Tennis: Roger Federer must take last stand alone

 Tennis: Roger Federer must take last stand alone

Like a child seeking reassurance, the tennis player constantly looks to his entourage. He looks when a break up and when a break down. He looks for advice, comfort, stimulation. He is a grown man, a muscular man, but he looks. Andy Murray to Ivan Lendl.

Rafael Nadal to Toni Nadal. Sometimes they look to complain, vent, blame. Novak Djokovic to Marian Vajda.

Roger Federer barely looked at his opponent, let alone a coach. He saw only the ball and the architecture of a shot and simply preferred if people looked at him.

On this Planet of Roger, a coach was somewhat extraneous. A bit like telling van Gogh his Sunflowers had awry brushwork. The Swiss is not quite the lone ranger for he has been assisted by Peter Carter, Peter Lundgren, Tony Roche, Severin Luthi and Paul Annacone, but he never was a looker at coaches nor a leaner.

He won Grand Slam titles without a coach to thank, went on streaks without a guru, and inscribed himself in history without looking up for praise.

And now, having split with Annacone, he should play his last days and chase his final slam without a coach. It is the only way to end his career - the artist alone with his instinct. It would be the coolest act of a stylish man.

Federer can pick Alex Ferguson's brains, meet Phil Jackson, have tea with Edward de Bono, read The Art of War, research Erwin Rommel, buy Darren Cahill a beer. But he must be his own man. Especially now when the only man who might truly believe in Federer and a last slam is him.

Federer's self-reliance is essential to his legend in a time when players can't change a shirt without a permission slip from a coach. He was the adult problem-solver in a hand-holding world, whose independence of thought was a version of what "Big Bill" Tilden once told a friend: "I'll play my own sweet game."

These days that game has lost its sweetness and turned the Federer press conference into touch-feely affairs, where gently it is wondered: how can you love a game when you lose?

But he said in August that when the game turns hard, you understand love better. To still want to practise, to still feel joy in a spinning ball, that is love. And such a man, so in love with tennis' mystery, so true to its one-on-one purity, should make his final adventure a solo one.

Not purely because the notion is romantic but because this is a player who existed on feel, on touch, on sensation; a player who intuitively chose a tactic, a shot, an angle; a player who adjusted his calendar because he had a careful ear to his body; a player who is a lithe encyclopaedia on the music and nuance of tennis. He is a composer in tune with himself and thus only he can save his own tennis life.

Federer's tennis was notable for its clarity, but defeat brings indecision, it leads to an avalanche of recommendations from dutiful experts and it triggers second-guessing. It is hard to hit straight if you cannot think straight. It doesn't matter what the chorus of voices tell him, it's his voice that he has to be sure of.

If he wants inspiration he might want to listen to what LeBron James recently told ESPN about Michael Jordan: "I think the greatest thing about MJ was that he never was afraid to fail ... never afraid of what anybody ever said about him. Never afraid to miss the game-winning shot, never afraid to turn the ball over."

Essential to greatness is risk, to have faith and make the play, to take a chance and not be afraid. Federer's game was built on these bricks of risk and faith - how could he find the inspired shot, for instance, if he did not have faith in his sleight of hand?

Now he has to take the risk of listening to his instinct again and to be unafraid of the bold decision. Want to go to the net, hit volleys, shorten points, conserve energy - then just go with it. There is no time for experimenting left.

Some athletes need dinner companions, confidence polishers and truth-tellers; others require shoulder-pressers, ego-massagers and technique-tweakers. Federer needs to first stay faithful to the man in the mirror.

Despite his eroding speed, his gentle fade, he must summon from the recesses of his memory an old and valuable conceit.

After all, to not look to a coach in a box is a powerful act of vanity, for it says clearly to both rival and self: I am Federer, I need no one.

rohitb@sph.com.sg


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