On Historicity

In Philip K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle, a counterfeiter explains to a customer how historicity is a construct. To drive home this point he presents a lighter, which belonged to FDR, and a replica that does not vary from its authentic referent. The counterfeiter instructs the customer to identify which lighter was once a possession of FDR and which one is merely an imitation. She picks each one up and examines them, but she can’t tell. The historicity of Roosevelt’s lighter does not make it in any way physically distinguishable or “heavier” than the replica. There is no intrinsic quality that belongs to the real object that is lacking in the fake. Historicity cannot be seen or felt.  

This so-called pretend quality, though, is real in sport. You can sense it when you watch certain matches. It’s what makes you feel that you’re a part of something greater than yourself. It’s that thing that makes you feel you’re witnessing history and that the moment you’ve just witnessed will be talked about time and time again.

In the 2015 Basel final, loose games decided the result. Despite taking place between the foremost two paragons of the tennis world, the match had none of the emotion of AO 2009. There has always been respect between Roger and Rafa, but their present phase of rivalry has less urgency. Perhaps the relative flatness is due to the notion that whatever might happen now will not how the rivalry is perceived.

“Fedal” is in a strange immunity zone with regard to History. It’s still considered by some to be the best match up in tennis. Be that as it may, their meeting in the Basel final smacked of an exhibition or a testimonial because it lacked historicity.

The ‘obstacle’ at hand is that both players have achieved living-legend status while they are still playing. Very few athletes experience this oddity. Once you reach a threshold of achievement, what you do afterwards has less heft than what you’ve done in the past. Your will forever be defined by your own history. Coppola doesn’t have to worry about making a bad film. DeLillo doesn’t have to worry about what critics say about his next work. This luxury isn’t afforded everyone. You must have an inordinately successful career to immunize yourself while still adding to your career.

Federer and Nadal can stand to rest on their legendary laurels more than others for the same reasons De Niro’s poor role choices now cannot take away from his illustrious career. Their respective achievements are so immense that any missteps taken can hardly dent perceptions of their greatness. Once you are granted living legend status, it is difficult to have it revoked (barring some Lance Armstrong level scandal) because it is bestowed only to the most deserving.

Hardly anything hinged on the outcome of the Basel final and with little but pride at stake it was difficult to imagine the impact the final score might have on their rivalry. There was a feel good vibe, but much less of the laser focus we grew accustomed to in the era when they consistently met in finals. Even so, there was a sense of awe cloaking the match—the sort that descends when you know you are privy to one of the greatest rivalries in sport of all time. This aura was a halo effect rooted in the undeniable historicity of the rivalry itself, even though the match at hand was not loaded with significance. It was good tennis, but it didn’t reach the next gear of Grand Slam tennis because the circumstances simply did not have enough gravitas to produce it.

Forget that neither player is in his prime anymore. Watching them battle, you felt more that they each wanted to win for tennis rather than for personal glory. With Nadal’s injuries, Federer’s age, and their remarkable records, it must be that they’re out there for love of the game. They do not face make-or-break moments as they did some six or seven years ago. All the tests that separated the “boys from the men” and the “good from the great” have already been passed and recorded. There is less weight of history on them now, as evidenced by the fact that there didn’t seem to be any deep sadness for the loser. Nadal was composed and unemotional when he made his runner-up speech and shook the ball kids’ hands.

Any matches that take place between Roger and Rafa now will necessarily lack historicity because the legend of the rivalry has already been cemented. I read a match report that that explained how the stats from the Basel final could change perceptions of the rivalry. That’s all well and good but, the thing is, without the element of historicity nothing can upend the established and hallowed mythos.  

Too Good: Federer's Mastery of the Random

If asked to make a list of tennis strategies, serving and volleying might be at the top. Then the drop shot, lob one-two. Maybe I-formation doubles. But you’d be under duress to come up with a name for the strategy Roger Federer used to unnerve Novak Djokovic in the finals of the Cincinnati Masters 1000. In August, Federer executed a carefully planned strategy of randomness and variation. A veritable Sybil, his pace, spin, depth, and angle were entirely unpredictable from point to point. Few players have the range and confidence to play such a game.

The constant change-ups kept Djokovic honest, kept him guessing, and kept him from controlling the match. Federer was impossible to read so Djokovic could never find a rhythm. Federer reified a consistent un-readability that tennis tacticians only dream of. He embodied Baudrillard’s “magic of concept and the charm of the real” simultaneously. Randomness is perhaps a misnomer. Random insofar as the best penalty takers are random. Those who aim left once, right the next, then dead center, top corner the next time with no apparent method prevent goalkeepers from anticipating what to expect. Random in a paradoxically systematic fashion.

Federer’s random is carefully calculated. He doesn’t go for winners on "random" points or take unnecessary risks. He hates the swing for the fences style, as evidenced by the following example. At the 2011 US Open semifinals, Djokovic saved five match points to beat Federer. One shot that particularly angered Federer was a go-for-broke forehand that John McEnroe praised as “one of the all-time great shots”. Federer didn’t regard Djokovic’s risky behavior as a strategy, but as desperation. He vilipended Djokovic’s game, “I mean, please. Some players grow up and play like that – being down 5-2 in the third, and they all just start slapping shots. I never played that way... For me, this is very hard to understand. How can you play a shot like that on match point?”

Djokovic closed out the 2011 semi playing with the why the Hell not? attitude that many qualifiers adopt against top seeded players in hopes of an upset. It’s Lukas Rosol tennis. Dustin Brown tennis. It’s hopeful giant slayer tennis. In other words, Federer saw it as aleatory and beneath the level of tennis that should be played in the semifinal of a Major. In the post-match interview Federer could hardly contain his disdain. Luck, more than anything, had given Djokovic the advantage (well, Federer implied, luck and a shameless willingness to let fly). The 2011 semis was a sour loss. The memory may have informed his decision to adopt a strategy of methodical randomness at Cincy this season.

What’s funny is that Federer rarely deigns to bother with strategy. Players and coaches alike know how Roger is going to play beforehand. Doing so, though, is no advantage because they’re still without a means to win. Cassandra can tell you Troy will be sacked, but you cannot stop the inexorable. If you are incapable of returning the Federer serve or of passing him at net, expect to lose. Federer has the luxury of playing a predictable game because the sheer quality of his strokes and vision preclude his opponent from competing. He has no need to hit to an opponent’s ‘weaker’ side when the ‘stronger’ side poses no threat to begin with. Unless you consider waiting for unforced errors a strategy, Federer can usually rely on an intimidating combination of his talent, sangfroid, and living legend status to beat opponents before they step onto the court.

That there was a semblance of strategy in Federer’s game at Cincy is a testament to Djokovic’s strength as a competitor. Federer famously does not watch his opponents’ early matches or tapes, presumably because he figures he can neutralize any kind of game with his own. It’s possible to construe the careful and diligent use of strategy at Cincy as a concession of sorts. Is Federer acknowledging that he cannot simply go out and play his usual game against Djokovic?

The apogee of success is to be accused of champion’s arrogance: (n.) the unwillingness to adapt one’s game to an opponent’s game based on a myopic and bullheaded belief in the methods of a particular brand of play that produced previous success. It was Cicero who said, “I am blind and too attached to what is noble.” Though it’s difficult to oppugn Federer’s methods, his unyielding belief in his own daedal game as the best game could be a hindrance to success. If he believes too fiercely in the superiority of his tennis, there is little room for adaptation or change--especially if he does not possess the same self-awareness as the famed orator. There is such a thing as over-belief and indulgent loyalty to the purity and integrity of a certain style of play.

You might be inclined to say that Federer’s random strategy embodies a crack in the façade of his champion’s arrogance because he is adapting his game to his opponents’ game. But consider: the random strategy is not tailor-made for Djokovic. It would unsettle any player. We don’t see the strategy on tour often because hardly anyone has the range of shotmaking to execute it and Federer rarely needs to make use of it.

So rather than the random strategy speaking to a decline in his “champion’s arrogance”, the strategy is further proof of said arrogance. The random style Federer adopted against Djokovic is an ever-more distinctly singular brand of Federer tennis. It’s the Federer-est tennis he’s played in years. For a while Federer tried to baseline grind with the rest of the Big Four, but it wasn’t his natural game and he experienced mixed results. The random game, which he alone has the range of shots to make use of, is Federer tennis in its purest form.

He is returning serve closer to the baseline than even he typically does, taking balls earlier, and half-volleying returns of serve. This last one proves that he’s playing more like himself than he has in years.

The ‘rush of blood’ service return is irreverent. It’s difficult, risky, and pays dividends. It’s aggressive and altogether Federer-ian. Funnily, if anyone but he performed such a cheeky act, it would be deemed disrespectful (and he would be the first to express as much). There’s something supercilious about the shot that smacks of mockery. Still, it’s nice to see he’s experimenting in his relative old age, even if it is at the expense of other players’ dignity.

To move in on a second serve is humiliating for an opponent. But Federer did so with aplomb, to Murray and Djokovic both. Federer hasn’t needed to alter his game to his opponents because his personal style of tennis only increases in efficacy as he ages. The only adjustment he has made is to play a more concentrated version of his extant game. His quickness in ending points and the fast pace at which he plays suits an older player as well as it did a young player, unlike the physical game Nadal specializes in.  

It’s a tautology that Federer’s tennis can only be made stronger by amplifying the facets that are singular to his game. He has distilled his game to its purest and most efficacious form. What he brings to court nowadays is his most basic game, no frills. Though, one could argue, his game is composed entirely of frills. And therein lies its beauty. 

A Sporting Gripe

There's a line in Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club, "You wake up, and that's enough." Given the tone of the novel, it's easy to read this as cynical: great, I didn't kill myself last night. Yet the book is strangely hopeful. In the introduction, Palahniuk says that many have thanked him for inspiring them to go back to school. They were inspired by the scene in which a character holds a gun to another man's head and threatens to kill him if he doesn't follow his dream of being a vet. At the heart of the quotation is the idea that sometimes getting to live is enough. It's the 'life is a gift' outlook--a pretty healthy worldview, if you ask me. And one Roger Federer endorses.

The Swiss said in an interview:

"Sometimes you're just happy playing. Some people, some media unfortunately don't understand that it's okay just to play tennis and enjoy it. They always think you have to win everything, it always needs to be a success story, and if it's not obviously what is the point. Maybe you have to go back and think, Why have I started playing tennis?  Because I just like it.  It's actually sort of a dream hobby that became somewhat of a job.  Some people just don't get that ever.”

The media and many others presumed that failing to win titles at the breakneck pace he used to would diminish Federer's love of the game. That's not the case, though it is a fair assumption. Many athletes love winning more than sport--and that's not to say that they don't love sport immensely. But Federer's response embodies what sets him apart from a typical (if such a thing exists) professional athlete. It also frees him from the unasked for pity that has been thrust upon him. He may be in the declining phase of his career, but the ability to compete is enjoyable in itself. 

The fortunes of athletes are viewed with a very one-dimensional gaze. To assume that a dry spell necessitates unhappiness diminishes the sheer joy of being able to do something you love for a living. As Federer has thoughtfully reminded us, just playing can be enough. Federer does concede that he might feel different if he weren't playing on center court consistently. Pete Sampras noted how demoralizing it was to be assigned to the graveyard court later in his career. The visible demotion was shattering. But again, he is someone who placed a much higher premium on winning than Federer. 

We lament the decline of great athletes' careers. And we pity them for being less than they were. Yet we are so eager to declare the end of their prime that it impedes our ability to appreciate it. When you're constantly on the lookout for signs of decline you will find them. As Caesar said in the Gallic Wars, "men are generally ready to believe what they want to believe."Perhaps we eulogize athletes so totally because we believe such skill is akin to art. We want desperately for athletes to last in the same way we desire beauty to last, though it is by nature short-lived.

John McEnroe once said, "Connors loved to fight, Sampras loved to win; Federer just loves to play," While there is nothing fundamentally superior about Federer's mindset over Sampras' or Connors', for those of us who love the game, we embrace professionals who feel likewise. Sport purists would like to believe that athletes compete for the love of the game and love of competition rather than prize money or the high of winning. Federer embodies such an ideal. Granted, it's easier for Federer to happily lose and enjoy playing given his achievements, certain legacy, living legend status and money in the bank. Even so, his sincerity is hard to question. 

Sampras was an incredible champion, but he didn't play with the same joy as Federer. The pleasure the 17-time Grand Slam champion gets out of playing is evident in his performances. Like a passionate musician or actor, Roger's emotion shines through his work. Fans love to see players celebrate, pump their fists and urge themselves on. The commentators always note when Roger says "c'mon" to himself during a match because the exclamation is an indication that he's thoroughly invested in the match. He often yells it when he is coming back from being down a set. 

Federer's quotation underscores his suitability as tennis' foremost ambassador. He may not be in the prime of his career anymore, but he can still compete at the very top. While Federer may have slipped considerably regarding his own unprecedentedly high standards, he has barely slipped in world standing. At 33, being ranked no. 2 in the world is hardly anything to be ashamed of. The fact that Federer was compelled to express the idea that being able to compete is enough speaks to the bizarre assumption that he cannot derive happiness from the push and pull of struggle and victory that is sport. 

Federer's reign has been so long that there is a tendency to think that success has come easily to him. That's not the reality. Federer struggled with his temper as a junior. His coach and close friend Peter Carter died tragically. When he turned pro, Federer was expected to be successful immediately but his wide array of weapons hindered the beginning of his career. And then there was his failure to capture the title at Roland Garros. With Federer you have to consider "challenges" and "obstacles" in terms of the caliber of his ability. You wouldn't consider failing to win the French Open a devastating event in a less talented player's life. That being said, the Swiss is no stranger to hardship. 

It should go without saying that you don't have to shatter records to enjoy playing. The numerous rec and USTA leagues across the nation are a testament to this. But we assume that to win virtually unrivaled and then to win only some of the time would be mentally devastating. For some it may be. But Roger reminds us that we should always be able to love sport in the way we loved it when we first fell in love. The freedom to win and the freedom to lose are enough.