No picture for this one, because it wouldn't be appropriate. On the podium tonight, trying to find the right words to explain his loss, console his supporters, and congratulate his opponent, Federer, for the first time I've seen, began to cry, couldn't continue, and had to withdraw. Then, after collecting himself, he returned, did his best in a difficult situation, and said what he needed to say, and what he meant. I don't know if it was the pressure of Sampras's record, or the sudden hysterical chasm that follows the end of adrenaline, or the weight of losing yet again to someone who isn't supposed to beat the best, but for those few minutes, Federer was just a man, just a fragile, beautiful man, and for that moment he never seemed greater, nobler, more wonderful, more winning. When he releases his myth and relaxes back into the vulnerable, finite person his myth disfigures and forgets, he makes me admire him and love him. It was hard to watch that collapse, because as everyone knows, in our grief there is no difference between the best and the worst of us. Everybody is empty in exactly the same way.
I wish him the best, and I'm sorry for his pain. But by losing the tournament, he won something far more important than another clunky title, even if just for a few minutes, even if at the cost of his happiness.
Now I'll shut up about tennis for awhile. Take care, Roger, and well recovered.
1 comment:
Well said. Federer is a true gentleman, and those are hard to come by, these days, in any sport or industry.
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