"Come into my world of clay"

No one out there in sportsland cares about tennis, I know. But that time of year has come when we all, whatever our limitations (e.g. an NBA interest), must take a moment to stand in stupid awe of the Mallorcan beast. Why? He has played, and won, three tournaments in three weeks, dropping only one set along the way--against Novak Djokovic in the Monte Carlo final two weeks ago. This April he set two unthinkable ATP records, winning five consecutive titles at both Monte Carlo and Barcelona; today he added a third, clinching an unprecedented fourth Rome title and earning a fifteenth Master Series shield, one more than Roger Federer, five years his elder, and two fewer than Andre Agassi, who earned his record seventeen shields over an illustrious twenty year career. Nadal began only his eighth year on tour earlier this spring. At twenty two, Nadal has collected six Major titles on three different surfaces, emerged as champion at the French Open four years in a row (equalling Borg's magnificent run from 1978 to 1981), broken past Federer in the Masters race, surpassed Federer in the South African ATP rankings, owned Federer with a 13-6 head to head record, and made Federer cry on more than one occasion. He won the gold medal at the Beijing Olympics, became the first man since Borg to capture back to back French Open and Wimbledon crowns, transformed himself this winter from muscly-armed, Capri-wearing pirate to Disraeliesque gentleman, and, best of all, after defeating Roddick in the Indian Wells semis, when asked whether Roddick had played better this year compared to their meeting in the same event in 2007, Nadal responded, "No. I don't know, no?"

He likes fishing. He eats the same meal at the same restaurant every single day during a tournament. He plays X-box. He blogs about X-box. He lives with his parents. He has a girlfriend but understands that it's more important that she build her own life, away from him, than that she follow him around, pregnant, sporting ostentatious Rafa hats, texting, sighing, and generally cultivating the mystique of the Unbreakable One. He's twenty-two with a thirty-eight and three record this year, unbeaten on clay in his previous thirty matches, twenty-five and one in clay finals, with a sick eighty-one match streak on clay from 2005 to 2007 and an even sicker 97.2 winning percentage on the stuff since 2005.

Critics already consider him the greatest clay court player in history, better than Vilas, better, even, than Borg. At what were you the best in history when you were twenty-two?