Australian Open Thoughts

A little late to talk about the Nadal-Federer Australian Open final, but Amy has been goading me, so, here goes…

Crystal and Silla were gracious enough to host an Australian Open party Sunday morning before the Super Bowl, and I watched the match (without knowing the result) with a group spanning the gamut from people who sort of like tennis to clinically insane fanatics. (And Xiao, who came around the third set and read a presentation on venture capital investment in China.) Some people were rooting so intently for Federer that I became scared for my own safety. I was, as always, rooting for Rafa, and was joined by Fu, who would coach Nadal through the television (and also back in time, since this was on DVR) by screaming “FUCK YOU, RAFA!” at every Nadal unforced error. But like all abusers, Fu says those things out of love. It shows how much she cares.

The one thing we did know in advance was that the match lasted four and a half hours. So while the tennis in the first two sets was played at Nadal and Federer’s typical otherworldly level, there was time for the mind to drift to other subjects. The two chief topics of non-tennis conversation: what the players were wearing, and Roger Federer’s girlfriend. I don’t have much to add on the clothing subject, other than to say that Nadal may like loud colors, but I’m certain that Federer cares much more about his appearance. No one would wear the ridiculous stuff he wears to Wimbledon otherwise.

I’m much more interested in the topic of Federer and his girlfriend, the sort of Swiss analogue to Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett. That’s not really very nice of me to say, obviously Federer’s girlfriend is substantially better looking than Lyle Lovett, though you wouldn’t know it from the reactions I hear. It makes sense though, given the heightened modelesque standards of being a “tennis girlfriend”, and the expectation that Roger Federer, as the longtime epitome of tennis excellence, ought to also excel in the “tennis girlfriend” arena. I do sort of wonder if history has ever had another average-looking woman so constantly derided for her physical appearance. On the face of it, it seems like I’m exaggerating, but I really can’t think of a better example.

Putting appearance aside, I’m more dumbfounded that Federer’s girlfriend travels with him to all tournaments (a relative ATP Tour rarity) and even more so that she handles all his affairs, which I’ve literally never heard another pro tennis player do. To be more specific, his girlfriend is his money manager!!! This caused me to wonder aloud if Federer decided to make his girlfriend his money manager to give her a job, or if Federer is just really lazy, and was already using her as his money manager, and then figured what the hell, I don’t want to meet any new women, I’ll just date my money manager. If it’s the former (which people tell me it is), it speaks volumes about Roger Federer that he would arrange his life this way. I am obviously nowhere near Federer’s tax bracket, and I would be terrified if my (figurative) girlfriend was my money manager! Every time we had a fight, I would be wondering if she was going to shift assets to her own personal untraceable Cayman Islands account the next morning.

The match continued on in masterful fashion; we were all in awe of the shotmaking by both players. Rafa had some isolated moments of sluggishness, but for the most part, he didn’t seem to have serious lingering effects from his semifinal epic against Verdasco. Still, after Federer won to square it at two sets apiece, I returned to what I had been thinking all match – Federer can play better than he’s playing. Significantly better, really. If Sunday was the first time you had seen him, you’d scoff at that statement, but Federer really had played much better hardcourt tennis. He served poorly through the first four sets, had untimely double faults and played nearly all his break points tentatively. Most tellingly, as Patrick McEnroe continued to harp on, he didn’t attack weak second serves with his forehand, content to just dump a backhand back into play. My impression at the end of four sets (even as I screamed “VAMOS!” at no one in particular) was that Nadal was playing his best hardcourt tennis, but Federer had another gear. I figured the fifth set was Federer’s for the taking.

Turns out I was a liiiitttlle off on that one. Fortunately, I only bet on Davydenko matches.

It was hard to watch, that fifth set. Nobody in the room wanted to see the match end that way. I cringed on several of the Federer errors, and it was even more difficult watching Federer himself. Once he went down the break, you could see it on Federer’s face – the match was over, the title would be Rafa’s. Tennis is such a brutal sport in that sense – there’s no teammates to lean on, no coach to offer you encouragement, and no helmet to hide behind. When you play, you play alone. When you sit, you sit alone. The crowd can hear every word of your complaints to the umpire, and the television audience can see every emotion on your face. For 4 hours, Roger Federer was ready to win his second consecutive Grand Slam title and re-assert himself as the greatest in the world. Four sets in, he was right there.

And suddenly, he wasn’t.

It occurs to me that it shouldn’t be a surprise that Federer wept. With the way the match unfolded, and the respective arcs their careers are on, it would practically be a surprise if he didn’t cry. I can’t imagine Federer truly believes he can win at Roland Garros, and even if he wins at Wimbledon (which I think he likely will), it will take another US Open win for Federer to reclaim his perch. That has to burn just as much as the loss – barring a miracle at the French Open, he won’t really have an opportunity to be again considered the best until September.

The basic narrative of men’s tennis has been the majestic king fending off the fearless upstart since 2005. Suffice it to say, that story is going to need a rewrite.