Magazine article New Statesman (1996)

The Last Days of Roger Federer: What Does It Mean to Call a Tennis Player a Genius?

Magazine article New Statesman (1996)

The Last Days of Roger Federer: What Does It Mean to Call a Tennis Player a Genius?

Article excerpt

I've hit thousands of cricket balls, perhaps even a million, and a decent portion of them came out of the middle of the bat. But I surprised myself all too rarely. I do remember one occasion clearly. I was facing an England spinner and, guessing he was going to bowl a slower ball, I decided to use my feet to advance down to the pitch.

I guessed wrong: he fired it in faster and outside leg stump. Wrong-footed and out-thought, I possessed no conventional shots to respond with. I don't think I "decided" to do anything. It just happened. The ball had almost gone past me, when I played something between a sweep and a drive. As the ball sailed for six over the leg-side boundary, the bowler and I smiled at each other in a moment of recognition.

The shot had not been the perfect execution of a plan (coaches love talking about "skill execution"). Instead, I'd solved a problem before I even realised what it was. I was at the instinctive end of the spectrum in professional sport but I played only a handful of these shots in my whole career. A handful of imaginative shots out of a million.

In his pomp, Roger Federer played perhaps a couple of dozen shots like that in every routine tennis match. Federer's ratio of the inspired to the quotidian was more richly concentrated than any other modern sportsman. How often he has opened up his stance to hit a forehand cross-court and then, as if the idea were occurring to him as he did it, whipped it "inside-in" back down the line. The term "tactics" doesn't cover what Federer could do. Nor does "decision-making". Things happened and he did his thing in response, but no one quite knows how or why.

The relevance of my sporting experience is not as comparison but context. Imagination isn't so easy in professional sport, even if you are open to it. For Federer, it has been as natural as walking on court. Where others ask how he can play with such instinctive imaginative range, he wonders how they can play without it. "For me, every point has to be different," he has said.

Born in Basel, Switzerland, in 1981, Federer had an unusually normal childhood, by the standards of tennis prodigies. His parents were "pully" rather than "pushy", more concerned about keeping him grounded than engineering a champion. As a teenager, he suffered from on-court tantrums. His father, Robert, told him not to worry. "Cry when you win, cry when you lose. That's human. Just never cheat."

Federer gave up having tantrums as a junior. But it is not quite true, as has often been said, that the angsty kid gave way to the calm champion. Federer's serenity, though it could appear absolute when he was in sync, was always vulnerable. Watching him smash his racket in Miami in 2009 was like seeing Jacqueline du Pre stamp on her bow.

"Talent is like the marksman who hits a target that others cannot reach," wrote Arthur Schopenhauer; "genius is like the marksman who hits a target others cannot even see." Andre Agassi, reflecting on a tiebreak between him and the young Federer, said that the Swiss player "took the match to a place I didn't recognise"--this from the best ball-striker of the previous generation.

"Federer Moments" was the term used by the late American novelist David Foster Wallace in his celebrated essay "Federer Both Flesh and Not". "These are times," he wrote, "as you watch the young Swiss play, when the jaw drops and eyes protrude and sounds are made that bring spouses in from other rooms to see if you're OK."

Wallace was writing in 2006, when Federer was at his peak, playing tennis better than it had ever been played. Now, he is scrabbling to make the quarter-finals at grand slams. At the US Open in New York at the start of this month he crashed out to Tommy Robredo, a determined journeyman. You sense that there won't be much more to come from Federer, that the last warmth of autumn is fading. As the poet and editor Alan Ross wrote about the cricketer David Gower in late career:

  Stance, posture, combine
  To suggest a feline
  Not cerebral intelligence. … 
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