I was 9 years old. Those days, my aim was to be able to
master multiplication and division, addition and subtraction. Learning tables
was what I was fond of. I loved reading Enid Blyton short series. I had never
given a test or an exam in life. Halfway down the world, a young 18 year old
boy called Roger Federer was making his debut at the Australian Open. He was
reasonably successful in reaching the 3rd round. Just another
teenager trying to make his name in the world of tennis which was ruled by
Pistol Pete.
He had started playing Majors.
I reached middle school. We used to have those weekly tests,
called cycle tests. My aim was to be able to do well in them. And understand
friction. God, I really struggled with it. And condensation and evaporation. I
was fascinated by the concept of Rounding Numbers. I loved our English book
called ‘Insights’. Roger had already landed a monumental blow by knocking Pete
out at Wimbledon. However, he had temper issues. Lleyton Hewitt, the rising
star owned him. Each big victory was followed by an unbelievable loss as
whispers of another great talent being wasted spread. However, somehow he
managed to lay hand on his first Major at Wimbledon.
He was playing all the Majors now.
I reached senior secondary school. Just started preparing
myself for giving three hour papers. I learned I did not like Chemistry. Boards
were upon us. It used to be a big deal. A late joiner, but I was finally a fan
of Harry Potter as well. Roger Federer was, in the world of Chris Gayle, the ‘Universe
Boss’. He could not stop winning matches. He could not stop winning tournaments.
He was beating the lights out of his former nemesis Lleyton, including a double
bagel in US Open Final. He was untouchable. The magical wand he held was an
extension of his body. He glided around the court, dancing a silent but a
beautiful dance. He was breaking records for fun. He was humble, he was correct.
He was the perfect ambassador for the world of tennis. Along the way a young
Spaniard Rafa Nadal had come along.
Roger was now winning all the Majors.
Senior school is a nightmare. I made the cardinal mistake of
choosing non-med. School, tuition, Vidyamandir, eat, sleep – that is what the
schedule was. Organic Chemistry, Integration and Differential, HC Verma.
Nightmare. Roger Federer was still thumping everyone except for the aforementioned
Spaniard. As months passed, the red hot streak began to slow down. Still
winning the tournaments, but not that easily. Closing in on Pete’s record
steadily. Clay was tough to master as Rafa was sweeping everything. The pair,
unlike some of the previous rivals, were good friends and appreciative of each
other. The world of tennis was seeing two contrasting style of tennis blossom
and even if he lost, which was more often than not, it was tennis which was
gaining.
He was playing all the Majors, probably not winning as
easily though.
College was a new experience. I made some great friends, and
had a very enjoyable run for four years. Roger, though, was losing his grip.
Rafa had defeated him everywhere but US Open. Mononucleosis and back problem
were hampering his play. No longer one of the young kids, he had to deal with
the rise of the third generation – Murray and Djokovic. Tennis was less of the
beautiful game that we were used to seeing, but more of a boxing match. These
younger kids were so much stronger physically. Courts were slowing, serve and
volley was almost dead. He did land his hand on French Open to complete the
Grand Slam and went ahead of Pete by winning the following Wimbledon and Aussie
Open. He got married. A proper family man, he invited his dad and mom to almost
every tournament. All global brands chased him.
And yet, despite all off field distractions, all injuries,
new rivals, he kept on playing every single Major.
I was doing my MBA. Trying to complete my CFA charter as
well. Trying to get a nice job. Roger won his 17th Major at
Wimbledon and retook the World No 1 ranking. But the next year was marred by subpar
performances. Back troubles had
reignited. At 32, many wondered if this was the final phase of his career.
Repeatedly, Roger denied this. But the numbers told a different story. No Major
final, just 1 tournament through the year. The semifinal streak had ended a
couple of years back, now the quarter final streak finished too. He was ranked
as low as 8. Too many doubts, too many questions.
Yet, despite all this, every time the list of 128 players for a Major was announced, the Swiss maestro was always there.
I had managed to get a decent job. It was long working
hours. I now moved out of my home city for the first time. Lot of adjustments.
Roger had come back like a whiff of fresh air. Leaving the baseline, he was
attacking the net. He was bringing back the old style. The ATP field was left dazzled
and confused. Second serves were being returned from inside the service box.
His hands, even at the ripe old of 34, were fast enough to block any passing
shot. The love story between tennis and Roger had been breathed a new life. In
the autumn of his career, Roger was teaching the world of tennis a new lesson
of endurance, adaptability and flexibility. Each year, the scheduling was
managed so that the fans could see the magician for a few more years. The burning
desire to win that one more match, one more tournament was the same as it had
been all those years back when he had stepped into the Melbourne Park at the
turn of the millennium. His rivals from that era were in the commentary box
(Roddick), coaching a Davis Cup team and fellow players (Hewitt) or simply
enjoying the post retirement life (Safin).
And what was Roger Federer doing? He was playing every
single Major tournament still. Not only was he playing them, he was reaching
the second weekend with the consistency matched only by one other player.
As I sit on the weekend reminiscing about all the years gone
by, into the 3rd year of my job, I can only thing of one thing.
Dear Father Time, please stop chasing him. For once you catch
him, even God would struggle to create something as peRFect.
