Farewell Tennis

My childhood tennis hero was Pete Sampras. Andre Agassi was cooler with the bandana and the flamboyant nature but I admired his compatriot more. Sampras’ style was what made him more attractive to me and his decline in the early 2000s was something I struggled to deal with. I remembered a ponytailed Swiss beating him at Wimbledon distinctly because that was not one of my greatest days — my hero was losing to a nobody. But what a nobody he turned out to be!

Roger Federer is aeons better than Sampras but he comes from the same Sampras school of players who made tennis an art, rather than a game of endurance. He might be the last of the old-school artists. Federer — like Sugar Ray Leonard — had the ability to red-line while appearing to cruise, to strain without apparent pain, to give everything and concede nothing, simultaneously beautiful and ruthless: the badge of true greatness.

Over the last few years, I have often contemplated what would it feel like when Federer eventually hangs up his racquet and that time has come. My head is now a showreel of the great Federer moments. I remember hugging a girl sitting beside me after watching a down-the-line backhand from Federer — just gobsmacked at his artistry. I remember crying after he wasted Championship points and lost the Wimbledon final in 2019. I remember when Sir Alex Ferguson retired, I wrote some of the greatest evenings of my life were because of him. I can safely add Federer to that list in retrospect. I once wrote that once he retires, I would be happy and I am genuinely pleased. For me, he is my favourite ever sportsperson, across disciplines.

Don’t be sad it’s over, be glad that he happened. Happy retirement Roger Federer and goodbye Tennis.