Wimbledon Musings

Sunday, more out of sheer ennui than anything else, I tuned in to the Wimbledon men's final. Wimbledon was technically over for me the day Marat Safin was ousted, then again boredom leads you to give others a chance. I must, however, admit i'm glad i watched it, because of the way it got me thinking about Roger Federer, a man I never imagined I would ever feel truly happy for.

Up until Sunday, Federer was this maddeningly perfect, no-warts, almost bot-like entity who made mistakes only when absolutely driven to it. To me, he was this boring Veni Vedi Vici guy who just came, played, won, and left. Always top-dog, always so sure of himself, always raising the bar a few notches, mechanically winning one match after another, almost as if they were in assembly line for that purpose. All this because, well, he is just so much better than the others in the game. Supreme grace, potentially immense power, clockwork precision. Clearly, nothing could go wrong for this man if he so willed.

In fact, I also chanced upon an article which claimed that Roger Federer was the kind of person who would excel at anything he took up, and that the Hewitt and Roddick ilk should just lament their luck that it was their profession he chose.

On Sunday, quite predictibly, he was on top of his game, and won the game in straight sets. But when he struck the winning serve, he did something funny for Roger Federer, top seed, Wimbledon champ for the third straight year. He fell down on his knees- and cried. Like a rookie who's just won his first game. Or the veteran who's just made a grand comeback. Roger Federer is neither of those - or, in his mind, maybe both.

Wimbledon was the third grand slam of this year, and Federer, who has tasted incessant success in practically everything everywhere, lost the firt two. What self-doubts must have eaten at him? Maybe my time has passed. Maybe i'v lost my edge. Maybe i'm past my peak. Maybe they've figured me out. There was a point there to be proved. Not so much to the thousands in the stands and the millions across the world, as much to that corrosive inner voice that plagues not only you and me, but even the man who virtually rules the world of an entire international sport.

Methinks, that's what the tears were all about. About defeating that much more lethal adversary within. About regaining inner faith. The battle at center court might have been casual, but there was a full-scale war raging inside. Because he acknowledged that war, i begin to believe that Roger Federer is indeed human. And because he couldn't stand being beaten at it, the Wimbledon hattrick victory was the lesser triumph that day.