Ok, it's official now. I can't motivate myself to write anything here any more. So here's a link to the stuff I've been writing about (surprise, surprise!) tennis, on the sports website www.sportskeeda.com.
http://www.sportskeeda.com/author/musababid/
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Monday, March 23, 2009
Doing It In Style
The match traveled all the way to the brink of excitement—two set points for Mr. Sauce in the second—only to be turned back to the routine at the last second. It's funny how differently we can perceive the quality of the same set of events: From my view in the stadium, I would have graded the match at B; in their pressers, Federer and Verdasco each said that the level of play had been poor; but watching a few games on a TV at my hotel later, it looked like fantastic, fast-paced tennis. The two people watching near me were certainly impressed. They were almost falling off their chairs at some of the rallies. "Look at Federer," a woman exulted, "he knows everything!" I thought I'd already heard all the compliments I would ever hear about the man, but that one was new. - Steve Tignor. How odd is it that lost amid the ridiculously frivolous and endearingly indignant pages of a tennis message board is a piece of writing so loaded with sparkling wit and understated humour that it almost seems like the work of an accomplished genius. Then again, Steve Tignor probably is a writing genius. I've been reading his columns on the site www.tennis.com since about a year and I can't stop marveling at the remarkable variety and flowing arrangement of thoughts in his articles that keep you hooked right till the very end. It helps, of course, that a large number of his columns are dedicated to the ubiquitous Mr. Federer.
Why am I doing this? Why must I insist on talking about Roger Federer when the tennis story of the week is clearly the frightfully machine-like march of Rafael Nadal towards greatness and unmatched glory? Nadal dusted off Andy Murray 6-1,6-2 in the final of the Indian Wells Masters tournament, the same Murray who's lately taken to giving Federer all sorts of fits while establishing a 6-2 head-to-head record against the possible GOAT (Greatest Of All Time, for the uninformed). Federer is no longer the No. 1 player in the world, he's lost his last 5 matches against Nadal, he's not getting any younger at 27 and is probably unlikely to ever add the elusive French Open crown to his collection of Grand Slam titles. At what point does the man stop being the most illustrious fodder for news, speculation and opinion?
Admittedly, Federer's PR team hasn't exactly been doing its best to keep things low-key. Federer's heart-tugging show of emotion after being vanquished by Nadal in the Australian Open final set the ball rolling (to be fair, however, Federer's PR team probably had nothing to do with Federer's tears, judging by the almost universal bad press heaped on the man after the incident); then came the 'leak' of the fact that Federer's back still wasn't 100 % healed after the injury he suffered last fall. If that weren't enough, Federer's team decided to let the world know that he was flirting with the idea of hiring Darren Cahill, the man widely regarded as the ideal match for Federer's understated dedication to the sport, as a coach - reports about the training sessions the two were having together in Dubai were stealthily and steadily fed to eager ears, leading to much wagging of tongues and scratching of heads. Excitement and joy among Federer fans at this development rose to a fever-pitch, until the bubble was burst with Federer announcing, with a perfectly straight face, that Cahill had turned down the job. Finally, of course, came the big news - Federer and his girlfriend Mirka were expecting their first child "in the summer". Is it just me, or do all of these announcements seem calculated to keep the 13-time Grand Slam champion in the heart of all tennis news? Federer's PR guys must be working overtime. And yet, they needn't have, because Federer is news no matter what he says or does or doesn't say or doesn't do - minor collateral damage that comes from winning 13 Grand Slams and being ranked No.1 for 237 consecutive weeks. It's hard to keep off the name Roger Federer when you're trying to write anything even remotely connected to tennis, and my poor little blog is no exception.
Is Federer being unreasonably stubborn about his game in this inevitable period of his career - the period of decline? Experts have been saying for years that Federer's one-handed backhand, while a breathtakingly gorgeous tennis shot, is simply incapable of holding its own in extended crosscourt rallies to Nadal's viciously spinning forehand. And yet, Federer repeatedly insists on trying to trade beautiful backhands for crushing forehands in nearly every rally of every match he plays against Nadal, often to less than spectacular results. Federer doesn't use his almost-legendary backhand slice nearly enough in his matches against Nadal, and no one seems to know why. His second serve returns continue to be bunted back rather than blasted to the lines the way most experts want him to. Is there really a simple explanation for all of these apparent acts of idiocy? There's been a lot of talk of Nadal's willingness to adapt his game, his style, even himself, to the necessities of battle. In other words, Nadal will do anything to win, and will take a win no matter how it comes about. Roger Federer, on the other hand, gives off the impression that he wants to win in his own style. And while this may seem like a counter-productive attitude at the moment, I believe that when all is said and done, history will reflect kindly on this line of thinking of Federer's.
Federer has always been a traditionalist - the awe and respect that he accords to the game's greats like Rod Laver and Bjorn Borg stand testimony to this fact. But Federer has also been a connoiseur of style and beauty. His one-handed backhand, which is both a devastating asset and a fragile liability at the same time, is perhps the best evidence of this. I can almost imagine an exasperated coach urging a 6-year-old Roger to use both hands on his backhand to gain greater control and power, but to no avail, because little Roger would keep saying "but it looks so much prettier when I use one hand!" Much has been written about Federer's almost balletic movement on the court - people have been known to say that Federer looks like he's flying when he's running around on the court; the term 'full-flight Federer' could not have been more apt for the man on one of his good days. His right hand, while capable of cutting a swathe through the court with a scorching forehand, also has remarkable touch and finesse - his volleys and dropshots are more aesthetic than seems possible for tennis shots. Is it possible, even conceivable, that Federer would have preserved all of these abilities if he had been as willing as Nadal to adapt to the necessities of battle? Would his forehand have looked as majestic if he had learned to put more topspin on it to reduce the errors that now flow so liberally off it? Would his brand of tennis been as eye-pleasing and attractive as it has been over the years if he had been content to lapse into 30-shot rallies built on patience and perseverance?
Federer is a gifted athlete who probably believes he has the divine right to defeat every man across the net from it. While there may be considerably more than a touch of arrogance in that belief, it cannot be denied that it has given us some of the most spectacular tennis that has ever been seen in history. His period of dominance, from 2004 to 2007, will likely be held up as the most magnificent exhibition of artistry and brilliance by any man or woman to have held a racquet. And those glory years would never have happened if Federer hadn't believed, from the outset, that his backhand could hold up against any shot that could be produced by even the most gifted of tennis players. Arrogance is sometimes necessary to become a champion, and so is being a sore loser. Just ask Serena Williams. A player like Rafael Nadal, on the other hand, seems to summon his fighting abilities from the belief that he may not possess a counter for every strike that his opponent throws at him, but he'll find a way to win by constantly improving every single skill he knows. These are two very different, almost diametrically oppposite ways to approach a contest, and the question as to which approach is the more effective one can probably only be answered when the careers of both Federer and Nadal are over.
Federer may likely never regain his form of old, and he may never defeat Nadal or Murray again. Why, he may never even win another Grand Slam title again. But that's alright, because he won all that he could when he played in his own style. And that style was a joy to behold.
P.S. If this post seems like a thinly disguised way to put a positive spin to Federer's depressing run of results of late, then I plead guilty.
Why am I doing this? Why must I insist on talking about Roger Federer when the tennis story of the week is clearly the frightfully machine-like march of Rafael Nadal towards greatness and unmatched glory? Nadal dusted off Andy Murray 6-1,6-2 in the final of the Indian Wells Masters tournament, the same Murray who's lately taken to giving Federer all sorts of fits while establishing a 6-2 head-to-head record against the possible GOAT (Greatest Of All Time, for the uninformed). Federer is no longer the No. 1 player in the world, he's lost his last 5 matches against Nadal, he's not getting any younger at 27 and is probably unlikely to ever add the elusive French Open crown to his collection of Grand Slam titles. At what point does the man stop being the most illustrious fodder for news, speculation and opinion?
Admittedly, Federer's PR team hasn't exactly been doing its best to keep things low-key. Federer's heart-tugging show of emotion after being vanquished by Nadal in the Australian Open final set the ball rolling (to be fair, however, Federer's PR team probably had nothing to do with Federer's tears, judging by the almost universal bad press heaped on the man after the incident); then came the 'leak' of the fact that Federer's back still wasn't 100 % healed after the injury he suffered last fall. If that weren't enough, Federer's team decided to let the world know that he was flirting with the idea of hiring Darren Cahill, the man widely regarded as the ideal match for Federer's understated dedication to the sport, as a coach - reports about the training sessions the two were having together in Dubai were stealthily and steadily fed to eager ears, leading to much wagging of tongues and scratching of heads. Excitement and joy among Federer fans at this development rose to a fever-pitch, until the bubble was burst with Federer announcing, with a perfectly straight face, that Cahill had turned down the job. Finally, of course, came the big news - Federer and his girlfriend Mirka were expecting their first child "in the summer". Is it just me, or do all of these announcements seem calculated to keep the 13-time Grand Slam champion in the heart of all tennis news? Federer's PR guys must be working overtime. And yet, they needn't have, because Federer is news no matter what he says or does or doesn't say or doesn't do - minor collateral damage that comes from winning 13 Grand Slams and being ranked No.1 for 237 consecutive weeks. It's hard to keep off the name Roger Federer when you're trying to write anything even remotely connected to tennis, and my poor little blog is no exception.
Is Federer being unreasonably stubborn about his game in this inevitable period of his career - the period of decline? Experts have been saying for years that Federer's one-handed backhand, while a breathtakingly gorgeous tennis shot, is simply incapable of holding its own in extended crosscourt rallies to Nadal's viciously spinning forehand. And yet, Federer repeatedly insists on trying to trade beautiful backhands for crushing forehands in nearly every rally of every match he plays against Nadal, often to less than spectacular results. Federer doesn't use his almost-legendary backhand slice nearly enough in his matches against Nadal, and no one seems to know why. His second serve returns continue to be bunted back rather than blasted to the lines the way most experts want him to. Is there really a simple explanation for all of these apparent acts of idiocy? There's been a lot of talk of Nadal's willingness to adapt his game, his style, even himself, to the necessities of battle. In other words, Nadal will do anything to win, and will take a win no matter how it comes about. Roger Federer, on the other hand, gives off the impression that he wants to win in his own style. And while this may seem like a counter-productive attitude at the moment, I believe that when all is said and done, history will reflect kindly on this line of thinking of Federer's.
Federer has always been a traditionalist - the awe and respect that he accords to the game's greats like Rod Laver and Bjorn Borg stand testimony to this fact. But Federer has also been a connoiseur of style and beauty. His one-handed backhand, which is both a devastating asset and a fragile liability at the same time, is perhps the best evidence of this. I can almost imagine an exasperated coach urging a 6-year-old Roger to use both hands on his backhand to gain greater control and power, but to no avail, because little Roger would keep saying "but it looks so much prettier when I use one hand!" Much has been written about Federer's almost balletic movement on the court - people have been known to say that Federer looks like he's flying when he's running around on the court; the term 'full-flight Federer' could not have been more apt for the man on one of his good days. His right hand, while capable of cutting a swathe through the court with a scorching forehand, also has remarkable touch and finesse - his volleys and dropshots are more aesthetic than seems possible for tennis shots. Is it possible, even conceivable, that Federer would have preserved all of these abilities if he had been as willing as Nadal to adapt to the necessities of battle? Would his forehand have looked as majestic if he had learned to put more topspin on it to reduce the errors that now flow so liberally off it? Would his brand of tennis been as eye-pleasing and attractive as it has been over the years if he had been content to lapse into 30-shot rallies built on patience and perseverance?
Federer is a gifted athlete who probably believes he has the divine right to defeat every man across the net from it. While there may be considerably more than a touch of arrogance in that belief, it cannot be denied that it has given us some of the most spectacular tennis that has ever been seen in history. His period of dominance, from 2004 to 2007, will likely be held up as the most magnificent exhibition of artistry and brilliance by any man or woman to have held a racquet. And those glory years would never have happened if Federer hadn't believed, from the outset, that his backhand could hold up against any shot that could be produced by even the most gifted of tennis players. Arrogance is sometimes necessary to become a champion, and so is being a sore loser. Just ask Serena Williams. A player like Rafael Nadal, on the other hand, seems to summon his fighting abilities from the belief that he may not possess a counter for every strike that his opponent throws at him, but he'll find a way to win by constantly improving every single skill he knows. These are two very different, almost diametrically oppposite ways to approach a contest, and the question as to which approach is the more effective one can probably only be answered when the careers of both Federer and Nadal are over.
Federer may likely never regain his form of old, and he may never defeat Nadal or Murray again. Why, he may never even win another Grand Slam title again. But that's alright, because he won all that he could when he played in his own style. And that style was a joy to behold.
P.S. If this post seems like a thinly disguised way to put a positive spin to Federer's depressing run of results of late, then I plead guilty.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
C Is For Complaining
For many years I'd considered the axiom "Humans are fundamentally greedy" as the one unshakeable truth that would forever stand the test of time, space and everything else in between. Now, however, I've come to the realization that that there may be another dictum that is so forceful and inflexible that it can supplement, if not altogether replace, the 'humans are greedy' idea. Be warned, this is not a groundbreaking new theory that I've arrived upon through a divine flash of inspired genius; it's just something I've noticed that has, thus far in my short span of life experiences, stood the test of every variable in existence. Before I get any deeper into this rambling mode of mine that I so often get stuck in, I'll pronounce my great discovery as concisely as possible. So here goes - Human beings are inherently inclined to complain. Alright, that may not have been very concise, but at least I managed to steer clear of the dramatics. Which can only be a good thing.
Think about it - we complain about everything under the sun. We just like to complain. We may go blue in the face denying this, but there really is no going around our undying fondness for complaining and criticizing. No conversation seems complete unless we bitch about something, whether that thing is in our own backyard or in some far-flung place halfway across the globe. Take the case of Raj Thackerey and the wondrous bunch of TV News channels in our country, for instance. The other day when Mr. Thackerey cut a cake on his birthday, a whole heap of people went up in arms over the supposedly evil way in which he brandished the knife before committing the deed. Then one of the anchormen on one of the news channels felt duty-bound to admonish the immaturity of these complainers, solemnly declaring that what goes on in a politician's household is no one's business but his own. And then the next day at work I couldn't stop complaining about the alternately hilarious and nerve-gratingly annoying news channels that we are blessed with in India. Of course, this sordid pile of complaints would never have come into being if Raj Thackerey hadn't felt the need, in the first place, to bitch about all people who exist outside Maharashtra. You see, this is one depressing chain of events that is much worse than the cliched 'vicious cycles'.
Work. I can never tire of complaining about work. Actually, no one can, as far as I know. We constantly complain about how our workplace bears an uncanny resemblance to hell, and we never get bored of proclaiming that nothing in the world is more boring than our work. And when we reach our sorrowful offices, we happily (or sadly, to be technically correct yet conceptually wrong) indulge in good old-fashioned office gossip, which is just another term for complaining about our colleagues. And the less said about the words we choose when talking about our bosses the better.
We whine about the poor infrastructure in our country (and that includes everything from our shoddy roads to our appalling education system) and we gripe about the politicians who apparently don't take steps to improve that infrastructure quickly enough. Heck, we even bemoan the political, moral (!) and economic conditions in countries other than our own, specially in the rich ones likes the US and the UK. We complain about the bad movies that are inflicted on us by clueless filmmakers in the name of cinema, and, when shown the 'House full' board at the ticket counter of our favourite multiplex, we grieve about how people are such losers that they have nothing better to do than go to the movies on a Sunday morning . We grouse about the restrictions imposed on us by our families, and we discover that taking digs at the most obnoxious member of our friends' group is the best pastime in the world.
I, of course, have my own set of pet complaints which give me a particular and oddly comforting pleasure. I grumble, loudly, when my room is messed up by the slightest amount imaginable. I never waste an opportunity to eloquently narrate to anyone who'd listen how incredibly tiring it is for me to travel some 60 km everyday to get to my workplace. I dramatically lament about how we still seem to live in the dark ages every time we have a power cut, and I curse my mobile service provider when I receive my phone bill every month. I condemn every single commuter I lay my eyes on when I'm stuck in a traffic jam (I think I need hardly mention how much disgust I express about the government and its road maintainence programmes at such times) and I grouse about rising costs when I go to my favourite restaurant and find that the rates have increased yet again. I blame everything from bad luck with the cards to the dishonest ways of my opponents when I lose a Pictionary game, and I say without remorse, when I strum out a particularly ill-tuned chord on my guitar, that my guitar strings need to be changed, all the while grimly muttering about how little time I get to practise or go to a guitar-learning class. I criticize the stupid draw system followed by the tennis tournament organizers when Roger Federer loses at any stage before the final of a tournament, and I abuse my ancient computer when, at the most riveting point of a tennis match, it slows down inexplicably and kills the live stream that I'd found after so much tireless scrounging. I think I could go on and on with this list of mine; fortunately, I've got work tomorrow so I have to wrap this post up sooner rather than later. God, that was one remarkably depressing sentence.
There are some things, of course, that I can find nothing to complain about. The movie Wall-E, for example. Watched it last week, and although I confess I was fully prepared to fall in love with it because of the glowing reviews it had received from nearly all quarters, I can fairly say that it is a stunning achievement in film-making whichever way you look at it. The guys up at the Pixar studio (incidentally, the last movie made by Pixar was the equally delightful Ratatouille) must have some seriously creative guys at the helm to have come up with as heart-warming a gem as Wall-E. The animation is gorgeous, the characters absolutely lovable and the premise immensely original and thought-provoking. If you thought The Dark Knight was genius, wait till you watch Wall-E. How I wish the Oscar jury members would get some sense knocked into their heads; if they don't nominate both of these movies for Best Picture they'd really prove themselves as the biggest bunch of knucklheads ever. Ahem, there I go again. We humans really are inherently inclined to complain, aren't we.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Shaking Off The Rust
I'd like to say that I've spent the last 3 and a half months gallantly travelling around the world, meeting flamboyant people and experiencing memorable adventures, which is why I haven't been able to post anything since the beginning of July. Proudly declaring that I made some radical career decisions and have embarked on my career of choice - an unconventional, risky path that everyone advised me against - would have had a nice ring to it too. Heck, I'd even settle for having had the opportunity to say that I've finally started - and finished - writing the book that I've long been dreaming of writing, and am now anxiously hunting for a publisher bold enough to let my work of art go to print. To now say that I've not even come close to doing any of these things sounds so depressing that I'm already starting to regret writing this post. And precisely as I finish typing this astonishingly sorrowful sentence, a bunch of really really loud Diwali firecrackers go off in the distance, almost making me jump from my chair. 'Ironical' doesn't even begin to describe it.
3 and a half months is a really long time. And yet, all I've been able to do in that really long period is continue with my same boring old routine which goes something like this - work, get tired, eat, remain tired, sleep, remain tired, and work again. Oh, somewhere in the midst of this routine I have had the time to develop and solidify a deep hatred for my job, watch a few movies, wonder why Ernests Gulbis, the 20-year-old tennis player from with Latvia with THE talent keeps getting the worst draws imaginable in the big tournaments (I mean come on - Nadal in the Wimbledon second round, Roddick in the US Open second round and Nadal AGAIN in the Madrid Masters second round? You've got to be kidding me.) and muse indifferently at how weird it is that the global economy, and consequently the entire world and all of its people, really, depend on such few unpredictable, unreliable, lottery-like and completely manipulable elements like stock markets and real estate markets. I'd also like to have been able to say that I spent some time during my hiatus trying to find ways to shorten my sentences in my blog posts, but then, wouldn't that be too obvious a lie?
I hate my work. Period. It's so easy to say something like that. I don't know when exactly this hatred started, but I can assure you that it is in its full bloom right now. Of course, the fact that my current assignment requires me to travel on my bike for 60 km everyday (sometimes in the midst of pouring rain, and frequently through mind-numbingly frustrating traffic jams) contributes a great deal to that loathing. But I've come to the realization that I'd probably hate anything that I have to do, whether it's for earning money or for getting a degree. I can enjoy doing something, anything, only as long as I do it of my own free discretion. Heck, I'd probably start hating Harry Potter if I had it as a subject of my course material. I don't know why this is so; I don't even know whether everyone else is destined to suffer this awful fate or I'm the only woebegone one. Deep thoughts these - I think I need PLENTY of leisure time to adequately reflect on them.
Watched a fair few movies the past few months. I was completely bedazzled, enthralled and awed by the phenomenon that was The Dark Knight, both in my first viewing AND my second one, possibly even more in the second one. It makes me feel so good that I had declared Chris Nolan my favourite Hollywood director to anyone who'd listen more than a year before everyone else watched The Dark Knght and started jumping on the Nolan bandwagon. Rock On!! was good, but I really wasn't as impressed by it as most people seem to be (I know I'm nit-picking, but just why couldn't the director have asked Arjun Rampal to at least make an effort to look like he was actually playing the guitar?). Kidnap was tremendously funny; I simply cannot get Imran Khan's priceless expressions out of my head, specially the one when he mouths "Main tumhara kal, aur tumhar kal hoon" in a supposedly sinister voice. And they said the kid was a promising actor. I missed out on all those meaningful flicks like Mumbai Meir Jaan, A Wednesday, even Body Of Lies, but frankly, I think I'm a little tired of the terrorist theme being played out in nearly every single movie being released these days. The movie that I truly, truly regret missing out on is Wall-E; I have no idea when the movie was released in India, let alone when it was pulled out of theatres. Now I have no option but to wait for the DVD release, which is going to be sometime next month. I can't believe I watch all the piece of trash movies in the world but pass over the only animated movie in the past 20 years that is being talked up for a Best Picture nomination at the Oscars. I cannot believe this.
In other news, it has been confirmed that Jelena Jankovic is going to end the year as the world's No.1 tennis player, as is Rafael Nadal on the men's side, but for once, the women are causing a greater stir than the men among tennis fans. Jankovic, as has been widely asserted, has never triumphed at a Grand Slam, has only been in a Grand Slam final once (this year at the US Open) and has played the most matches on tour this year, losing as many as 17 matches. Serena Williams, on the other hand, won this year's US Open (and has won 8 other Slams overall), was part of a breathtaking Wimbledon final against her sister Venus, and lost just 7 matches throughout the year. I'm sorry, but in my opinion it simply doesn't make sense that Jankovic will end the year No.1 while Serena will be languishing at No.3. Jankovic does care about rankings a lot more than Serena, I'll give her that; but how fair is a ranking system that allows a player to play a bunch of tournaments towards the end of the year (incidentally, the 'end of the year' period in tennis is the period when most of the big guns have trouble gathering up enough motivation and energy to get through their matches with their reputations intact) and usurp the top ranking from a player who has just re-affirmed that she is the only player on tour who can blow away the competition (unless that competition is her sister) when fully fit and healthy? Someone should be asking this question to the WTA bigwigs.
I took so long to write this post that the fireworks, which at one point seemed capable of blowing a hole through my wall, have now been reduced to an occasional bang here and a half-hearted thud there. I guess that's a sign for me to wrap things up. This looks like one of my worst blog posts ever. But it's alright. I'm rusty. I won't think of it now. Tomorrow is a new day. God, I need to end this before it gets any cornier.
Monday, July 7, 2008
THE Match
Clearly, there's not much I can say about Sunday's match between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal that will add anything whatsoever to the myriads of columns, articles, opinions and reactions that have already been voiced and written by all sorts of people all over the world. It doesn't help, of course, that I am actually at a loss for words to do adequate justice to the match that was of such epic proportions that it still seems a little beyond belief. Which is why I think I'll put aside any thoughts of an objective analysis or technical evaluation of the match and instead, write about it purely from the perspective of a Roger Federer fan. It might be a little more painful, but it will surely be more fruitful, no? (Forgive the Nadal imitation; it's become something of trend to add a 'no' at the end of every sentence these days).
Some people are calling this the greatest match in the history of tennis, and nearly everybody agrees that this was the defining match of our generation. Was it better than the Borg-McEnroe Wimby final of 1980? The jury is still out on that, but certainly, this match had everything, if having everything is the basis on which such things are judged. It had a confident, assured start by Nadal which served as an appetizing teaser; a stirring comeback by Federer to keep the ball rolling, and a relentless, hit-till-you-drop 5th set that took the rivalry to as dizzying a pinnacle as anyone could have hoped for. Throw in a couple of dramatically timed rain delays and a finish in near darkness with the flashbulbs of innumerable cameras sparkling upon the court like some kind of divine rapture from the skies and you have a transcendent sporting moment that will perhaps never be witnessed again. When the match finally ended after 4 hours and 48 minutes - incidentally, this was the longest-ever Wimbledon final - and Nadal fell to the ground in part relief, part disbelief, and part life-changing ecstasy, did anyone even remember the extremely high stakes that had rested on the match, the remarkable slice of history that Federer had been denied or the extraordinary accomplishment (the French-Wimby double that hasn't been seen since the days of, oh, Bjorn Borg and 1980) that Nadal had just achieved?
For a Federer fan, the match provided plenty of moments to savour and keep in memory, although I'm sure most Federer fans would actually want to quickly forget this match in its entirety. Federer began the match as badly as anyone could have feared, and seemed to realize soon enough that he would have to summon his TMF (TMF=The Mighty Federer, a delightful little term coined by members of the site www.tennis.com) mode to make a match of this. And summon TMF mode he did, racing away to a 4-2 lead in the second, seemingly gaining control of proceedings. But Nadal, in what has become scarily customary manner now, staged a brilliant comeback, and all of a sudden memories of Roger letting slip those 4-0 and 5-1 leads in Monte Carlo and Hamburg came painfully rushing back. Almost expectedly, Federer's level dropped, and by the middle of the 3rd set he was shanking backhands all over the place. At 3-3 in the third, Federer went 0-40 down on his serve, and even the most optimistic of Federer fans must have given up hope then (I know I almost switched off the TV after Nadal took the second set). But Federer's serve, as it has so often required to do throughout his career, bailed him out, and Federer survived. His bad temper lingered, however, and in the next game he let his grumpy side come out in full force, making such ridiculous challenges on baseline calls right at his feet that it seemed he was going prematurely senile. Muttering and grumbling away in typical Federer fashion, he somehow managed to hang in there till the rains came pouring down, giving him a much needed break for perhaps a few calming words from girlfriend Mirka and a cooling off under some ice cold water. When play resumed, of course, TMF mode was back, and he took the 3rd before most people watching it at home had even realized that the match had resumed.
The 4th set tie-breaker was perhaps the most spectacular display of tennis and spell-binding drama that anyone will ever get to see. Leading 5-2 with two serves in hand, Nadal choked; a double fault was followed by a backhand error, and when a player as mentally strong as Nadal chokes, you know that the match means much, much more than a Grand Slam title or 1000 ranking points. Federer then got yet another opportunity to show why Wimbledon is supposed to be his house, striking a backhand passing winner down the line on championship point. It was a shot so unforgettable and so unfreakingbelievable that it seemed like a travesty when they continued to the next point, instead of giving the TV broadcasters time to show maybe a 100 replays of it.
When the match went to a 5th set the general feeling was that the momentum had swung irrevocably in Federer's favour, and when Nadal went down a break point at 4-3, it seemed only a matter of time before the 6th consecutive title was in Federer's fashionable little bag. But Nadal had other ideas, keeping up his magnificent serving and refusing to let Federer get another sniff, in spite of the distinct disadvantage that he had of serving behind in the final set. Federer frequently went down double break points on his own serve, and with every ace or service winner that he thundered down on these points, the Nadal fans all over the world must have been trying their hardest not to remember those squandered break points from last year's final. After a point it got so, I don't know, routine that I could only laugh in amazement every time Federer fired yet another ace when he was in trouble on his serve. Has there ever been a better example of clutch serving in the history of tennis? I guess I'll have to dig out some of those Pete Sampras clips on youtube to answer that. Eventually, of course, Federer could not keep up in the face of the unremitting attacks by the Spaniard, and Nadal finally had the break to go up 8-7. And yet, there was more drama in store. Down another championship point at 7-8, 30-40, Federer came up with a return of serve that one commentator described as "the best return of serve that I've ever seen", only to falter a few moments later when an errant forehand found the net. Tell me, what did this match not have?
I didn't have the heart to watch the post-match ceremony, switching off the TV after Nadal had climbed down from the stands having embraced and rejoiced and cried with his support team. Federer looked so forlorn and lost that it seemed almost an invasion into his privacy to even watch him sitting on his chair, staring blankly into oblivion and trying, and failing, to look unbroken by the result of the match. I've been told that he almost broke into tears during an interview with John McEnroe some time after the match, and I'm fervently thankful that I didn't have to see that. Why was this match so important? Surely, Federer will have many more chances to win Wimbledon. Undeniably, Nadal has many more years to prove and reinforce his mastery over grass, if he hadn't already done that before this match. Even the rankings haven't been greatly affected by the result - it's still highly likely that Federer will end the year ranked No. 1. On Sunday, the Federer-Nadal rivalry touched its zenith, a dazzling peak that will perhaps remain untouched and forever ensconced in folklore and legend, and it was a crest that transcended all cause and reason. It was sport in its purest, most enthralling form. After the match, I felt really really sorry for Federer, but I felt sorrier for all the people in the world who don't have the chance, or in some cases don't want, to watch and witness the glory of sport.
P.S.: I also feel sorry for Venus Williams, whose remarkable 5th Wimbledon crown and the fantastic final she put up with sister Serena are destined to be forgotten and relegated to the after-thoughts heap in the face of the incredible, incredible men's final.
Some people are calling this the greatest match in the history of tennis, and nearly everybody agrees that this was the defining match of our generation. Was it better than the Borg-McEnroe Wimby final of 1980? The jury is still out on that, but certainly, this match had everything, if having everything is the basis on which such things are judged. It had a confident, assured start by Nadal which served as an appetizing teaser; a stirring comeback by Federer to keep the ball rolling, and a relentless, hit-till-you-drop 5th set that took the rivalry to as dizzying a pinnacle as anyone could have hoped for. Throw in a couple of dramatically timed rain delays and a finish in near darkness with the flashbulbs of innumerable cameras sparkling upon the court like some kind of divine rapture from the skies and you have a transcendent sporting moment that will perhaps never be witnessed again. When the match finally ended after 4 hours and 48 minutes - incidentally, this was the longest-ever Wimbledon final - and Nadal fell to the ground in part relief, part disbelief, and part life-changing ecstasy, did anyone even remember the extremely high stakes that had rested on the match, the remarkable slice of history that Federer had been denied or the extraordinary accomplishment (the French-Wimby double that hasn't been seen since the days of, oh, Bjorn Borg and 1980) that Nadal had just achieved?
For a Federer fan, the match provided plenty of moments to savour and keep in memory, although I'm sure most Federer fans would actually want to quickly forget this match in its entirety. Federer began the match as badly as anyone could have feared, and seemed to realize soon enough that he would have to summon his TMF (TMF=The Mighty Federer, a delightful little term coined by members of the site www.tennis.com) mode to make a match of this. And summon TMF mode he did, racing away to a 4-2 lead in the second, seemingly gaining control of proceedings. But Nadal, in what has become scarily customary manner now, staged a brilliant comeback, and all of a sudden memories of Roger letting slip those 4-0 and 5-1 leads in Monte Carlo and Hamburg came painfully rushing back. Almost expectedly, Federer's level dropped, and by the middle of the 3rd set he was shanking backhands all over the place. At 3-3 in the third, Federer went 0-40 down on his serve, and even the most optimistic of Federer fans must have given up hope then (I know I almost switched off the TV after Nadal took the second set). But Federer's serve, as it has so often required to do throughout his career, bailed him out, and Federer survived. His bad temper lingered, however, and in the next game he let his grumpy side come out in full force, making such ridiculous challenges on baseline calls right at his feet that it seemed he was going prematurely senile. Muttering and grumbling away in typical Federer fashion, he somehow managed to hang in there till the rains came pouring down, giving him a much needed break for perhaps a few calming words from girlfriend Mirka and a cooling off under some ice cold water. When play resumed, of course, TMF mode was back, and he took the 3rd before most people watching it at home had even realized that the match had resumed.
The 4th set tie-breaker was perhaps the most spectacular display of tennis and spell-binding drama that anyone will ever get to see. Leading 5-2 with two serves in hand, Nadal choked; a double fault was followed by a backhand error, and when a player as mentally strong as Nadal chokes, you know that the match means much, much more than a Grand Slam title or 1000 ranking points. Federer then got yet another opportunity to show why Wimbledon is supposed to be his house, striking a backhand passing winner down the line on championship point. It was a shot so unforgettable and so unfreakingbelievable that it seemed like a travesty when they continued to the next point, instead of giving the TV broadcasters time to show maybe a 100 replays of it.
When the match went to a 5th set the general feeling was that the momentum had swung irrevocably in Federer's favour, and when Nadal went down a break point at 4-3, it seemed only a matter of time before the 6th consecutive title was in Federer's fashionable little bag. But Nadal had other ideas, keeping up his magnificent serving and refusing to let Federer get another sniff, in spite of the distinct disadvantage that he had of serving behind in the final set. Federer frequently went down double break points on his own serve, and with every ace or service winner that he thundered down on these points, the Nadal fans all over the world must have been trying their hardest not to remember those squandered break points from last year's final. After a point it got so, I don't know, routine that I could only laugh in amazement every time Federer fired yet another ace when he was in trouble on his serve. Has there ever been a better example of clutch serving in the history of tennis? I guess I'll have to dig out some of those Pete Sampras clips on youtube to answer that. Eventually, of course, Federer could not keep up in the face of the unremitting attacks by the Spaniard, and Nadal finally had the break to go up 8-7. And yet, there was more drama in store. Down another championship point at 7-8, 30-40, Federer came up with a return of serve that one commentator described as "the best return of serve that I've ever seen", only to falter a few moments later when an errant forehand found the net. Tell me, what did this match not have?
I didn't have the heart to watch the post-match ceremony, switching off the TV after Nadal had climbed down from the stands having embraced and rejoiced and cried with his support team. Federer looked so forlorn and lost that it seemed almost an invasion into his privacy to even watch him sitting on his chair, staring blankly into oblivion and trying, and failing, to look unbroken by the result of the match. I've been told that he almost broke into tears during an interview with John McEnroe some time after the match, and I'm fervently thankful that I didn't have to see that. Why was this match so important? Surely, Federer will have many more chances to win Wimbledon. Undeniably, Nadal has many more years to prove and reinforce his mastery over grass, if he hadn't already done that before this match. Even the rankings haven't been greatly affected by the result - it's still highly likely that Federer will end the year ranked No. 1. On Sunday, the Federer-Nadal rivalry touched its zenith, a dazzling peak that will perhaps remain untouched and forever ensconced in folklore and legend, and it was a crest that transcended all cause and reason. It was sport in its purest, most enthralling form. After the match, I felt really really sorry for Federer, but I felt sorrier for all the people in the world who don't have the chance, or in some cases don't want, to watch and witness the glory of sport.
P.S.: I also feel sorry for Venus Williams, whose remarkable 5th Wimbledon crown and the fantastic final she put up with sister Serena are destined to be forgotten and relegated to the after-thoughts heap in the face of the incredible, incredible men's final.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
When A Treat Is Not A Treat, But Is A Double Treat!
Trust A R Rahman to pull a fast one on us when least expected. For the past 3 years we’ve been fed on crumbs, literally – there have been a measly 3 albums (Rang De Basanti, Guru and Jodhaa Akbar) composed by the musical genius since 2006 and we’ve been forced to sportingly take that lying down. And now out of the blue, two A R Rahman albums releasing one day apart! Talk about a double treat. And even though I know that as a die-hard A R Rahman fan I should be ashamed for not having had a shadow of an inkling that Rahman had been preparing to cut his own album for the past 6 months or so, there’s a certain special charm to pleasant surprises like these. It kind of makes me wish I hadn’t spent the 6 months before the release of the 7th Harry Potter book obsessing about the million or so theories concerning anything and everything about Potterverse.
Right then, so the big question, of course, is – how good are the two new A R Rahman albums – Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na and Ada? I’ll start with Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, or JTYJN for short (I really did think Aamir Khan, of all people, wouldn’t find the need to have the title of his movie sound like the first half of the script). The movie is supposed to be a youthful romance, and Rahman, as always, makes sure that every track in the album perfectly fits the theme of the movie. The first track, Kabhi Kabhi Aditi Zindagi is - there’s no other word for it – vintage A R Rahman. In other words, a very very good composition. Jaane Tu Mera Kya Hai is somewhat a middling track – a little weird on melody, and the kind of song you don’t really know whether to like or not. Nazrein Milaana almost sounds like Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy territory, and I think I should add here that Rahman does a better Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy than anyone else, maybe even better than the trio themselves. I normally hate to use this word, but the track is wonderfully - peppy. So much for the perennial classical inclinations of the maestro.
Pappu Can’t Dance is, plain and simple, disappointing. If there has been one grouse I have held against Rahman these past few years, other than his tendency to occasionally disappear from the music scene for months together, is that he seems to have lost his touch when it comes to dance numbers. Which was the last really rocking dance number you heard from him? Masti Ki Pathshala from Rang De Basanti? When I heard that song for the first time, I had a hard time getting past the fact that the song actually had no tune to speak of. Personally, I thought the Meherbaan track from Tehzeeb was great, but even that was nearly 5 years ago. I don’t know about you, but I really miss the days of Rangeela Re and Humma Humma. But we must make do with what we have, and what we have is still quietly and impressively enthralling. Kahin To Hogi almost sounds like a Westlife/Boyzone track with Hindi lyrics, and it does its job well. And can we ever have a Rahman album without a single track that strays dramatically from the beaten Bollywood path? Tu Bole Main Boloon is laden with heavy jazz and funk elements, and while I’m sure it’d suit the context of the movie well, I can’t really say that I enjoyed the track.
Ok, enough of film talk. Let’s talk about Rahman’s own privately recorded album Ada now. The thing that struck me the moment I started listening to the tracks of the album is how unnatural Rahman’s songs sound when sung by typically dulcet singers like Sonu Nigam and Alka Yagnik. Maybe I don’t notice that in Rahman’s Bollywood albums, but then again, how often does he sign up the typical Bollywood singers anyway? I personally can’t get enough of Rahman’s own vocals – there’s something very endearing about the way he completely disregards the lyrics of the song (he still can’t speak Hindi, even after all these years) and gets lost, almost like a child, in the rhythm and melody of the track. As it turns out, however, there’s just one song sung by him in the album, and that put me off in a big way. Ada is a very nice album, no doubt, but I somehow get the feeling that Rahman is playing it safe with this album – almost too many mass-appealing numbers. Gulfisha is a fantastic track, but what on earth is Gumsum all about? For a second there I almost felt like looking it up on the internet and making sure that it was actually Rahman who’d composed the track and not some blissfully stagnant Nadeem-Shravan or Sajid-Wajid type of music director, what with the Madanpura-style beats and all. Hawa Sun Hawa restored some of my faith in Rahman, and Meherbaan almost made me feel guilty of my earlier disparaging thoughts about him, but Ishq Ada again goes on a tailspin, taking ‘weird melody’ to another level. Hai Dard and Milo Wahan are a little too ordinary for my liking, but Tu Mera Hai is again an impressive piece. I suppose by now I should’ve gotten used to the wild fluctuations in quality that have been the norm with any Rahman album ever since I can remember, but it always comes as a surprise to me that genius must necessarily have its low moments to inspire and propagate its incredible highs.
I think I’m going a little overboard with the whole ‘Rahman and genius’ thing. But you know what, when compared with the run-of-the-mill plagiarists that make up the majority of Bollywood’s musical talent, ‘genius’ might actually be a bit of an understatement. It’s not everyday, after all, that a Taal or a Dil Se is created. To be honest, however, the Rahman magic seems to be waning a little these days – perhaps he needs to take himself a little less seriously? He’s become the mascot, so to speak, of international music, and it just seems to me that he’s become a little too conscious about making sure that his music reflects the global appeal of his work. I think he needs to let go of all the baggage that comes with being a larger-than-life icon and concentrate, instead, on making uncomplicated, beautiful music, the kind of music he made for Roja and Rangeela, the kind of music that made us fall in love with his astonishing – I’m sorry, but there’s no other word for it – genius. No, I have not over-used that word. Some people just deserve to be exaggerated about.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sport in All Its Fascinating Glory
I had sworn I wouldn't write about tennis at least until the French Open got underway, but guess what, I'm notoriously bad at sticking to resolutions. And besides, the tennis world hasn't exactly been lacking in sensational developments lately, has it? Ok, I'll admit that Justine Henin's retirement from tennis wasn't as big a shock as some tennis analysts seem to think it was, but it was huge news anyway. Let's leave Henin and her motivational problems aside for a bit though, because right now all I can think of is of Roger Federer and his ridiculously captivating quest to solve the Rafael Nadal puzzle on clay. The Hamburg final yesterday between the world's top two players looked very much like a repeat of their Monte Carlo final three weeks ago, which Nadal won 7-5, 7-5 after being down 2-4 in the first set and 0-4 in the second, but yesterday was, for Federer fans at least, infinitely more satisfying and more disappointing at the same time. That may sound like a paradoxical statement, but if you watched the match, you'll know what I'm talking about. How can you not admire Federer for playing such sublime tennis that he got to leads of 5-1 and 5-2 respectively in the first two sets against the superhuman king of clay Nadal? And yet, how can you not be infuriated that Federer blew both those leads through some very poor serving in crucial games?
The final score went 7-5, 6-7, 6-3 in Nadal's favour, and for some reason I wasn't as depressed at the end of the match as I thought I would be. Part of the reason for that could be that I was rapturously happy that it went to a third set at all after Federer went 0-40 down on his serve at 5-5 in the second. Some mighty fine serving got him out of that hole, and then he ran away with the tie-breaker, restoring some of my faith in his ability to play well on the big points. But I think the main reason why I'm not so gloomy right now is because Federer seems to be playing like a claycourter for the first time in memory, and he finally seems to have discovered the right strategy to play Nadal. Those 5-1 and 5-2 leads mean nothing with respect to the result of the match, but I'm sure it's more than comforting for Federer fans to remember that those leads did happen; Federer is fully capable of dominating Nadal for reasonable stretches of time, and, short of a large bunch of crushing victories over Nadal on clay, I don't know what else can give Federer and his fans greater hope and confidence for the French Open. And to top that, Nadal maintained his grip on the No. 2 ranking by winning his semi-final against Novak Djokovic, which means that the terrifying prospect of Federer facing Nadal in the French semis has been firmly avoided. Comforting thoughts aplenty for the average Federer fan.
Speaking of Djokovic, I can't believe that I actually called it right when I said his semi-final match against Nadal may turn out to be the best match of the year. The tennis that the two put in the match was spell-binding, breathtaking, insanely riveting and spectacular all at the same time. The thing that was firmly established in my mind while watching it, however, is that when Nadal is at his best, it won't just take a superhuman effort by any player in the world, including Roger, to defeat him - it will take much, much more than that. Nadal's defense, particularly his incredibly steady forehand when pulled wide and his nearly-unfailing backhand passing shots simply defy belief. How do you defeat a player who refuses to let even the most ferociously well-timed potential winner convince him to give up the point? Djokovic played fabulously throughout the 3 hour long match - for the first time ever, I found myself feeling bad for him - and I have a feeling that the years of torture that Federer has faced on clay at the hands of Nadal will now be passed on to Djokovic. I guess if he wants to inherit the No. 1 ranking from Federer, he'll have to take on everything associated with Federer's famed legacy. Federer and Djokovic may do all that they can to adapt their games to suit clay and spend months practising on slow courts and hire the most adept and inspiring coaches to help them get their hands on the French trophy, but the truth is that Nadal will always be there, forever stalking their paths, eternally intimidating, absolutely relentless.
Someone who will not always be there, of course, is Justine Henin, who became the first woman in the history of tennis to retire while ranked No. 1 in the world. The thing with such premature retirements - Justine is still all of 25 years old - is that they invariably invite comparisons with Bjorn Borg's retirement back in 1982 (or was it 1983?) at the age of 26. For once, however, I think the comparisons are justified - both were at the top of their games when they bowed out, and both were thwarted in their attempts to capture the last bit of glory missing from their respective careers - the US Open for Borg, and Wimbledon for Justine. Justine actually went so far as to admit in her retirement press conference that she never believed she had it in her to win at Wimbledon, and that it was always a distant dream to her that never seemed within her reach. Perhaps that's what made it all the more desirable for the undisputed clay queen?
Then there's also Justine's admission that her win against Maria Sharapova at last year's year-end championships, the 4th-longest women's match in history which Henin won 5-7, 7-5, 6-3 after nearly 3 and 1/2 hours, took too much out of her both physically and mentally. Can anyone say Wimbledon final 1980? Borg won that match against John McEnroe after a titanic struggle and an epic 4th set tie-breaker that McEnroe won 18-16. Borg was never the same after that, losing 3 Grand Slam finals to McEnroe before formally announcing his retirement. It was the changing of the guard - McEnroe was a brash, arrogant, but also prodigiously gifted tennis player who was showing signs of embarking on a GOAT-worthy career - and Borg knew it. Did Justine Henin undergo the same thought process as Borg? Her crushing defeats at the hands of Sharapova and Serena Williams this year certainly point to that possibility. But then again, all of this analysis and theorizing is based entirely upon conjecture; there's no real way of knowing what exactly goes on in an athlete's mind, is there? Specially if the athlete in question is as reticent and guarded with the public as Henin. She said she had no 'fire' left in her to play tennis any more - and that could be because fighting and neutralizing the power games of her opponents took a heavy toll on her body and mind, but it could also be because of a totally personal matter that had nothing to do with tennis, or maybe she simply got bored of tennis, period. All I know is that these are the kind of poignant moments that we watch sport for - if sport was just going on the field and playing to win then there wouldn't be much charm in it, would there? Justine's retirement has been a fascinating subject to think and talk about. Almost as fascinating as Federer's already-legendary pursuit of that last bit of filthy silverware. Almost.
The final score went 7-5, 6-7, 6-3 in Nadal's favour, and for some reason I wasn't as depressed at the end of the match as I thought I would be. Part of the reason for that could be that I was rapturously happy that it went to a third set at all after Federer went 0-40 down on his serve at 5-5 in the second. Some mighty fine serving got him out of that hole, and then he ran away with the tie-breaker, restoring some of my faith in his ability to play well on the big points. But I think the main reason why I'm not so gloomy right now is because Federer seems to be playing like a claycourter for the first time in memory, and he finally seems to have discovered the right strategy to play Nadal. Those 5-1 and 5-2 leads mean nothing with respect to the result of the match, but I'm sure it's more than comforting for Federer fans to remember that those leads did happen; Federer is fully capable of dominating Nadal for reasonable stretches of time, and, short of a large bunch of crushing victories over Nadal on clay, I don't know what else can give Federer and his fans greater hope and confidence for the French Open. And to top that, Nadal maintained his grip on the No. 2 ranking by winning his semi-final against Novak Djokovic, which means that the terrifying prospect of Federer facing Nadal in the French semis has been firmly avoided. Comforting thoughts aplenty for the average Federer fan.
Speaking of Djokovic, I can't believe that I actually called it right when I said his semi-final match against Nadal may turn out to be the best match of the year. The tennis that the two put in the match was spell-binding, breathtaking, insanely riveting and spectacular all at the same time. The thing that was firmly established in my mind while watching it, however, is that when Nadal is at his best, it won't just take a superhuman effort by any player in the world, including Roger, to defeat him - it will take much, much more than that. Nadal's defense, particularly his incredibly steady forehand when pulled wide and his nearly-unfailing backhand passing shots simply defy belief. How do you defeat a player who refuses to let even the most ferociously well-timed potential winner convince him to give up the point? Djokovic played fabulously throughout the 3 hour long match - for the first time ever, I found myself feeling bad for him - and I have a feeling that the years of torture that Federer has faced on clay at the hands of Nadal will now be passed on to Djokovic. I guess if he wants to inherit the No. 1 ranking from Federer, he'll have to take on everything associated with Federer's famed legacy. Federer and Djokovic may do all that they can to adapt their games to suit clay and spend months practising on slow courts and hire the most adept and inspiring coaches to help them get their hands on the French trophy, but the truth is that Nadal will always be there, forever stalking their paths, eternally intimidating, absolutely relentless.
Someone who will not always be there, of course, is Justine Henin, who became the first woman in the history of tennis to retire while ranked No. 1 in the world. The thing with such premature retirements - Justine is still all of 25 years old - is that they invariably invite comparisons with Bjorn Borg's retirement back in 1982 (or was it 1983?) at the age of 26. For once, however, I think the comparisons are justified - both were at the top of their games when they bowed out, and both were thwarted in their attempts to capture the last bit of glory missing from their respective careers - the US Open for Borg, and Wimbledon for Justine. Justine actually went so far as to admit in her retirement press conference that she never believed she had it in her to win at Wimbledon, and that it was always a distant dream to her that never seemed within her reach. Perhaps that's what made it all the more desirable for the undisputed clay queen?
Then there's also Justine's admission that her win against Maria Sharapova at last year's year-end championships, the 4th-longest women's match in history which Henin won 5-7, 7-5, 6-3 after nearly 3 and 1/2 hours, took too much out of her both physically and mentally. Can anyone say Wimbledon final 1980? Borg won that match against John McEnroe after a titanic struggle and an epic 4th set tie-breaker that McEnroe won 18-16. Borg was never the same after that, losing 3 Grand Slam finals to McEnroe before formally announcing his retirement. It was the changing of the guard - McEnroe was a brash, arrogant, but also prodigiously gifted tennis player who was showing signs of embarking on a GOAT-worthy career - and Borg knew it. Did Justine Henin undergo the same thought process as Borg? Her crushing defeats at the hands of Sharapova and Serena Williams this year certainly point to that possibility. But then again, all of this analysis and theorizing is based entirely upon conjecture; there's no real way of knowing what exactly goes on in an athlete's mind, is there? Specially if the athlete in question is as reticent and guarded with the public as Henin. She said she had no 'fire' left in her to play tennis any more - and that could be because fighting and neutralizing the power games of her opponents took a heavy toll on her body and mind, but it could also be because of a totally personal matter that had nothing to do with tennis, or maybe she simply got bored of tennis, period. All I know is that these are the kind of poignant moments that we watch sport for - if sport was just going on the field and playing to win then there wouldn't be much charm in it, would there? Justine's retirement has been a fascinating subject to think and talk about. Almost as fascinating as Federer's already-legendary pursuit of that last bit of filthy silverware. Almost.
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