him that day. They told him there was no shame in defeat. Powerful he became. Inspired tennis did he play. Knew, you did not. Win, you could not. Unprepared, you were. And then this year, your most prized Wimbledon did you lose…”
“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“… yet through those final sets, yourself did you find. Cast aside doubt, you did, played the game, not the player. Trust your instincts! Strong, they are and win, you can.”
The TV cameras have focussed in on Federer’s face as he snaps out of a curious moment of reverie and tosses the ball. He curves his body into the most natural serving motion known to mankind. Struck thus, the ball simply slides towards the far corner of the service box and spins off into the ether. Taking out an inattentive cameraman’s stray pinky. Second serve ace. Deuce.
Never taken aback either by impressive displays or failures of his challengers, Nadal moves to the deuce court, preparing to receive in his intense manner. Federer serves well, Nadal retrieves the wide angled ball with a fast-paced backhand return down the middle, Federer’s there, he’s moved in and takes a half volley, daring Nadal to pass him again. Nadal does, and it’s in. What did he expect? It’s punishing. Federer though is smiling a little, he can’t help it. Witnessing that this boy is so great, so strong in mind, body and heart – accepting it, testing it, and enjoying the tennis – thinking back, those were the greatest matches he had against Nadal, and some of those he even won.
He goes back to the ad-court – this is not a hellish rocky ride and this is not the bottom of the barrel. Win or lose, this is life at the very peak of his calling. He will enjoy this, the greatest challenge of his life. The reason he was born stems from a precious few minutes on a dusty court under the watchful eyes of millions of people all over the planet. Whatever he can do with his legs, his arms and the racquet extending from his hands, he must do without hindrance of mind, nor reluctance of spirit, but wholeheartedly and without fear. He aces Nadal, he then plays like Roger Federer was meant to play on clay, like he did in the old days. He wins his serve. He returns Nadal’s first serve, it is not too hard to do as he has faced down thousands faster from Karlovics, Djokovics, Murrays – he returns it with vigor, and they rally, and he feels keenly the massive spin that Nadal bestows on the high, deep balls arriving on his side, and he counters each ball with precision.
The countless hours of training on a court when he was young seep out through his pores, into the racquet, into the very air surrounding him. He takes control of the rally – leading 0-30 on Nadal’s serve now – he seeing it well, he is moving in, Nadal is hitting the balls hard – that is all he notices – he does not see or care what Nadal is doing or not doing, or thinking, or how loudly he is grunting – he just takes the ball and nothing else in the world matters other than the correct way that is ingrained in him of hitting a ball that turns up each particular way. There is great variety! Soon in this rally he lifts a stroke up in a semi-lob to the very reach of Nadal’s forehand and again it comes back, but through instinct he had anticipated the natural wrong-footing attempt so his move to the left was merely a feint. Thus with no strain he has moved to the right and is taking the ball early that is coming down his forehand line, and he’s sending it blistering back across to Nadal’s backhand – and Nadal just cannot reach it.
It is 5-6 and Federer has set point. No thoughts. Nadal serves a spinner down the middle – it’s not fast at all, and the timing should be difficult to adjust to after the last few serves, but it occurs to Federer not to be surprised because he has hit a ball just like this one before. Every shot is just like some other. And he has the time, so he switches to forehand and strikes it from up high, down to the ad-court, deep: Nadal, moving incredibly well, utterly resolute to the last, reaches the speeding ball and sends a staggeringly accurate forehand back down the line again. Federer though has moved effortlessly in to take it early – again, and sends a colossal forehand, deep into Nadal’s backhand territory – again. It’s powered back to his own backhand side… but it’s only like a million high-velocity tennis balls that have shot at his backhand from walls, from machines, from coaches, from other players, from this very man. He knows exactly how it should feel as it hits the sweet spot of his racquet, the power that must be applied to catch and hold the ball for a split second, then release it on a new trajectory so that it spins head-over-heels through the air so economically tight across the net on the right hand side that it’s into no-man’s land. Nadal reaches it at such a stretch to find that at 0-40 in the final game of this set, he simply cannot make the ball go back over the net more times than Federer can.
It’s so confusing for a moment, for Federer, for anyone watching. For him to have won the first set against this man in more than a year. He had forgotten it was possible, and clearly he almost believes he has won the match. His adversary is no longer Rafael Nadal, it never was. This game is all being played in his mind. Who has ever seen Yoda during a tennis match anyway?
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