It was January 2014, and I stayed up all night to watch tennis. The men’s final of the Australian Open was to be held half a world away in Melbourne, and because of the time difference, it would start at 3 a.m. local time here at Tufts.On one side of the court stood the substantial underdog Stanislas Wawrinka. Across the net stood his opponent, my reason for watching. Rafael Nadal lost that match, and I cried. His recurring injury history resurfaced at the worst time, on the biggest stage, and the match turned into a surreal exhibition; Nadal’s balky back limited his movement, suppressed his serve and extinguished the prospect of victory that had staved off my sleep.
Tennis is not my favorite sport. But Rafael Nadal is my favorite athlete.
In July 2008, I watched my first full tennis match. It was the greatest match ever played. I watched with the uncomfortable zeal of the uninformed fan, craving desperately a rooting interest to cheer for but wholly unqualified to justify or explain my choice of Rafael Nadal. He was still the underdog then, playing against the unfaltering Federer, and the contrast in the styles was evident even to me. Federer’s serenity and control was hypnotic. Nadal’s insistent ferocity and unrelenting presence were unavoidable. Nadal faced 13 break points that day. He won 12 of those points. He also won the match. Over the years, Nadal would be pushed to the brink time and time again, ready (or so it seemed) to yield a point or a set or a match. In these moments, he refused to bow. If a player was going to succumb to the pressure, to his adversary's will, it was always going to be his opponent.
Jeff and Stan Van Gundy, the lovable NBA coaching brothers, have said numerous times that the toughest thing to coach in sports is an aging superstar. Watching your beloved icon age and decline isn’t easy either.
That January night, I watched Nadal receive treatment on his back and refuse to forfeit the match so that he could lose properly. I agonized over the loss but didn’t know then that it was the beginning of the end. In the two years since that match, Nadal has won only one major, fallen in the rankings, seen his various maladies frustrate him and beat him down. He is the greatest clay court player ever and one of the most accomplished on all surfaces. He could retire tomorrow -- as some are calling for him to -- and be remembered as one of the truly great champions of the sport. I know the day is coming when Nadal steps away, but that day is not today, and I hope it is not tomorrow. When the French Open swelters into Nadal’s season this June, the red clay of Roland Garros will be someone else's kingdom to defend for only the second time in a decade. Rafa will not be favored, and he will almost certainly not win. But he will try.
Flashes of Brilliance: Rafa
