July

[Sweder]

The ancient gods gathered on mount Olympus to discuss the impudent mortal who would usurp them. They came together and as is their wont forged a man from the fires of Hades. They gave him the arms of Atlas, the heart of Hercules and the winged heels of Hermes. They baked him under the Iberian sun, infused with the cunning of Zeus, the iron will of Hera and the blazing fury of Ares. In years gone by Borg, the mighty Swede, read the signs, heard the deep rumblings in the heavens. He laid down his racket and walked away, unscathed, forever bathed in glory’s afterglow. Now Federer wanted more; he stretched, reaching beyond the compass of mortal men and, like Icarus, found the very limit of his grasp.

For two sets of devastating power-tennis fifteen thousand people witnessed first hand the bloody evisceration of a great champion on Centre Court this afternoon. Many millions more cowered in their living rooms as Raphael Nadal, Nephew of the infamous Miguel Angel Nadal, the ‘Beast of Barcelona’, took defending champion Roger Federer in his muscular grip and mercilessly crushed the life out of him in the fickle Wimbledon sunshine.

Like many I believed that Federer would see off the King of Clay on his favoured green surface. To do so the champion would undoubtedly have to play at his supreme best. Trouble is Nadal was in no mood to let anyone, least of all Federer, settle into any kind of comfort zone. From the word go the Spaniard flew at Federer, hammering brutal ground strokes with fierce yet metronomic regularity, driving the Swiss master back, throwing him off balance and forcing him to build an ever-increasing catalogue of errors. It was almost as uncomfortable to watch as it must have been to receive.

In tennis they use the phrase ‘unforced’ errors, yet that hardly applied today. Nadal’s glaring, steaming countenance prowling the opposite end of the court would force the hardiest, most resolute knees to knock. Relentlessly focused, darkly driven, Nadal wore away Federers’ will, grinding him down with his monstrous forehand to leave the great man shaken, staring at his cruelly exposed vulnerability. Others will be better placed to explain why Federer seemed to lack heart as a number of break points came and went. As opportunities arrived to make inroads into Nadal’s serve Federer appeared to doubt himself, wafting inexplicably lame returns at crucial points. The crowd, sensing a public dethroning of one of their favoured sons, tried to lift the champion. You could sense his growing despair, as if the sympathy of the spectators underlined the magnitude of his task.

With two sets in the bag Nadal seemed to take his foot off the champion’s throat. Not even the new Beast can maintain such intensity indefinitely. For a while the two men were perfectly matched, stealing points against the serve, taking each game to the wire. Rain clouds gathered adding weight to an already charged atmosphere and you wondered if we were to be cheated of a grand finale. It seemed certain that only divine intervention would halt this vicious onslaught. The break came with Federer holding serve to take a 5 – 4 lead in the third, an hour in which one man could dream of glory whilst the other stared into the abyss.

The match resumed, the warriors trading mighty blows without resolution. By now the crowd were howling for their man, knowing at last that he was playing against a god. The tiebreak and Federer searched himself once more, coming up with as near-perfect a breaker as is possible against this firebrand. What courage; what insolence! What bloody-minded resolve in the face of fury incarnate. You can have my soul if you must, Nadal, but you must take it; you must rend it from my bloody carcass, and it will cost you more than you can know!. One set clawed back, two more to fight for.

So often hype undermines sport, but not here.
It was a big ask, an impossible ask. Federer never shied away; he fought with everything he had, raised his game to a level beyond anything seen at these championships this year or any I can recall. Even in the fourth set breaker, with Nadal ablaze and set for victory, the quiet man from Switzerland refused to give in. Those mighty Spanish muscles tightened a fraction and Federer pounced, from 5 – 2 down to 6 – 6. The gods were angry. They sent their charge yet more unearthly powers and he laced an impossible pass down Federers’ forehand side to stand on the brink at 8 -7. Federer responded with his own breathless miracle shot: 8 - 8. Nadal snarled, the ground shook, but resolute Roger stood firm, unbreakable. Wham! Bam! Another Federer missile flashed into the corner; 10 – 8 Federer – 2 sets all.

What now? What can they offer us, these giants, these monstrous, nerveless men?
The fifth awaits; and, for one man, ultimate glory.