The Reckoning

In his post-match presser yesterday, Rafael Nadal was asked if he felt Federer was getting better on clay. He took the question head-on, much like he took Djokovic, gored him, and with one toss of his powerful neck, tossed him out of the tournament. He replied:

When he finished the moderator switched the interview to Spanish, leading Jet Boy to quip: Thank you.  Don't ask nothing more, because I don't know nothing more in English!

I would say Nadal doesn't need to know more English; this is a kid who knows how to cut to the chase (and I'm not just talking about his pursuit of The Mighty Fed here); one who has perfected the art of the shrug in every language. Nadal's default mode on handicapping and analyzing is: Anything can happen. In this, he is half-correct. The more accurate, somewhat longer version would be: Anything can happen but it probably won't because this is clay and I am swashbuckling, behind-picking, sock-tugging, bottle-arranging, line-wiping, thunder-swiping sloe-eyed and quick-handed Rafael Nadal, champion of the grand isle of Majorca and all points beyond, where I make the courts run red with the blood of my opponents so is good that the court are made of clay sur-face, which drink the blood good,  no?

Or something like that. . .

Still, his first rambling quote up top merits a closer reading than it's equivocating and deferential content may suggest, although even that closer reading is going to yield no juicy and complicated narrative. What Nadal is saying is: Chill out everyone, and stop over-analyzing this. If I play great tomorrow I have a shot (this is an understatement, of course, but true anyway). If he plays lousy, I have  a better shot. If we both play great - or lousy - who the hail knows?

Let me be grotesquely and indefensibly hypocritical for a moment. This match isn't going to be about how Roger got new wind in his sails from Hamburg, even though that mighty puff helped him gain a few knots in his historical voyage. This match isn't going to be about how much Nadal's game has "improved" this week, opening up and blooming like an Andalusian sunrise as he hacked some pretty solid players to death on the Chartrier court in Week 2 (and yes, that court drank the blood up like a sponge!) For all our punditry and analysis,  this match is largely going to be about how well the two man play on a day when it would be very helpful to either's cause to play lights out tennis.

That's something we always should keep in mind about this game, which is so unlike any team competition. You live and die by the quality of your day. Against most opponents, these two warriors can slide by on the odd off-day. But facing each other, neither can afford to have an off day - unless the other does as well. At its best, as it will be tomorrow, this will be a form of Russian roulette, played on the wheel of emotional moods, neurological fitness, mental clarity (or lack therof), ambient conditions, biorhythms (what the hail, let's throw it all out there) and the ultimate wild-card: fate.

Roger and Rafa are big boys, stand-up guys, both. I may not know a whole lot but I'm sure about this much: Federer isn't going to be hugging the toilet bowl tomorrow morning, throwing up the contents of a stomach cast into turmoil by the fact that he's facing Jet Boy in a final brimming with historical resonances. Roger doesn't do the the Big Match morning sickness thing; if he did, he'd spend more time driving the porcelain bus and less flattening all comers. But one.

In fact, the only thing that seemed to challenge Federer's equilibrium, and perhaps even get his nose slightly out of joint this week, has been the loutishness of the lazy-a** , sybarite VIPs who occupy the courtside boxes, but rarely bother to show up for any match, no matter how compelling, that doesn't transpire in that tiny window between a robust lunch, a quick bunk-up with the mistress, and a fine dinner with wife and friends to cap off an excellent day. As TMF said in his pre-final presser:

[The difference is] that Center Court  at Wimbledon is always full. And here, sometimes, the problem is that the VIPs, they only come for one or two matches a day. So that's the problem, because the VIPs take all the seats around the court, whereas at Wimbledon, there's only the Royal Box and the other seats are always taken, so from fans, not from VIPs, which makes it a great atmosphere. I'm not saying here is not good, but you have to hope the VIPs come as well, or the sponsors. So it's more on a couple of matches a day where the atmosphere really goes up.

I take this comment partly as a demonstration of Federer's passion for the game, a reference to the respect he - and anyone else who sets foot on the Centrale - deserves, and perhaps also as a subtle message about that train wreck of a match with Nikolay Davydenko yesterday. This guy is a genius and a prince, not a wind-up toy set loose on the red clay to amuse the leisure class. The LASVIPs were late to the only table that should have mattered, and Federer doesn't like a buzzkill. That he took the trouble to point this out, in his typically measured and nuanced way, shows both how much Federer cares about the game, in general as well as specific ways.

He's doing something else, too, by obliquely downplaying his struggle with Kolya. With a slow, deliberate sweep of the arm, he's sweeping the glasses, condiments, plates and crumbs off the table, clearing it for tomorrow's clash.

Federer likes his chances tomorrow, and he offered up a pretty good reason for feeling that way:

So allow me to take those words out of Jet Boy's mouth and put them into Federer's: If I play great tomorrow I have a shot (this is an understatement, of course, but true anyway). If he plays lousy, I have  a better shot. If we both play great - or lousy - who the hail knows?

You know what? Neither of these guys is spinning anything, seeking a psychological advantage, blowing smoke in the hopes that it will sting the other's eyes. In their pressers, they have stripped down and greased up their bodies (easy, girls!) for the incipient grapple. Nadal's approach, psychologically, is simple and direct; this kid really means it when he lauds TMF as the top dog. He's serious when he points out that nothing about TMF's spirit or game - even on clay - can be underestimated or taken for granted. Federer's way of engaging these issues is, like his game, more textured and written between the lines,  not all over them, a la Nadal. What a wonderful match-up this is.

On paper, Nadal holds a big edge on the eve of the battle, for reasons with which all of you are by now abundantly familiar. If tomorrow's match were to be played 100 times, on present form, I imagine Nadal would win 90 times. The boy in the pantaloons is that good on red clay, and there isn't a danged thing Federer or anyone else can do about it.

But we don't watch and love this game because it confirms the stat sheets and H2H records; in fact, we watch it for the opposite reason - for what it holds in surprise, for the unlikely stories it occasionally belches out, even when the volcano has been dormant for some time. This is a game that doesn't just give us Sampras over Pioline at the US Open, Borg over Vilas anywhere, or Justine over Ana Ivanovic. This is a game that also gives us Gomez over Agassi, Majoli over Hingis, Goran over Rafter.

The great gift of this game is surprise, and sometimes that surprise seems almost pre-destined. Federer faces a career-defining moment tomorrow, in a match with epic , historical implications. He may not have the firepower and stamina to beat Nadal, but there comes a point when you can throw the details out the window. Federer faces an extraordinary  moment of reckoning, and in some ways it has almost nothing to do with Nadal. Federer has fought hard to reach this moment, and I don't think he's going to give it up without a fight.