These Curious Days

And so Rafael Nadal has reclaimed his clay throne in Roland Garros, the Grand Slam he has dominated for the past six years (with only one hiccup last year). Once again, he is the number one tennis player in the world.

All angles of his match against Robin Soderling has been examined and analyzed (my favorite post-match article comes from Tennis.com’s Pete Bodo), so I won’t go there. Instead, I will explore my affinity for Nadal as a fan and how it came to be.

At first, it’s not really clear why, in the current crop of tennis players, I prefer Rafael Nadal most. He is certainly not the most good-looking of the bunch, nor the smoothest or most articulate. His interests outside tennis are totally different from mine and my group of friends. He likes teddy bears. He likes “Coolplay” (Coldplay) and Shakira.

When I saw him in person for the first time in the 2005 Shanghai Tennis Masters Cup, he was awkward and didn’t have much to say, unlike Roger Federer and Marat Safin. He acted too much like a little boy. And after signing my ball, he threw it straight at me, playfully: “Catch!” he said, and it hit me — painfully– right in the solar plexus. The embarrassment was too much for both him and me, and we both quickly went in separate directions, pretending that nothing happened.

But all that aside, I’m undeniably a Nadal fan.

From the time I sat down to watch the whole fortnight of Roland Garros 2005, when I saw him — then just a newbie to me — run down all the almost-winners and dropshots and volleys that his opponents would throw at him; to the time he was booed and peppered with litter by the French crowd while he was handily defeating an aggressive Sebastien Grosjean; to the time he faced a resilient, seemingly unbeatable Mariano Puerta in the finals–it became undeniably clear that he was the player that I could and would really get behind.

It wasn’t because he was a winner. That first year after winning the French Open, he crashed out of the Queens tournament and Wimbledon in the early rounds. He wasn’t able to do much in the US Open, either, and, much to my chagrin, his tendinitis reared its ugly head at the Tennis Masters Cup Shanghai 2005, the first ATP tournament I ever saw live, forcing him to bow out before he even struck a ball.

It wasn’t because he exuded this strong, captivating personality on court, either, with his piratas, bandanna and muscles.

Looking back, it really was what Rafael Nadal represented that made me a fan. His success did not have the prodigy-overnight-sensation feel that characterized Roger Federer, Boris Becker and Andre Agassi’s dominance in tennis. His was a more human struggle, seen in his every movement on court, in his words during pressers, his demeanor off-court — this was a regular (in terms of tennis) lad who had worked hard, practiced, endured and survived against the hundreds of tennis hopefuls in the world.

He didn’t waltz in one day, perfect and strong, suddenly blowing everyone off the court. His progression was well-seen and well-documented. Unlike Roger Federer who came into the scene as this graceful swan that everyone instantly knew would be the one to watch for, Nadal had an awkward, rather ineffective serve which he made up for with his strong constitution. His forehands were perennially short because of his natural massive topspin. These didn’t serve him well beyond claycourts, and many dismissed him as a player who would never impress after the clay season.

But against stereotype and dismissive pundits, he worked hard and improved. He struggled as someone who has, but doesn’t want to be totally dependent on, his athletic gifts. Although there was no denying his natural athletic abilities, he was also no classic maestro or temperamental prodigy. He had to graduate from high school, under the strict supervision of his tight-knit family; he was given no star treatment by his hometown friends. He did his job day-in, day-out, working on his weak serve (by ATP Top 10 standards), his net game, his movement.

I identified with his work ethic and the fact that, unlike other players, Rafa always looked like someone who couldn’t afford to take anything for granted (in spite of the fact that he was one of the few who actually could). Although he kept on improving and winning — he won the French Open four times, Wimbledon once (defeating Roger Federer, no less), the Olympics and 18 other ATP Master tournaments — he never lost that hunger, that slight necessary fear that regular, but determined, people like me have to deal with everyday.

He knew life dealt random hands to everyone, and it would not always be good, so while he took his chances, he also made sure he fully appreciated every opportunity that came his way.

This became even more evident after his “fall from grace” last year, when, after his Australian Open victory, he was dealt bum cards. His parents got divorced (no matter what age you are, divorce is never easy), he failed to defend his French Open title, losing in the fourth round to the unlikeliest of characters (Robin Soderling), and he lost all his points from his 2008 Wimbledon victory, withdrawing from the tournament because of a persistent knee problem.

From then on, he never won a tournament until April 2010 heralded the clay court battles once again. Those past months were painful, gruelling, draining — many would have taken it as a sign and folded amid self-doubt.

Which brings me to another thing that made me a fan of Rafael Nadal: his ability to dig into reserves of self-assurance that everyday, regular people have to draw from to survive the daily grind. This ability became even more compelling because his falterings and emotional turmoil are evident, more immediate (Marat Safin doesn’t count because his tortured-ness is akin to that of the inaccessible rockstar or artiste). Definitely far from the typical stoic, invincible image of a tennis great.

These facets of Nadal’s career and circumstances bond me to him in a way that feels personal, although, of course, I don’t have the illusion that I actually will ever know him. I simply wanted to finally thresh out for myself what it is about this relentlessly rising tennis champion that truly made me a fan years ago, when he didn’t have a major to his name, when his matches were still relegated to the show courts, when his serve was weak and awkward, when his tennis shoes didn’t have special inscriptions on them.

And then, of course, I also realize that he is the only number one tennis player in the world who:

* still strings his own rackets
* carries his own bags both during practice and matches
* still keeps close to his family and childhood friends
* arrives on time for appointments
* remembers his manners on and off-court
* never breaks a racket in anger
* listens to the advice of his Uncle Toni and his team
* wears/uses his sponsors’ products without fuss (because he appreciates how lucky he is to have them support him)
* works hard to speak better English (to communicate better to more people)

…and suddenly, it makes sense. While I am awed by flashes of brilliance, gorgeous strokes and deftness on court, I also look for that very human side that I associate with solid relationships, hard work, emotional strength — things that have not been so visible on the world stage of tennis for a while. Rafael Nadal, to me, above all, is a champion of vulnerable, but beautiful humanity in tennis: at once so flawed and transcendent, fleeting, but rooted by pure love for the game.