Roger Federer and Me, with no apologies to Michael Moore

Readers might want to read and compare what follows below with "Roger Federer and the Pursuit of Perfect Tennis," by David Foster Wallace (the eminent writer who recently committed suicide), which appeared in the August 19, 2006 issue of The New York Times Sports Magazine ("Play"). I had not read this piece, or known of it, while I was writing what follows, but someone alerted me to its existence afterwards. I’m not sure whether or not I am envious or disheartened–Wallace’s piece is obviously brilliantly written and captures some of the thrill I have watching Federer but could not express half as well–but I do try to do something different, which I hope readers enjoy.
*************

Roger (Federer) and Me, with no apologies to Michael Moore

The other day a friend of mine who attended the US Open said she sat next to an Iranian, now living in America, who told her Roger Federer was gay. His long-time girlfriend, Mirka, was just part of the coverup. Notice, he said, how Federer casually brushes away the hair on his forehead just before he serves.

Like my friend, I doubted this. Most of all–talent to one side--I think of Federer as honest and not one either to engage in false modesty, which I think his arch-rival Rafael Nadal does (off the court), or be boastful. He knows he has been number one and has a legitimate claim to be the greatest tennis player in history–certainly one of the greatest. And he doesn’t "aw shucks" us with "I played Ok" when in actuality (this past year notwithstanding), he played great.
But although both Martina Navratilova and Amelie Mauresmo are self-admitted gay tennis players and great ones at that–much more so Martina, but Mauresmo has won two slams), Martina and Amelie are women and our culture is more accepting of gay women than men. It would not be easy for a great male tennis player to admit he was gay. In the past, one of the greatest players of all time, Bill Tilden, was gay, but much more than gayness was involved. There were various morals charges involving underage boys. In the end, Roger Federer could be gay–though I greatly doubt it–but it wouldn’t matter an iota to me.

This reminds me of a an incident when I was about 19. I was waiting for a street car in Baltimore (when it still had street cars) and a man approached me and made me an offer. I told a boyhood friend what happened and he asked me, "Did you bob him?" I’m not sure I knew what bop meant–it wasn’t part of my vocabulary--but it was not hard to figure out. I may not have shown my red-headed friend my astonishment, but astonished I was. Maybe that was the usual response of boys and men of that day–the early 50's–but it certainly wasn’t my way of thinking. Actually, I told the man, "No, thank you."

That attitude continued through many variations, of which I’ll only mention two. My sister’s younger son is gay. That this is true has not in anyway prevented me from loving him enormously, admiring his many technical skills and in general enjoying his absolutely winning ways. He came with an ex-boyfriend to my special 70th birthday party, attended by 50, with his ex-lover, Roger, with whom he is now only friends with. I was delighted to have him be there, and Roger too, since I also like him a lot.

The other occasion to be mentioned is when I first met Kenny, the ex-boyfriend of my wife at the time who left her for another, a man, or perhaps more correctly, left her for others, men. At his apartment, he introduced himself to me by giving me a kiss on the lips. I guess I passed the test, since I was obviously not horrified (or even put off). We became good friends (and saw each other often over the years), until he died of AIDs in the early nineties. I remember having a deep conversation with him about sex and life, near the end, as the two of us drove from New York up to Newport, where he was attending a family get-together.

One of the ways I have undermined the intelligence of my very smart wife, Marianne–someone who has a PH. D. in philosophy and teaches at John Jay College–was to get this sports- unconscious woman hooked on tennis. She had never played, and never watched, and in general when we met was totally uninterested in professional sports of any kind. Was she ever corrupted! She went from one who spent a year or two asking me, out of boredom or lack of concentration, whether on the line was in or out, to someone who is often better able to assess the pluses and minuses of the players we watch than many of the professional tennis commentators. But both of us were plainly wrong about Federer in the early years of this century. He made great shots, true, but he always seemed to lose, before the finals. We both thought he was just going to be another one of those head cases who had talent but rarely won, like Mauresmo, although she finally was able to win later on.

But then he caught on. Were we ever wrong! The wins piled up. The brilliancies increased. The errors were minimal and his serve was superb. By 2005, we knew we were dealing with someone who was more than exceptionally good, but someone for the ages.

And as the wins mounted–by the start of 2008, Roger had 12 grand slams, including Wimbledon five times in a row and the US Open four times in a row–almost everyone (including Marianne and I) was asking whether Federer was the greatest male tennis player of all time. Many were sure it was true. It was the twelve titles, but more–the years at number one; the consecutive years he had made at first the finals of the slams and then after his loss in the Australian Open of 2008 in the semi’s, the consecutive years he had made it at least to the semi’s in slams. The records are stunning.

But, but, but. There was Sampras, who won fourteen titles, unquestionably the greatest grass player in history, at least up to Roger, and damned competent on hard surfaces as well. And beyond Sampras, there were Tilden, Vines, Budge, Kramer, Gonzales, Laver, Borg and Rosewell. On the negative side–one reason why Roger may not be that great–is that comparing some of his records to those who played long ago are unfair to these players, since they were not allowed to play in the slams once they had turned pro. Only "amateurs" were eligible. Therefore Laver, for example, who won all four slams in 1962–the Grand Slam–and amazingly did it again in 1969, when pros could play–actually they could play in 1968 and Laver also won one slam that year. In the years in between, when pros were not allowed to enter the tournaments, Laver, like the other pros, won none. What would have been the number of slams he would have won had the rules been different? Instead of 11, it might have been 20. And perhaps Rosewall’s 8 might have been 15.

Also, the number of slams won by other greats of the past was lessened by the fact that many ignored what was then the less prestigious Australian Open (not now, of course, but not that long ago). This kind of history makes it hard to compare the records of those in the past with those in the present and this obvious reality often leads commentators to say so and so is the greatest player in the "open era," meaning the period after Wimbledon and the other slams allowed pros to play. And in fact, by paying such enormous amounts not only to winners but even to those who make the first round (and even those playing to qualify!), why should anyone remain an amateur?

But there are at least two interrelated reasons why Federer’s accomplishments are understated. Tennis is much bigger now in the United States, than what it was when I was growing up. Then it was considered a sissy sport. I was captain (and number one) of my high school tennis team. (I lost to all the really good players who went on to become Maryland state champions, although I did take a set off Dave Freishtat.) But by earning an F for being on the varsity tennis team (the F not being the lowest grade, following A, B, C, and D, but the first letter of my school, Forest Park, and it stood for being a Forester, I was eligible for the athletic club, whose name I have forgotten.

Anyone wanting to learn a little more about Forest Park, and where I grew up, should see Barry Levinson’s movie Liberty Heights. Levinson was also a graduate of Forest Park, but the movie has a setting slightly later than when I went there. Therefore, the black girl friend who went to Forest Park could not have gone to Forest Park when I did, since the school was strictly segregated. There were white schools and there were black schools (although where the Chinese went has puzzled me to this day) and this did not change until 1954 after the Supreme Court desegregation decision (Brown vs Board of Education). And, while I’m at it, may I disassociate myself from the Vice-President who had to resign because he took bribes. Spiro Agnew was also a graduate of Forest Park, preceding me by about as many years as Barry had followed me.

Anyway, earning an F got me into the athlete’s club. But I knew that the football and basketball and baseball and ice hockey members of this club, especially the tough ones–the footballers and hockey players–considered us tennis players to be sissies. Which, to be honest, I was. I certainly didn’t look to bop one of them, straight though they were (I assume). But they wouldn’t have called Pancho Gonzales a sissy, had they known of him. The Samprasses and Roddicks and Agassis have certainly removed the taint of sissiness from American tennis. And this means, in recent decades, there are many more excellent athletes competing. Laver and Rosewall, not to mention Tilden, had it easier.

But even more important than the impact of the decline of sissiness in those who play tennis here in the US, there has been an exponential increase in the number of talented tennis players world wide. And this rise is not just in Russia, where serious tennis barely existed 50 years ago, or Spain, where it existed but not in such depth and with such talent, but even in tiny, little countries like Croatia, which now has a goodly number of top male players, many of them twice as tall as Bobby Riggs. Well, almost so. There’s even an up-and-comer from Latvia! In other words, to be the dominating force in tennis for five years in a sport which for a decade or two has been increasingly developing more and more talented young players, is nothing less than mind-boggling. And though Federer had what might be called a mediocre year, winning only one slam, though he got to the finals of two of the others and the semis of the fourth, it is likely he will continue to loom large for years to come. To me, this overshadows the pro-amateur question previously raised. It also implies, that good as Laver (or Rosewall) was, he was no Federer.

But still, why am I so fanatically committed to Roger Federer. Why is he my hero? And this I can’t answer easily. (Therefore put to one side psychological denigrations of me, however true they may be and help me come up with an answer.) My thoughts run like this: If you thought Paul Klee’s paintings were magical or magically whimsical, would you not simply be in awe of him? I am. If the playing of Vladimir Horowitz stunned you, even if like me you are musically challenged, wouldn’t you simply admire him beyond measure?

I watch–mostly on TV, although I have been to Wimbledon and Roland Garros, home of the French Open–and see Federer make great shots throughout a match, serve magnificently (and get an extraordinary number of aces just when he needs them, not because he serves so hard–he’s no Andy Roddick, hitting up in the 140's an hour–but serves so well because they are almost perfectly disguised and the angles are incredible.) But even more important, almost every match (or maybe every other match), he makes a phenomenal shot, something you have to see to believe. Yes, other players do this occasionally, but Roger does it more than anyone else.

Recently–I think it was against Andy Murray, in the 2008 US Open, which Roger won handily–his opponent hit an overhead smash–usually point enders and winners–but this one was near enough to Roger, standing at the back of the court near the wall, behind which are the spectators. Roger gets to the ball and hits an overhead smash in return, except it wasn’t quite a smash, but a hard hitting smash-like lob which rose over the tall opponent and then landed a foot inside the back line, a dramatic winner. I have never seen this shot before and I don’t even think there is a name for it. (A lob-smash?) But it’s why I want to watch Federer and see him win. I am in the presence of Klee or Horowitz. Love and personal achievement aside, is there anything better than watching (or hearing) true greatness, except maybe being oneself truly great (an option I do not have)?

Go Roger.