Bill Simons
Years ago, Eleanor Preston asked the most persistent question of this tennis era. “Is it possible that Roger Federer is the most perfect tennis player, the most perfect man, ever in the history of anything?”
“Of course.” almost everyone agreed.
But at Roger’s Hall of Fame press conference on Friday, our core belief was shaken.
CBS anchor Isabelle Gonzalez brought up the topic of impostor syndrome, the feeling that you’re not worthy.
And mighty Roger struck. His expression was blank. He had no idea. So maybe our ever revered athlete wasn’t really the most perfect man ever after all.
But, not so fast. Lloyd Carroll claimed years ago that “Federer’s aura is all over the Open.” Roger’s aura was all over the game this week, and the US Open singles hadn’t even started yet. Not since Jimmy Connors captivated us with his dazzling run to the semifinals of the US Open in 1991 has a player so thoroughly captured our attention for an entire week.
News flash. Fed practiced with Musetti. He was there asking eight-year-olds or explaining the glory of his favorite one-handed backhand. When he played Andy Roddick on Tuesday night, Ashe Stadium was packed as fans tried to catch one last glimpse.
New Yorkers can be cynical. But forget about it. We saw nothing but frenzied worship. Everyone blew. Drone demonstrations over Manhattan celebrated the game’s great hero.
Then, in Newport, Rhode Island, we saw a perfectly beige Roger, doe-eyed and grateful, walking around the Hall of Fame. She dazzled everyone at a high-profile fundraiser at one of Newport’s many mansions.
Then, just to show us he still had it, in the exo doubles match, the 45-year-old unleashed a magical, breath-taking backhand volley winner for the ages. John McEnroe was amazed. “You can’t be serious!”
Observers soon drew comparisons. Djokovic may be the greatest ever, but Roger is the greatest. Just a few years ago, Federer had a great performance at Dartmouth in the early summer. Now can he put in a great performance at nearby Newport at the end of the summer?
And what about this year’s two inductees? Mary Carrillo, a southpaw with plenty of grub and the leading female anchor of all time, is a vibrant product of New York. Roger, by contrast, a chilling genius of ease and athletic elegance, is just Roger.
The internet couldn’t get enough of the highlights and explained that the phrase “The Roger Effect” refers to how Federer transcended traditional sports stars to fundamentally shape modern sports, culture and global business.
Wordsmiths were also looking for ways to explain his glory. Staccato steps, fluid movement, he bends time and sees the ball sooner, he answers questions that others can’t even imagine.
Historians spoke of his Corinthian spirit and Platonic truths. Here is the man who could not avoid beauty.
And he couldn’t avoid the questions either.
So, are you going to become a coach? No way.
And doing TV commentary? Doubtful right now, but maybe one day.
Do you still like to play? “Absolutely, I love the way it hits and the feel of the ball coming off my racket.”
Roger reflected on his skillful decision-making. “When the decision was made, I was free to express myself again… I felt like a winner.”
As for his emergence as a global icon, he reflected. “Good thing you’re hitting a bit of a fuzzy ball. Its color is yellow. But really, it’s irrelevant until you suddenly touch some people’s hearts and can change the world… at least for some people. So little by little you start dreaming and everything grows.”
One of the best marks in the history of tennis has advised everyone. And today, all of tennis was watching Roger’s induction. Federer predicted. “Time will stand still for a moment.”
And, boy, did it! But on the podium we did not see the effortless athlete, the perfect tennis player we know so well. We didn’t see a man who stunned us with his elegant strokes.
We saw a graceful soul who knew and appreciated her journey. A man who knew his true self and wasn’t afraid to share.
We saw a nuanced, modest, vulnerable global icon.
And we were reminded. no one played the game more beautifully, and no star wept more eloquently.
Roger gave us a present. He let us in because he remembered himself as the boy who took the chalk and created a makeshift field outside his Swiss home on the Wasserhaus Way, a 13-year-old shot in Basel captured by professionals. The kid with bleached blonde hair and a fiery temper, an 18-year-old Sydney Olympian who almost won a medal and fell in love with a gorgeous older woman.
As dusk fell in Newport today, even seagulls flew in to look at Federer as the still-jolly star recalled chasing his girlfriend who helped him warm up during matches and how a humble Andy Roddick complained:
It wasn’t hard for the Newport crowd to warm up to the celebrations today.
Eventually, Billie Jean King introduced immigrant Mary Carrillo. “He’s our storyteller,” said Billy. “He’s as stubborn as he is curious, he has a house full of notebooks and he has a knack for stringing words together and letting the action speak for itself. He is knowledgeable and inspiring.”
King remembered how Mary had told him. “I am responsible for everything that passes through these teeth.”
And when he took the stage, Carrillo noted King’s great curiosity and kindness, adding: “He’s the most unique American I know, and I mean that in a good way.”
Few tell tales better than Carrillo, and now he tells of a girl living in Great Neck Bay who won a six-and-under fishing contest and received Alex Olmedo’s tennis racket as her prize.
Soon, Mary’s parents didn’t have to worry about where their child was. He was at the Douglaston Club, where he eventually beat his father Tony and learned the story; A young kid named Johnny Mac from his leafy town who taught him at a tender age “how good I wasn’t.”
Still, Mary dreamed of “playing a few innings in the big leagues to walk through the gates of Wimbledon.”
But soon his knees gave him out and he started working on the cheap at $200 a shot. He wanted to be a journalist: to be accurate and fair, to have clear eyes and tell the hard truths. What a privilege it was just to have a credential!
Mary learned the hard way that there are obstacles. There were few waves in the show, as he could tell, and “It was an occupational hazard to piss off people, especially your bosses.”
Of course Carrillo spent some time in the box. But soon he also made many friends. Mary thanked Al Trautwig, Bud Collins, Pam Shriver, Fred Stolle, Nick Bollettieri, and statistics guru Leo Levin to name a few.
And he learned a few lessons. “Sometimes you tell stories, sometimes you keep quiet, and sometimes (when everything disappears) you leave the country.”
Mary thought. “Games are played, memories are made, stories are told and the laughs are sure to be funny. And as the years go by, athletes know better than anyone that you can’t stop the tide. So enjoy the ride. I’m blessed to share mine with such good people, and that’s the best thing I could wish for anyone.”
Then again, in tennis, many feel that Federer is the best player imaginable.
And soon his wife, Mirka, told us that, like Roger, he was a great and graceful player on the court, but she was more impressed by the man who wanted his loved ones close to him; a kind, respectful man who wouldn’t travel without his family with him.
The eldest son, brother, husband and father were all treated with “equal respect”.
Winning all his trophies was wonderful, but what was even better was “who he was when no one was watching.”
Roger remembered watching tennis as a ball boy in all its intensity and misery. What he loved was the feel of the game. What he learned was that he couldn’t throw his rackets, that he had to control his temper, that he had to balance fire and ice.
Over the years, he realized that tennis was a community, an ecosystem: the ball boys, the people who cleared the boundaries, the fans.
Her father told her never to drop a moon ball. Unsurprisingly, Roger played an aggressive game. His hardworking mother did everything: lessons, coaches, preparation for matches. He remembered his heroes Michael Jordan, Stefan Edberg and Boris Becker.
They say that those who have game know game. And as Roger reflected on the beauty of Pete Sampras’ epic serve, the tears flowed again as Federer bent low to unleash his glorious backhand.
The glory of Roger’s speech was the imperfection of the perfect man. When he kept tearing up, he went off script.
It wasn’t a flawless farewell performance for Agassi in front of 23,500 at Ash Stadium. It was a heartfelt outpouring in front of a tennis world that was continually derailed.
Yes, he thanked his wonderful support team: coaches, trainers, bankers, sponsors. His entire team, especially Pier Paganini, pushed him when he needed it and backed him up when things got rough. His longtime agent, Tony Godsick, pushed him to think bigger and bolder.
But what he needed at the moment was different. “I need wipes, sunglasses and everything to protect myself. And now we have the Mirka part (of my speech). Oh my gosh! This is such a mess. As you know, Mirka is my wife…
And we did.
Roger confided that Mirka taught him “to be happy about everything. We held each other’s hands and walked through the walls.
Throughout, Roger tried to stay true to himself, show his love for the game and be worthy of his fans. “Everywhere I went, I felt like I had the home field advantage. I wanted people to experience how great it feels to hit the ball hard, how it sounds, how it spins, how the geometry changes and how the pitch opens or closes. Tennis is spectacular to watch. It’s a game of emotion that matters to me.”
Roger then paid tribute to the many generations of the game and pleaded that tennis today retains its amateur spirit. “I hope the players will always remain young at heart. Remember to never stop asking questions and taking risks. Do things we’ve never seen before and keep pushing the game… and find ways to bring your passion back.”
He then concluded by saying that wherever tennis is played, from Slovakia to India, in the bitter cold or in the blazing sun, “this guy from Basel thanks you for the honor.”
And today, tennis thanked its most imperfect, perfect person.
