Growing up with your favorite athlete as he goes through the various stages of his luminous career does weird things to you. Every generation has its childhood sports idol: the one who makes you scan newspapers, t. v channels, internet, and even radios in places where technology hasn’t really caught up and where you’ve unfortunately been held back through no fault of your own to find out what’s going on in that person’s world and then place them higher. pedestal than your seemingly most important test scores and other things that, at least in the eyes of your parents and friends, would consider you a sane soul. (This explanation is for all sports icons except one Sachin Tendulkar, who by spanning three generations gives a whole new dimension to the word “omnipresent.” Maybe that’s why he’s called GOD.)
What happens with having that athlete who occupies demigod status in your scheme of things is that you start to have a prejudice that does not make you feel guilty at all. For example: My father makes a big deal about the Bjorn Borg/John McEnroe era saying that anything else that happened after that in tennis is a tragic travesty of the game more geometrically and aesthetically pleasing than tennis. world has known. My brother, the Pete Sampras man through and through, found it difficult to adjust to the fact that a virtual nobody like Roger would show him the way out of his Wimbledon kingdom in that famous summer of 2001, which in retrospect was similar to death of the tennis torch That damn player has a ponytail and a bandana. What “champion” dresses like this? Tennis is going to be poorer after Pete. My brother passes on these statements that impart to me that feeling of losing something unique and something that I could never be blessed to be a part of. Approximately 2 years later, a tennis “Mozart” with a style that is a throwback to the classical era, but blends it with a touch of the modern that alludes to raw power and precision and then blesses it with grace and the delicacy of a virtuous artist. my idol, the one whose wins, losses and battles within a battle have captivated my senses and filled me with the gratitude of seeing something special unfold in front of me and along with behavior off the pitch that has done so in a recent poll , the second most respected person in the world after Nelson Mandela. . . the Swiss Master – Roger Federer.
I’ve become their man, my side of the debate when arguing with someone over who is the GOAT – the greatest of all time (although the most heated ones are reserved for my brother) and I have a bit of experience with “fan” whims. – dom” has helped me to be sure of one thing. I will ignore Grigor Dimitrov, Bernard Tomic or Jerzy Janowicz regardless of what they achieve in the future. No offense, actually, I’m going to be the same person as my father and brother. Only time will tell, because records are meant to be broken, and if reluctantly, Swiss records will be broken as well, which I hope I’ll take it against, but as they say, one will always be partial to those. instances and people that have touched you in a special way in your childhood
Being wounded with talent is one thing, making it count is another. Roger Federer has done exactly that and that is why after a horrible 2013 by his exemplary standards, where lesser people feel it is their right to point out that he should quit the game before plummeting to depths none of us could bear. he thinks of his glory years, he feels it is a grave injustice to tell him what to do. He’s come so far from that irritable, hot-headed young man to the serene, monkish-looking master illusionist who used to conjure moments of supreme beauty with that tennis racket of his, à la Michaelangelo with a scalpel. His career, from the evidence, appears to be that of a person who made the most of life’s lessons and used them as the basis for claiming that he is arguably one of the greatest sportsmen to strut the world stage. . . A loss to Tommy Robredo or Sergiy Stakhovsky shakes things up a bit, but it is admitted that Roger does not intend for his career to end that way and, in the words of another tennis legend, Pete Sampras, there is an amateur actor in all of person who wishes to put together a final act that collapses the house. Roger could feel that (just a hunch), but as he said during one particular season in 2008 when he lost in the semifinals of the Australian Open to a rising Novak Djokovic, that he was met with a shock of seismic proportions, that he could have created a monster loaded with expectations that welcomes every swing of his racket.
The next season he returns with that elusive first French Open title that catapulted him into the elite league of extraordinary gentlemen who have won all four slams, and then breaks Pete’s Grand Slam record in a marathon duel with Andy Roddick in a final. from Wimbledon. For ages he has returned and surely he will if he feels like it and that is what his recent interviews suggest. . . he is hungry for more. We always count champions when they’re down without taking note of that single separating factor that has set them apart from the pretenders. His mental strength. Professional sports is more about the battles that take place between the ears than the actual battle. It’s a beautiful sign when you come across articles from many journalists and critics claiming that his time at the zenith is over and that he should stop trying so it won’t be painful for his followers to see him reduced to a mere mortal. , but then you see the words of Rod Laver and Pete Sampras, legends in their own right and players claiming to be the GOAT, emphatically stating that Roger Federer is not yet a finished article and that something monumental is going to happen. of Roger’s magic wand. They’ve been there and they can feel something simmering under Roger, the outrage at being told what to do with the sport he loves the most, and for him that’s the fundamental factor that keeps him going: the love of the sport. He acknowledges the fact that it will never be bigger than the game and it is this enthusiastic and zealous attribute of Roger, of the student who unwaveringly explores new and greater depths of his game, to prove himself against the challenges presented by the sport and are various other practitioners, and getting to the top because of that is what the best students do. They will find a way. And Roger is very interested in getting to the top. Nobody gets to 17 Grand Slam titles and 302 weeks at No. 1 without possessing oodles of mental toughness.
The hardest part is making it look easy and sure enough that anyone who has ever touched a tennis racket can vouch for it. Therein lies the genius of the Swiss. The same thing that makes me hope that for at least a fortnight, the Swiss will put together a glorious fairytale run replete with his brilliant backhand down the line (a thing of beauty) and conjuring up those moments of sheer innovation and belligerence along with his impressive dominance on the court, tactical acumen and mastery of angles, that you thought weren’t there until he executed the impossible and induced grimaces and looks from his opponents that it just happened, when they felt the point had been reached. it has already been earned and then you wonder why no one has thought of it before. Then it surprises you: the tennis court is his canvas and we are that privileged and lucky group that gets to see a master at work. A glorious epiphany on that, too, and when he holds that grand slam trophy high, making a fool of time and, more importantly, those skeptics who felt his epitaph was pending, would be the right time for him to retire. with style and seal. his last fragment of an enduring legacy on a tennis court. It’s for two simple reasons: we owe a lot to Roger for giving us so much joy during his time, that only he should decide his future, and from a more important and selfish perspective: my childhood needs that epic One Last Act.