By Chris Oddo | Monday January 30, 2017
Roger Federer's party in Melbourne has given one writer a giant tennis hangover.
Photo Source: Mark Peterson/Corleve
Forget about greatest of all time—how about simply, timeless?
Because that’s what I’ll remember about Roger Federer when he declares that he’s got nothing left to prove and hangs up his tennis shoes for the last time. Think of a tennis ball suspended in mid-air as the Swiss is about to strike it. Maybe the light illuminates part of the tennis court—perhaps there is sun on the half where Federer prepares to strike the ball and shadows on the other half.
Might be on grass, might be on hardcourts, might be on clay—doesn’t matter, he was great on them all.
Freeze it. Right there, and don’t let it end.
The endless summer day, part of an endless summer, a seemingly endless career that has stretched out across the canvas of tennis history—a tasteful swath of color so vivid, yet subtle.
Freeze it, and pan around the stadium. People in awe. The press, the honorary guests, the ushers, concessionaires and ballkids. It is all happening too fast now. We are saying hello and saying goodbye while that ball hangs in the air, glowing in the last minutes of what we thought might be endless summer sunlight.
I admit it. More than anything I feel a prevailing sense of sadness today (maybe I’ve embraced the #SleepIsForTheWeak mantra too warmly) after having watched Serena Williams and Roger Federer smash major milestones yet again this weekend at the Australian Open. It’s a sweet sorrow, I must say, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the glory of what I see as Federer’s crowning achievement isn’t tethered to the gloom of the reality that this victory moves us closer to the end than we’ve ever been before.
It doesn’t matter where your allegiances angled—whether it be Federer’s regal genius, Rafael Nadal’s percolating passion, Serena Williams’ goddess thunder, Venus Williams’s fierce feminine voice (for me it is all of them!)—the roar is soon to die down.
Ah, but the saying is true—It is better to have loved and lost…
Tennis is a never-ending show—it will survive and yes, even thrive in the years to come—but pieces of us will fall off and die with the end of this era. When we say goodbye to Federer, Nadal, Serena and Venus Williams, many of us will ache. We’ll look back upon the years in remembrance. Sweet years, ones that we’ll forever cherish and ones that we’ll never get back. I was in my mid-30’s when all this Big Four madness came to be a reality. Even younger when Serena and Venus burst onto the scene in the late 90’s. I’ve loved and lost along the way. I can close my eyes and feel the presence of those who are no longer here. I can open them and see a different man in the mirror—not so young anymore.
Gosh, where does the time go?
Keep that ball in the air, don’t strike it, Roger. Leave Rafa at the other end of the court, his eyes burning with mad desire in that picture-perfect endless summer heat.
Hold that pose, Serena. Your sinew flexed, your eyes wide, racquet poised like Richard taught you. Freeze, right there. Venus across the net from you like she always has been, recoiling from an exertion of force, a vibrating microcosm of what you meant to tennis and what you meant to women and men for two brilliant decades.
That ball is flying through the air. Let’s freeze it, just as it passes from shadow to light.
Because once it begins its descent—once we press play again, time will begin its incessant march to the end of an era. We’ve always been headed here only we just didn’t feel it as poignantly as we do today. Great parties lead to epic hangovers. This golden era will be over before we know it. The greatest—and greats—of the game aged out, their legacy all that we’ll have left to cherish.
It was a great weekend in Melbourne—one of the greatest. But now that the dust has settled the reality is sinking in. The time is now to cherish like we’ve never cherished before.