In July 2016, Roger Federer looked like he might be calling time on his illustrious career. He was 34, old for an athlete and especially so for tennis, a game in which Federer was at his best in his mid- to late 20s. His knee gave out on him in the semifinals of Wimbledon, and he announced that he would take off the rest of the year to heal. Federer was doing what he had to do, but like everyone else, he worried that the outlook was grim.
By now, you know how everything went. Federer hasn’t just played well in 2017. No, that would be the mildest of compliments, like saying Babe Ruth was a decent hitter or that Wayne Gretzky knew how to skate. At age 35—he turns 36 next month—Federer is better than he’s ever been. He won the Australian Open, the first Grand Slam of the season. He has the most impressive record in tennis this year: 31-2. And, best of all, he collected the title he loves most: Wimbledon, for the eighth time, the most wins by any man in history. He has now won 19 Grand Slam titles in his career, 4 more than anyone else.
Tomas Berdych, who lost to Federer in the Wimbledon semifinals, said aloud what all players must be thinking: Federer “doesn’t really seem” to be “getting any older or anything like that, or slowing down at all. . . . He’s playing by far the best tennis right now.”
No one expected this, not even Federer himself.
“I knew I could do great again maybe one day, but not at this level,” Federer said after his 6-3, 6-1, 6-4 demolition of Marin Cilic in the Wimbledon final. “So I guess you would have laughed, too, if I told you I was going to win two Slams this year. People wouldn’t believe me if I said that. I also didn’t believe that.”
Federer had the first surgery of his career in February 2016, after he injured his left knee while bathing his twin daughters. He recovered quickly, but back on court he didn’t feel right. Then at Wimbledon last year the worst happened: He fell and tweaked the knee again in the semifinals. Federer lost the match in five sets to Milos Raonic and sounded despondent in a press conference, worried that he would never be the same player again.
“I don’t slip a lot,” he said. “I don’t ever fall down. It was a different fall for me than I’ve ever had.”
Grand Slam winners know that any victory could easily be the last. Mats Wilander reached his peak in 1988, when he won three of the majors in a single season. He was 24 years old and never won another. Ivan Lendl, the winner of eight Grand Slam titles before he was 30, played his last four years without finding number nine. Not even Rod Laver could beat back time: After winning all four Grand Slam titles in 1969, at age 31, he never won another over an eight-year stretch.
Habits and success can fade rapidly in tennis; several months off can be an eternity. Players are religious about when and how much they’ll hit, and fear disaster if they can’t follow their routine. Federer had to be patient. And unafraid, too, as everyone else worked and the game and its strategies evolved. That’s why Federer did not expect much when he went to Australia this year; it was his first tournament in six months. But the lack of belief may have given him freedom.
In his first Australian match, he lost a set before winning in four and was smiling like he hadn’t played in years. He loved being back, and he kept surviving, including two five-set thrillers (beating Kei Nishikori 6-7(4), 6-4, 6-1, 4-6, 6-3 in the fourth round and Stan Wawrinka 7-5, 6-3, 1-6, 4-6, 6-3 in the semis). Then in the final he beat Rafael Nadal in five sets: 6-4, 3-6, 6-1, 3-6, 6-3. It was the most stunning victory of his career; he trailed 3-1 in the fifth against his friend and longtime nemesis before taking five straight games.
Many wonder if Federer’s renewed success shows that you can win more by playing less tennis. Don’t enter as many tournaments, the thinking goes, so you remain well rested and reduce injuries. This sounds simple and smart, until you realize it can’t possibly be true. Players insist that they need a lot of practice to retain their skills, just as a gymnast would prepare for the Olympics. There’s no other way to feel comfortable hitting a tennis ball in professional matches than to do just that—except, as it turns out, if you’re Roger Federer. One miracle is enough for a season for anyone. Federer, somehow, now has two.
In Australia, the matches were tight and full of drama. At Wimbledon, Federer dominated. He went to London as the favorite—adding pressure, especially as he skipped the French Open to put all his energy into the grass courts of Wimbledon. When you lean on one tournament, that’s a mental challenge. Just ask Lendl, who skipped the French Open twice in the hope of finally winning Wimbledon and didn’t succeed. Federer didn’t hide his emotions in London. “I always say when I’m nervous, I care, which is a great thing,” he noted after his second-round match. “When you’re only practicing, you never get nervous like this because it doesn’t matter if you miss break points or play bad or whatever it is.”
Roger Federer nervous? It couldn’t have been more apparent than in the second round, when he was obviously anxious and barely escaped losing the first set against low-ranked Dusan Lajovic (it ended in a tiebreaker). Federer wanted this title more than any of his career, and at the start it looked like he might need to beat both Novak Djokovic and Nadal to do it. But it didn’t take long for everything to come together. Federer won his matches with increasing ease. Nadal lost a five-set thriller to Gilles Müller (6-3, 6-4, 3-6, 4-6, 15-13). Djokovic stumbled with an ache in his elbow. Berdych was no match, and Marin Cilic, the finalist, had a painful blister on his foot. Federer, remarkably, didn’t lose a set the entire tournament.
Yet there was more to Federer’s win than good fortune. Yes, his health was suddenly an advantage as everyone else succumbed to injuries and upsets. But the ways he has changed his game count for more. You probably remember Federer in his 20s, with broad cheeks and long hair. He was a different player, perhaps with more speed and definitely different tactics that were more about overwhelming opponents than outsmarting them. He used to slice his backhand often, waiting for a chance to crush a forehand—and he had enough speed to cover his opponent’s attacks of that shot. These days Federer is more mature, with more variety and a bigger racket that prevents mishits. His speed is a bit less than in his youth, but he makes up for it by predicting his opponent’s upcoming shots better than ever—and then hustling. The racket, which caused too-long forehands at times when he first began to play with it, is now settled and accedes to Federer’s commands.
There’s a new Federer coach, too. Federer famously didn’t have one in his heyday, but trains these days with Ivan Ljubicic, a wily former player who made up for his lack of speed with smart plays. It’s no coincidence that Ljubicic used to thump his one-handed backhand, as Federer does now. All the evidence you need is the way he returned Nadal’s serves in Australia: full swings usually aiming balls at the server’s feet or, if time, down the line for a winner. He did the same at Wimbledon, too. Older and wiser, this Federer no longer waits. For anything.
Federer and his wife, Mirka, have four children now, two sets of twins (two girls age 8, and two boys age 3). Federer thanks his wife all the time in conversation, saying that the moment Mirka has had enough, he’ll be gone. She clearly wants to keep going, and she knows that Federer, besides his endless talent, has had a good deal of luck, too. She herself was a promising tennis player in the 1990s, but a foot injury ended her career in 2002. She knows tennis can be cruel: One bit of trouble can end everything. So they both want to stick around as long as they can, a love that’s wonderful for both of them—and for all of us who love tennis.
Tom Perrotta writes about sports for the Wall Street Journal, FiveThirtyEight, and other publications.
