There is something quite mesmerising about watching a master craftsman at work.
On Friday evening, I had every intention of watching the Ashes, or the latter stages of the Proteas-Bangladesh one-dayer.
But I hadn’t reckoned with Roger Federer rendering all resistance futile with his relentless brilliance. He continues to defy those who point at Father Time, those who point over the net to fresher, hungrier rivals, as he keeps rattling off winners of such savage beauty you can’t help but wish his illustrious career never to end.
His stack of records is ridiculous enough; a heap of Grand Slams, almost 100 career titles, and a pile of prize money that could almost rescue the Greek economy single-handedly. But, Federer’s greatest accomplishment has been his longevity. Like the finest specimen of Rolls Royce, the Swiss maestro has just maintained a blinding standard of fitness and finesse for over a decade. And just when we think his time has come, he reminds us that legends write their own scripts.
The manner of his Murray dismantlement was savage poetry in motion. He trod over Murray’s second serve like a bully in a tuxedo, reducing the frowning Brit to a state of helplessness. Federer is probably the only opponent of the current era who could conflict the Centre Court crowd’s affections. They wanted Murray to win, but Federer’s classy touch tugs at even the sternest of heart strings.
Indeed, he has made SW19 his home from home. We all remember Federer strutting onto the stage in a vintage cardigan one year, as if in his own lounge, before turning up in a sporting blazer the next, detailed in gold, like much of his displays on the most famous lawn in the world. Only he could pull that off, and get an appreciative nod from the royal box.
Watching him in full, fabulous flow, you think this surely must have been what it was like to hear Mozart play, or perhaps to be a silent observer as Vincent van Gogh whispered sweet nothings to canvas with a pencil. It seems effortless, as if the artist is in a trance. On Friday, Federer reeled off groundstrokes that drew gasps of astonishment, as if this was the first time they were being seen.
Of course, it is closer to the end than the beginning for the 33-year old. It was just yesterday, it seems, when he and Tiger Woods were jousting to see who would end with the most Major titles. It is compelling that Federer’s lead in that contest, despite a shorter career, looks as rock solid as his first serve.
When he delights as he so dominantly did on Friday, you wonder if he still has a few more Slams in him yet. No one, save for Novak Djokovic would begrudge Federer a record eighth Wimbledon crown this afternoon.
When Pete Sampras was in his prime, the world wandered if anyone would ever match his supremacy. Federer has done so, with a repertoire so complete that he is now being comfortably reckoned as the greatest of all time.
That is a big call, given what has come before him. But that is testimony to the balletic brilliance that has seen him outlast fragile powerhouses like Rafa Nadal, repel the enduring, if not endearing, advances of Murray, and look Djokovic squarely in the eye, and tell him it’s not quite your time yet.
Then again, Federer is Swiss, and they have a way with timing and occasions. To beat the world’s No1, Federer will have to rediscover the incomparable zone that he lived in on Friday, because Djokovic always finds a way to make his opponent play one more shot. The romantics will hope that this is Federer’s “one more”, and he reign again in his domain.
Long live the king.