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Roger Federer Got here Along When Tennis Desperately Needed Him


This may increasingly be it a little bit hard to recollect amid the glow of record attendance at an electrical 2022 U.S. Open, but tennis was not in an important spot when a promising young player from Switzerland with a goofy ponytail got here along within the early 2000s.

Tiger Woods had one way or the other made golf cool for the masses. But tennis, the recent sport of the Nineteen Seventies and Nineteen Eighties, was predominantly a game of the elite, followed and played largely in a rarefied area of interest.

On the skilled level, the lads’s game essentially had one group of players who bludgeoned the ball and one other that counterpunched. Andre Agassi was a rare exception who could do each and had some personality. Like numerous players, though, he had an ambivalent relationship with the physical and emotional demands of a sport that looked as if it would make many miserable. There was not much joy to be found on the tennis court.

Then, after some rough, temper-filled early years on the professional tour, Roger Federer, along with his terrible haircut and tennis outfit two sizes too big, suddenly had people oohing and aahing because the months passed in 2001.

“Baryshnikov in sneakers” is how the McEnroe brothers — John, the seven-time Grand Slam champion who had once garnered similarly lusty praise, and Patrick, the solid former pro and tv commentator — often referred to Federer, comparing his style and charm on the court to ballet.

Cliff Drysdale, one other former pro and longtime commentator, began to note that each time Federer took the court, the locker room would empty as players either went to the stands or huddled around a television set within the players’ lounge to observe a person who seemed capable of making shots and fidgeting with a mode they might only dream of. Drysdale had not seen that because the days of Rod Laver, the good Australian who had dominated within the Sixties.

“When the admiration you receive extends beyond the fans to your fellow players, that’s something,” Drysdale said Thursday in an interview. “And the players would watch all of Roger’s matches.”

Here was a player who could play any style from anyplace on the court. There was an ethereal quality to the best way Federer created shots, like a jazz musician, improvising solos.

How exactly does one hit a jumping, one-handed backhand on a ball that bounces to eye level? And the movement. Federer looked as if it would float across the court, the best way a world-class sprinter flies down a track in a state of rest on his method to breaking a world record.

“He elevated the game at a time when it desperately needed it,” Patrick McEnroe said Thursday. “And I don’t mean this to be a knock on any of the good champions who got here before him, including one I do know particularly well, but he brought a classic game back to the fashionable game, and he brought a certain class back to the game.”

Once Federer got a haircut and a few decent tennis clothes, his grace prolonged off the court. He appeared on the covers of fashion magazines. He hobnobbed as easily with C.E.O.s and heads of state as he visited with sick and impoverished children. He launched a foundation that has donated tens of hundreds of thousands of dollars to education in Africa, where his South African mother was born.

“I at all times said that Arthur Ashe and Stan Smith were good players but great people,” said Donald Dell, a co-founder of the ATP, in addition to an agent and tennis promoter. “Roger is an important, great player and greater person off the court, who became pretty much as good an envoy for a sport as you might have when it needed it.”

The trophies arrived by the truckload. By the tip of 2008, when he was still just 27 years old, he had already won 13 Grand Slam titles, one behind the record. He would win seven more Grand Slam singles titles before he was done, and he was still winning them gone the age when anyone thought a tennis player could compete at the very best level.

Rafael Nadal arrived to turn out to be a chief rival within the early 2000s, after which Novak Djokovic crashed the party and turned tennis into the three-way battle that has brought the game to unprecedented heights.

Federer made people feel like they were watching sport as a type of art. He was not simply playing tennis; he was redrawing the geometry of the court, hitting shots into spots where balls rarely bounced, from angles nobody had seen. The novelist David Foster Wallace, who had been a good junior player growing up within the Midwest, wrote about Federer the best way others wrote about Vladimir Nabokov or Vincent van Gogh.

The grace hid other qualities that led to his success. During his initial run of Grand Slam titles, wins looked as if it would come so easily that they masked just how competitive Federer was.

That became clear after the 2009 Australian Open. He cried in the course of the trophy ceremony after Nadal beat him in a 3rd consecutive Grand Slam final, a stretch that included their epic five-set duel at Wimbledon in 2008 in what many consider the best skilled tennis match ever played.

“It’s killing me,” he said of the losing streak.

He channeled the pain into getting back to the highest after everyone had thought his time had passed. He did this not once, but twice, the second time when he was 36 years old and won the last of his Grand Slam titles, and his third after his thirty fifth birthday — an absurd concept then that Federer, Nadal and Djokovic have now made seem practically normal.

The grace also masked an assassin-like ruthlessness that would torture opponents. Nick Kyrgios, the temperamental Australian star, has said that Federer is the one player who has ever made him feel like he really didn’t know what he was doing on a tennis court.

Check a few of the old rating sheets. Amid the carnage is a 6-0-6-0 bludgeoning of Gaston Gaudio of Argentina, a French Open champion, on the ATP Masters in 2005; there may be a 6-0, 6-1 destruction of Andy Murray within the ATP Tour Finals in London in 2014.

In 2017 in the course of the Wimbledon final, Marin Cilic suffered a blister on his foot midway through the match that rendered him nearly unable to compete. Cilic cried as he sat in his chair and received treatment from a trainer. Federer paced menacingly on the opposite side of the online, a glance of disdain in his eyes, like a prize fighter wanting his opponent to stand up so he could hit him again.

And yet, as soon as Federer’s matches ended, all of that edge drifted away because the assassin turned back right into a statesman — all smiles and gratitude for his opponents, for sponsors, for fans, for the staff at tournaments, even for journalists.

“I don’t think the guy has ever had a nasty day in his life,” said John McEnroe last month, marveling at how effortlessly Federer handled the demands of celebrity that had nearly crushed McEnroe within the Nineteen Eighties.

Paul Annacone, one in all the few people to teach Federer, was asked last 12 months why he thought Federer was attempting to return back from knee surgery at 39 after an extended layoff that had coincided with the beginning of the pandemic. He said Federer simply loved tennis — the competition, the travel, the fans, all of it — and that allowed his personality to flow.

“His legacy is grace,” said Mary Carillo, a former player and current broadcaster. “Grace in the best way he played. Grace under pressure. Grace with children. Grace with kings, with queens. Grace when he moved, when he sat still, when he won, when he lost. In French, in German, in English. In Afrikaans. It was just in his bones to be that way.”

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