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by Pete Bodo*
By the time Roger Federer rolls into New York for the U.S. Open, he’ll have crossed a threshold even more significant than the one he passed when won his 16th Grand Slam singles title in Melbourne in 2010. As of August 8, he’ll be 30 years old.
Like anyone else passing that significant milestone, he’ll tell himself that it’s only a number. That you’re only as old as you feel. That he’s still No. 3 in the world—by a good margin. And let's not forget that he was recently seen demolishing world No. 1 Novak Djokovic’s winning streak enroute to the French Open final a mere two months ago.
As he said, when I asked him about the big Three-Oh in a conference call for the U.S. Open Series the other day: "Birthdays happen. They're part of life. I'm happy I'm getting older. I'd rather be 30 than 20, to be honest."
Oh, you mean you don't miss the days when we couldn't tell if you were auditioning to be a Wimbledon finalist or (judging by your hair) the keyboardist for a British new wave synth band?
He added, "To me it's a nice time. In the preparation (for tournaments) nothing changes. Do you listen to your body more? Yes, you do. Are you more wise? Yes, you are. Are you more experienced? Yes. Do you have a thousand matches in your body? Yes, you do. You just go with what you have."
But no matter how much spring he still has in his legs, how quickly his eyes pick up the ball coming off an opponent’s racket, or how ripped those abs, he will officially be over the hill on Monday, August 8—on the far side of the career peak, which is much steeper than the near side.
The list of men who have won major titles at 30 or later is a very short one and culls names from different eras, not merely decades. The Golden Pond year was 1972, when Andres Gimeno won the French Open at 34 and remarkable Ken Rosewall won the Australian Open at 37. Rosewall’s generation produced a few other 30-and-over winners, most notably Rod Laver (who completed his second and the more credible of his two Grand Slams at age 30 in 1969). But that was the very early Open Era, when three of the four majors were on grass and a Top 5 player could sleepwalk through the first week.
In recent times, Andre Agassi won the Australian Open at 32, and suddenly that looks like a mighty outstanding achievement. You have to go back a ways to match it. Jimmy Connors won the U.S. Open at 31 (1983), as did Pete Sampras (2002). And Andres Gomez was 30 when he won the French Open title in 1990—in Agassi’s first-ever Grand Slam final appearance. But the pickins among 30-year-old champs are slim.
It seems tactless to bring this up when we ought to be celebrating this extraordinary player’s 30th, but it's critical to the narrative: The consensus Greatest Player of All Time and the the Grand Slam singles title record holder also has slowly gone from being the guy who accepts the winner’s trophy to the runner-up for whom his conqueror has nothing but respect and heartfelt, encouraging words. He’s also gone from being the reliable finalist to the much-loved and always game semifinalist (Federer has four semis on his resume this year, and “just” three finals).
And what do you do when you’ve watched the guy who’s been the third wheel for years (Djokovic) replace you in the most compelling rivalry of the moment, in effect pulling off a role reversal in the span of roughly six months?
I’ll tell you what you do. Exactly what Roger Federer has been doing for good portions of this year. You deny that you’re slipping, or at least embrace the notion and negotiate with it. You point out that one or more of the other guys is just playing over his head and, what can you do? All credit to him. You look at matches you blew and talk about how the other guy just came up with some great shots. . . or how it could have gone the other way. . . or how getting to the semis or better at every tournament you play doesn’t exactly make you a Marcos Baghdatis. You point out, as did Federer, that, "Sure, I'd love to be world No. 1 and not No. 3. (But) I still think No. 3 is a good ranking. It's not number . . . I don't know what. I'm at peace with that."
If you’re Federer, you try not to let that arbitrary date of August 8 get into your head, the way Rafael Nadal once got into your head, because that baby may be even more dangerous, long-term, than was the Nadal thing (although once you're 30, it's a very short long-term). You spin yourself a cocoon of denial and wait there, for that sweet moment of vengeance—that major where everything suddenly clicks again and you make a big statement, kind of the way Sampras did at the U.S. Open in 2002. Or do you, given that you're a different breed of cat?
If you're glowering by now over my repeated use of the word "denial," take a deep breath and exhale. We're not talking about a wastrel denying he has a drug habit, or a silly girl or boy trying to justify making a fool of him or herself in love. We're talking about a professional athlete whose motor runs on confidence and a feeling of physical omnipotence, a guy who needs (and hopes) to feel forever 21. Take away that capacity for denial and you may end up with a guy who quits at the first sign of challenge from that old enemy, Father Time, and whines, "I can't do this anymore. I'm too old."
To wit: I'd rather have Federer in denial and still playing than realistic and off negotiating complex human rights agreements on behalf of the UN at age 31. Besides, the rankings are always there as the ultimate reality check for everyone to see.
Sampras, who was born on the same day as Federer but was 31 when he won his last major, was ranked No. 17 when he won that career-capping 14th Grand Slam title at Flushing Meadows. For most of that year, press and pundits kept trying to shove him to the exit, no doubt because his ranking had slipped so far and he was, quite frankly, stinking up the joint. Pete had a miserable year leading up that ’02 U.S. Open. He reached the final in just one other event, the relatively minor clay-court tournament in Houston in April (he lost to Andy Roddick).
But Sampras had a funny feeling, nothing more, nothing less. He thought he had at least one more major in him. When he was vindicated, he didn’t even think twice about maybe trying to squeeze out another one out. He knew. He decided, No Mas.
But don't mistake the men for each other, even if they're amigos. Federer has always worn the yoke of greatness easily, comfortably. He's a smoother, lighter, and perhaps less self-punishing player—and person. He never had the same gladiatorial mindset as Sampras, or some of the other great Grand Slam champs who at times seemed downright tormented.
It’s hard to imagine Federer feeling burned out. Disgusted or bored would be more like it. Unlike some of his peers on tennis Olympus, he actually loves almost everything about the game, and it’s not like he has some vague dream of family life to make retirement seem that much more tempting. He already has a wife, he already has a family. Has anyone ever complained less about the itinerant way of life of the tennis pro? What can you say about the first veteran tennis player in the history of the universe to say, of his itinerant life: "(I hope) the body allows me to play because the mind is there. I love my traveling. I have no problem. That's a good thing."
Federer also has a target, and that's a very good thing for a player at an important crossroads. He revealed some time ago that he was eager to compete at the the the 2012 Olympic games, that singles gold medal being one of the few unfinished pieces of business in his career. In London, he may have a chance to make a final, resounding statement and earn a rare honor. He could, in fact, do it on all three planes: singles, doubles, mixed doubles. It bodes well that the Olympic tennis event will be played at—Wimbledon.
A part of me would love to see Federer go out like that, because it's easy to forget just how admirably he's represented the game, both as player and individual. But if you're thinking Federer is already planning his post-Olympics getaway, think again. As he said:
"My plans are probably always a bit a year ahead of time. I probably plan one-and-a-half years ahead.
So I'm already way past this point. I'm already thinking beyond the Olympics next year. So that's
kind of how my schedule goes. . ."
That's wonderful news, Roger. I look forward to seeing you on the hot and humid North American hard-court circuit in 2012—and beyond. As far beyond as you can, or want, to take it. Our patience is the match of yours.