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by Pete Bodo
Howdy. Over the next few days, I'll be looking at the players nd match-ups in the upcoming Barclays ATP World Tour Finals. Y'all know the groups inside-out, and are aware of the most compelling match-up of round robin play: Andy Murray vs. Roger Federer. Del Potro fans might take exception to that, but I think the two men to beat at the YEC are Andy Murray and Novak Djokovic - neither of whom has won a major this year, both of whom are terrific indoor players currently playing well.
Djokovic isn't just playing good tennis- he's on fire, having beaten pretty much everyone in the course of his recent Basel-Paris double; Murray is well-rested after a long layoff to heal his wrist, and when he returned a few weeks ago he immediately won Valencia and got a few more matches under his belt before he lost a close one in Paris to Radek Stepanek (6-4 in the third, third-round). Valencia was Murray's 6th title of the year, the most by any ATP player.
In the big picture, Federer doesn't really need to do anything to further advance or enhance his career; in the small picture, he could do himself a big favor by winning his round robin match with Murray, which will not be played before Tuesday. He needs to do that less because of the rankings picture, or to boost his street cred, than to quell the resurgent/insurgent theories that he's in eclipse.
One thing I've noticed over the years is that certain stories take on a life of their own and eventually become not only inescapable, they also begin to shape reality by unduly influencing it. Dinara Safina learned that recently, in the midst of the controversy surrounding her no. 1 WTA ranking. Can anyone doubt that the relentless ceaseless criticism - hail, the simple fact that the story would not or could not die - the snide, leading press-room interrogations, even the semi-playful banter of Serena Williams (who was thought to be the "real" no. 1) eventually got to Safina, and made her life at the top more rather than less miserable? The girl was emotional toast by the time the US Open unfurled.
Or take Pete Sampras. He also learned what it's like to be steamrolled by what, in political circles, is know as the theory of the Big Lie - the idea that if you shout something long enough, loud enough, enough people are going to buy into it. Sampras learned that during his relative long stretch of patchy play before he won his 14th major at the US Open in September of 2002.
Sampras came into that match having been to just two finals since July of 2000, and he didn't win either of them (Federer's loss to Juan Martin del Potro at the recent US Open was, in some ways, similar to Sampras's stumble against Lleyton Hewitt in the same final of 2001). Worse yet, Sampras had lost in the second and first rounds, respectively, in his previous two majors going into the 2002 American championships. By then, the Is Sampras Finished? theme had morphed into something even more discouraging for the champ: the question that haunted each and every one of his press conferences was, Pete, when are you going to retire?
Sampras was a pretty strong-minded guy. But as the US Open approached, unable to escape the relentless "retirement" question, he became testy and prone to bouts of self-doubt. He started to second guess himself, which often spells the beginning of the end in a sport as confidence-based as tennis. Was he deluding himself, he wondered? One of his great achievements, and it will never show up in the record books, was the mental strength he showed by clinging to the almost inexplicable, deep-down conviction that he still had one major title left in his right arm. And at the point when even his most loyal fans also began to really wonder, he proved himself right.
Right all along, but what a price to pay to prove it: all that stress, all those tiresome questions deflected, but still echoing long after they were tossed off. Once, he literally had to grab the arms of his chair to hold himself down as he began to rise, intent on punching some guy in the nose for asking the "R" question with an unconscious but big, obvious grin on his face.
Federer still has a long way to go before he's in a comparable position, but he can make his own life a lot easier by putting out the small fires before they become big ones. And those fires are going to be ignited every time he plays a tournament and fails to win it. The only real escape from having to endure the always bittersweet experience of leaving the game with the conviction that you'd wrung every ounce of potential out of yourself is to do what Sampras did - make an enormous statement that's at once liberating and undeniably final (Sampras knew better than to get greedy, thinking, Hey, maybe I can grease out another Australian Open, or add one more Wimbledon title).
I don't think Federer is the type who will feel obliged to do that; whatever else you think of him, he's never shown an inclination to rub someone else's nose in the dirt, or throw a big middle finger up in the direction of his critics, or the world in general. But it's hard to imagine that a guy with as much pride as Federer would just end his career at no. 11 in the world, with a string of six or eight or 12 second or third round losses in his wake.
"Injury" is the word that most high-performance athletes fear even more than the letter "L," but physical failure can make the process of leaving the game less painful. The kindest fate for a player in his early 30s may be fading from the game because the body has begun to protest too much. It's the equivalent of showing up at school without having done your homework - but with an airtight note of excuse from the doctor. Bu it's easier to envision that option, years from now, for Rafael Nadal than for Federer, who still looks like he could finish up with tennis and make a fair mid-fielder on the soccer pitch, or replace Derek Jeter as the New York Yankees shortstop.
Okay, just the fact that I'm thinking like this is a little alarming, and certainly premature. On the other hand, it's always a good idea to peek around the corner up ahead, to see what might lie in wait, and use the preview to plan the immediate future. Which is why Federer could do himself a favor by getting past Murray with minimal drama. And that won't be easy.
Murray has a winning head-to-head record against every player in his group, and he's a combined 11-2 against del Potro and Fernando Verdasco. Against Federer, he's 6-3. The agggregate H2H is impressive: 17-5. And this guy still hasn't won a major?
Of course, Murray lost the last time they met (Cincinnati, '09), but he won their four previous meetings, including a 7-5 in-the-third battle at the last YEC. Federer is coming into the match trailing a loss to Djokovic in Basel and a surprising second-round collapse against Julien Benneteau in Paris. You'd be hard-pressed to describe that as a slide, but a poor performance in London might make it one, and considerably complicate Federer's life as the Australian Open begins to bear down - barely a month down the road from the end of the championships.
Federer is at that point in his career when he's beginning to hear footsteps, and not just those of Murray, Djokovic, or Nadal. The crowd includes his most ardent fans as well as his most unapologetic critics, a handful of younger players, and a fleet of media adding to the confusion even as its members protest that they're just trying to cover it. This would be a good time for Roger to pick up the pace a bit, not for the sake of his legacy, but for the simple reason that he's earned to right to enjoy the rest of his career without having to defend the desire to do so.
A well-timed win here or there can help accomplish that. And beating Murray in London would be just such a win. We all know that Federer can spend the rest of his career picking his spots, and this would be a good one to choose, even if there's no no. 16 jacket to be worn in the event he wins.
Every conflagration begins with a tiny match.