Thank you.

When the dread, the shock, the upset and the tributes all subside, gratitude remains the enduring feeling.

I came to Federer “late”. Or so I thought in 2007, when he was en route to his 10th slam at the Australian Open. The man was in his late 20s, number 1 in the world. There were suggestions that he was going to break Sampras’ record of 14 grand slams. There were whispers that he was looking vulnerable because – shock horror – he lost to Roddick at Kooyong. That was the landscape when I turned on my TV one fateful night to watch the men’s semifinal in 2007 between Federer and Roddick.

I was indifferent to both. If anything, I didn’t mind the idea of a Roddick upset, a fitting ending where Roddick finally gets one against an old foe. But what subsequently transpired in the match made me forget that notion altogether. I don’t remember how I watched or reacted during the match. What I remember was the surreal fog that descended. In a dream like state, I finally understood why Federer inspired both awe and adoration. To this day, I remember stroke for stroke the entirety of the second set, in which Federer obliterated a red hot foe with a bagel, and did it like he was merrily skipping through a field of tulips.

That was my “Come to Federer Moment”. What is yours?

My concern that I came to Federer “late” turned out to be laughably misconceived. We would have another 15 years with this guy. 15 years in which we flew close to the sun, we slayed monstrous expectations, we lost hair, nails, life expectancy as he broke records or fell achingly close. 15 years in which Federer morphed from a slightly reserved Swiss maestro to a giggling, dorky veteran of the tour, a father of four beloved by fans all over the world. I didn’t know then in 2007 that he was only just getting started.

No doubt there will be a lot published about his career and his legacy as this chapter of sporting history draws to a close. But today, when the feelings are raw and I’m feeling just a bit rattled, I want to take a moment to bask in the gratitude of what following Federer’s career has given me personally.

I am grateful that we got to witness beautiful tennis. Let me repeat, beautiful tennis. The kind of aesthetic that soars and uplifts, that elicits sighs of wonder from the crowd because oh, to move like that.

I am grateful that he taught me how hard it is to make it look easy. The ease with which his racquet manoeuvred the ball. The ease with which he travelled, respected each tournament crowd he played before, greeted each generation of new players with a mix of mentorship and defiance. Following his career made me witness in real time how that it was to make it look so easy. Easy takes effort, discipline and character. I could only hope to emulate a fraction of that.

I am grateful that through his career, I understood the value of grit. The later years of Federer’s career were the most dear to me because after all of the success, all of the glory, he did not ride off into the sunset. Nor did he rage against the dying of the light. Instead, he did the most Federer thing he could have done. He turned up, and he competed for the joy of it, for the love of it, for the white hot momentary heat of competition. As he aged, he conceded less and less, but competed more and more. As his body betrayed him in his later years, his grit came in the form of a refusal to retire, both from any match and from his career. It’s ludicrous now to think that the first time the media started talking about Federer retiring was in 2008. Retirement in your late 20s or early 30s was the standard then. Federer leaves the sport with a new standard for longevity and a high benchmark for grit. His first and only retirement was a graceful bow out of this sport.

I am grateful that through Federer I found a love of writing. In a perfect Hollywood ending, I would sit here and write that he gave me an enduring passion for the sport of tennis, that I will remain a diehard fan of this sport, which is so much bigger than him. But this is not a Hollywood ending. I still like tennis. It is by far my favourite sport. But in my world, the sport isn’t bigger than Federer, even though objectively I understand it to be. My life (and specifically my career) has also taken me to different passions, and the intense emotions I once felt in tennis matches have faded to a polite applause. The real lasting impact of Federer on my life has been this love of writing, a reason to tap away on a keyboard because of some inexplicable compulsion that cannot be quelled. Over the years, there have been times when I felt embarrassed by the passions of my youth, the secret language of internet communities littered through this blog. I’ve thought often about taking it offline, but always came to dismiss the idea. I stand by those crazy days of fandom, the secret language and in-jokes of this corner of the internet. This blog stands as a time capsule of my youth, and a reminder that sometimes when you put something out into the world, as I have done on this blog, you find an echo in others.

Finally, I am grateful for the friendships. The most surprising part of this crazy kooky ride was that I made friends. Not superficial, small talk, fair-weather friends. But meaningful, respectful, at times vulnerable friendships. The kind of friendship that calls you on a dark day, that you can depend upon in a pandemic. Together, we have met in Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane, in London, New York and Paris. We have laughed, cried, swore and screamed. It seems crazy to me that so many of our lives intersected across the world because we all had a moment of inspiration delivered by Federer, a moment so profound that it rendered each of us forever engrossed. It seems even crazier that we happened to live during times when – with the help of technology and social media – we can turn this brief intersection of our lives into a long walk, side-by-side down the path of life, filled with coffee, wine, laughter and tears.

To Federer, and to you, I am forever grateful.

xx doots

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