The Germans know introductions. In 1996, before their famous ATP World Championship final in Hannover, Pete Sampras and Boris Becker appeared at the top of a set of steps and strode through a thundering, hyped-up audience to reach the court. It turned out to be one of the best matches of the decade; Sampras later said that just being part of that opening scene was one of the great moments of his career. The introductions before Sunday’s Hamburg final between Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer weren’t quite that momentous—having the players walk out with little kids at their sides was as awkward as it was cute—but the rhythmic clapping of the fans, who are perched close to the court in that most modern of arenas, gave the match a special urgency right from the first point.
Where Rome and Monte Carlo radiate tennis history, the former German Open now looks like the future of clay-court tennis. Instead of the autumnal gold that spreads across the Foro Italico in the afternoon, the court in Hamburg, which is covered by a translucent retractable roof, has a brightly filtered and slightly surreal glow to it on sunny days. Even without the historic pedigree of its fellow European clay events, Hamburg has as distinctive and appealing an atmosphere as any other in tennis. Poor Etienne: Now that it has hosted two straight three-set finals between Federer and Nadal, how do you follow through on your promise to demote this tournament from the Masters series next year?
If there was a sense of urgency coming from the crowd, it was aimed primarily at the defending champion, Federer. He has won this tournament four times and is welcomed almost like a native son. Despite this record, there was a sense in Hamburg, as there is everywhere, that Federer needs all the help he can get against Nadal. His fans couldn’t have asked for a better response. Federer came out firing forehands and held his opening service game with authority. When he added in a backhand winner up the line in the second game, Tennis Channel commentator (and regular Federer cheerleader in his matches against Nadal) Jason Goodall said, with exaggerated gravity, “So far, so good.” Then he revised his thoughts skyward: “So far . . . so very good.” Nadal promptly double faulted to be broken, and Federer kept the effortless first-strike tennis going to hold for 3-0.
On the changeover, I wrote, “N: Out of sorts to start, but can take heart from semi.” By “semi” I meant Nadal’s classic semifinal win on Saturday over Novak Djokovic. That match was a bloodthirsty heavyweight slugfest, with both guys trading haymakers and then celebrating over the writhing corpse of their opponent. But it hadn’t started out that way. Djokovic came out and immediately put Nadal on a string with his down-the-line backhand. Like Federer, he went up 3-0 and looked ready to run away with the match. Like Federer, he was at the height of his powers. Like Federer, he couldn’t keep it up.
Nadal, with his No. 2 ranking on the line, dug in deeper than ever and forced Djokovic to hit perfect ball after perfect ball. The opportunities were there, but the task was too demanding. The Serb finally came down to earth—right where Nadal likes to be—and began to drill his backhand into the net. Nadal also made a critical decision to try to hit as many forehands as possible. While he was putting Djokovic through the meat grinder with his consistency, he also knew he had to find a way to dictate the rallies himself. Backpedaling into his forehand corner like his old friend Carlos Moya, Nadal took the initiative away from Djokovic just long enough to win in three vicious sets.
The experience must have stuck with him, because once he got his teeth into the first set against Federer, Nadal became hellbent on hitting as many forehands as possible and negating the effect that his opponent's own forehand was having. For his part, Federer kept moving forward but without the same dauntless quality he had shown at the beginning. While Djokovic became slightly less consistent on Saturday, Federer became slightly less insistent—both times it was enough to allow Nadal to set up and begin to steer the rallies with his forehand.
That exceedingly simple and proven game plan helps Nadal. By comparison, on clay Federer is forced to make split-second decisions during each point. Come in? Go after Nadal's forehand? Serve and volley? Drop shot? Try a wide angle? Wait for the perfect shot to attack, or force the action? In this matchup, nothing is as intuitive for him as it for Nadal, and you can see it in the uncharacteristically random and tentative quality of Federer’s game. At 5-1, he served and volleyed twice, lost both points, and was broken. From there, Nadal loosened up and took command with his forehand. He drilled his three most assured forehands of the day for winners to hold for 3-5, then hit two more to break for 4-5. Meanwhile, Federer continued to stumble at the net, losing two points there as Nadal held for 5-5 and losing a serve-and-volley point in the next game, in which he was broken for the set.
After this last botched serve-and-volley play, Goodall’s partner in the booth (Robbie Koenig?) said, as a sort of consolation to Federer, “When Nadal does get the ball at your feet,” there’s not much you can do. When? As we saw in Monte Carlo, if the set is on the line, it’s pretty much guaranteed that Nadal is going to put the ball in that spot. Unless, of course, he puts it by you, as he did to Federer three times at the most crucial stage of the match, the start of the third set.
This isn’t to say that Federer should throw in the net-rushing towel—he’s not going to beat Nadal from the baseline. What I would advise after watching this match is that Federer keep two words in mind: “first strike.” That means first serves, of course, but it also means an offensive-minded return. Without those, Nadal is going to get a grip on the rally and begin the meat grinding, no matter what tactical ploy you throw at him. For example, you might say to Federer, why not do what Djokovic did and use the extreme wide-angle forehand to move Nadal off the court and come in behind it? I’d answer that that play doesn’t present itself in rallies often enough against Nadal to base a game plan around it. Boldness by itself won’t beat Nadal on clay—it hasn’t yet, anyway—but waiting for the right shot to present itself isn’t going to work either. In fact, as a rally with Nadal lengthens, the number of opportunities for Federer steadily decreases.
As for Nadal, where does Hamburg rate among his career performances? I’d put it close to the top, right next to his win over Coria in the 2005 Rome final. This was Nadal at his most determined, and it started even before the semifinals. Earlier in the week, I happened to catch the second-set tiebreaker he played against Italian clay-court specialist (there’s no other term) Potito Starace. There wasn’t much to separate the two players on slow dirt—Starace was just as comfortable and consistent there, and his drop shot was on fire. But there was a difference. In the middle of the breaker, during a long crosscourt rally, just when it appeared that Starace was taking the upper hand, Nadal suddenly shifted and went up the line with his forehand. Starace was totally fooled and nowhere near the ball, which hooked in for a winner. With his serve and his forehand, Nadal is entirely, tediously predictable—until he isn’t. He won the breaker 8-6.
It wasn’t the element of surprise that Nadal used to win his final two matches. It was something more fundamental: his uncanny accuracy. Nadal has been criticized for putting his serve in the same place every time, and over three sets on Sunday, he only hit a couple of them to Federer’s forehand. But Nadal still uses a variety of serves within that restricted context. Three straight deliveries will be close to the body on the backhand side, and then on a big point he’ll hit the ball closer to the line. Neither of these serves is high risk—Nadal made 76 percent of his first serves in the final and seems to have complete control over every serve he tries—but neither is wholly predictable. Twice against Djokovic he won crucial points by hitting hard serves into Djokovic’s body on the forehand side. Both times the ball landed in exactly the same place on the line; both times Djokovic was jammed by it. As far as I remember, Nadal never went back to that spot. It had served its purpose (so to speak).
In the final, Nadal served at 4-2 in the third set and went down a break point at 30-40—Fed's last chance. Nadal had been hitting routine serves straight to Federer’s backhand, but on this point he sent the ball a little farther wide. It clipped the line and Federer did well to get it back crosscourt, but he was out of position and Nadal put the ball away up the line. It was a subtle change, and one that only works when a player can count on hitting the line with his serve.
Federer’s specialty, the reason we watch him, is his high-flying elegance. Nadal’s is his cussedness, his determination to do exactly what’s needed—without ever trying to do too much—to win a point. Put a forehand into a tiny corner of the court so it kicks away from Federer’s backhand? Check. Get the ball at his feet when he’s at the net? Check. Hit a serve on the line at break point? Check. It’s this last fact that may be the most harmful to Federer’s chances at the French Open. I just got through telling Fed that he needed to strike a blow with his return as often as possible. How do you do that when your opponent has pinpoint—literally, in this case—control over his service placement?
What can we take from Hamburg as we get ready to go to Paris? This weekend both Djokovic and Federer got closer than they had in the past to solving Nadal on clay. In the end, that only made them seem farther away than ever.