Sitting here watching Rafael Nadal play Roger Federer at the French Open on TV, a sports fan realizes, if he has any sense of gratitude, that it is a rare privilege to see athletes this good, for this long, with this degree of mutual respect and classiness.
Add in the too-little-appreciated Novak Djokovic, and men’s tennis has a triumvirate unmatched in dominance and endurance by any trio in any sport in the modern world. Not even the “Big Three” in 1960s golf of Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, and Gary Player were close to the historical superlatives Federer, Nadal, and Djokovic are racking up. Good as Palmer and Player were, neither would figure in the discussion for “greatest of all time,” as Tiger Woods, Bobby Jones, Ben Hogan, Walter Hagen, and Sam Snead all would have greater or equal billing.
But in tennis, only Rod Laver could come close to making a case to belong in the same discussion as today’s three greats.
On the clay of Roland Garros, of course, Nadal is king. As I watch, he has just pulled off several near-miraculous shots in a row to emerge from a 40-0 hole and break Federer for the second time in the second set, after being down a break earlier. The score now stands Nadal 6-3, 6-4, with the third set beginning. Nadal, legs churning as fast as ever four days after his 33rd birthday, is trying for his record 12th French Open title and 18th major. Federer, amazingly competitive at age 37, seeks only his second French crown but his 21st major overall. Djokovic, waiting to play in the other semifinal match once this one ends, has one French championship and 15 majors so far. He’s 32.
All three are older than the fourth-greatest major title winner, Pete Sampras, was when he retired from the game, yet none of them seems markedly slower, or their strokes less explosive, than they were in their 20s.
O.K., we interrupt for an update. Nadal is now up 3-1 in the third set. The man owns the red clay. He just owns it.
Anyway, what is most inspirational in watching these toreadors is how well they genuinely like each other and how sportsmanlike they are. What a change from the 1970s, when Jimmy Connor hated basically everybody (except for Vitas Gerulaitas — even Connors liked him), John McEnroe and Ilie Nastase were erupting in on-court expletives with the frequency of Tourette’s sufferers, and the apparently classy Roscoe Tanner was readying himself for a life of petty crime.
Federer: drop shot with the touch of Da Vinci. Nadal can’t retrieve it. Federer won’t go meekly. But Nadal holds service anyway. Federer now serving at 1-5. Wins the first point. Wins the second. Can’t handle Nadal’s supersonic return on the third, but wins the fourth. Then pulls off a have-to-see-it-to-believe-it half-volley winner to win the game. There’s pride and heart and majesty in Federer’s mien.
But here come Rafa, serving for the match. Winner. Forced Federer error. A serve Federer can’t handle. Then, Day-Glo yellow headband keeping eyes clear of breeze-blown hair, one more great serve. Nadal has won, in straight sets. But Federer has sent a message: Even on his least-favorite surface, he managed to reach the semis. Watch out for him on the Wimbledon grass.
Meanwhile, if Nadal wins the finals, he will have notched as many Grand Slam singles titles as Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe combined, all while praising his rivals and honoring the game. Tournament by tournament, he, Federer, and Djokovic set a new baseline for excellence and sportsmanship.
