I think Roger Federer plays Divine Tennis. This is beyond religion.
Perhaps you’re not a big tennis fan. A year ago, I had abso-friggin’-lutely no idea who all these people were –you know, Hewitt, Blake, Nadal, Federer (erer), etc. And I knew Roddick as “the guy Mandy Moore dated.” And everyone knows Agassi, so don’t think me downright dense either. But that’s all changed since I wedded into Love. And Deuce. And Break Point.
And I’ve spent some time watching tennis and liking it. And as we watch the US Open semifinals, I am coming to the aforementioned conclusion.
Saying that Roger Federer made a pact with the Devil would be simplistic at best, and certainly undermining the beauty and simplicity and utter power of his play.
The man barely breaks into a sweat, for crying out loud.
He’s not particularly tall –maybe 6′ — but he commands control of his whole side of the court. And he’s seldom flummoxed by the ball’s activity.
We’re watching him play Lleyton Hewitt right now. While Hewitt flails and flashes and flurries up and down his side of the court, Federer is compact and concise. Even his faults are succint and convincing. Damn…. what an ace!
His swings seem effortless.
His backhand, steady.
No elaborate approaches to the net. No showmanship to speak of.
Just a formidable command of that racket.
Plus now that someone has taken mercy on his appearance, his chestnut hair is not plastered to his forehead giving him the look of a disgruntled hospital orderly. Instead, it bounces at a rogue angle, barely moving out of place as he crushes the psyche of his opponent.
Roger Federer doesn’t just play tennis, I tell you. He is the game. He controls it with patience and a steady hand, and it just goes from there.
No histrionics. No mugging. Just tennis and awe.
(….and won’t I feel like a total moron if he loses this game? –you might wonder)
(… the answer being, “how could he fail? and even if he does, you just gotta see the guy play….”)