So a few weeks ago, Susan Seemiller, the webmistress of the Vamos Rafael website called me. She wanted to know if I would deliver some birthday presents from Vamos Rafael to Dirty Boy Rafa at Roland Garros.
I groaned. “Susan! You know, I’m a reporter. It isn’t considered professional for us to do things like that.”
“Oh, please, we have nobody else going,” she replied.
What could I say. Susan slurps the Rafa Kool-Aid by the bucket, but in a nice way. Her VR site is home to hardcore DRB fans - the Rafanatics who hold candlelight vigils whenever DRB has his serve broken. So I relented.
“Okay, send the package,” I grumbled. “As long as it doesn’t contain a bowling ball, an alarm clock with a few wires sticking out of it, or a vial marked Balco.”
I brought along the package today, and after DRB dispatched newboy Novak Djokovic, I lugged it to the presser with a plan, having a pretty good idea of exactly what was to come. I’d wait until all the various interviews and sound bites were done, then stake out the staircase going to the player lounge to make the presentation.
Some of you may not know this, but a winner - or loser’s – press obligation begins with a mass interview for print reporters; usually, English is first, and then they switch to the player’s native tongue (Smacktalk, for Djokovic, but more about that in the next post. . .).
Then, while that group rushes out of the room, the radio guys bum rush the elevated platform where the subject sits behind a desk, and they get their five or seven minutes. Then, in Nadal’s case, another wave of radio guys (Catalan/Major?) charges in to get their bite (literally). Actually, today the official ITF press room minder had to discipline a few of these nimrods, who were hunting autographs instead of quotes.
After that, a succession of as many as 10 television interviewers get their crack at the star; in Nadal’s case, the last interviewer was former Wimbledon champ Conchita Martinez. I had by then been waiting for an hour, monitoring the conditions. It did occur to me that I could throw the package away and lie to Susan, but. . .
Anyway, as expected, when Nadal finally finished, he bolted for the door with his ATP handler, Benito Perez-Barbadillo. I was waiting outside, as they turned the corner.
“Rafael,” I said. “Your fans from the Vamos Rafael website asked me to give you this belated birthday present. . .”
Whereupon, Perez-Barbadillo interrupted, excitedly repeating, “That’s not his website, that’s not his website. . .”
Benito wanted to keep going and Nadal, somewhat taken aback, could have just slipped away and down the stairs, but he looked me in the eye and said, “Okay, Okay," and he reached out and took the package. Mission accomplished!
This little anecdote told me two things: it confirmed the suspicion (which is not mine alone, by any means!) that Perez-Barbadillo is a jerk, a brown-noser who weasled his way into the Nadal camp because they needed a translator (Curiously, I'm told he hails from a prominent Andalusian family. I guess "prominent Andalusian families" no longer teach manners!).
More importantly, Rafael’s reaction was really telling. In that moment of hesitation, with a chance to bail, he did the right thing. Okay, it’s not the ultimate test of character, but sometimes the small things say a lot.
BTW, for those of you who don’t know, Nadal’s managers at IMG came very late to the website party (“Internet?” the puzzled and over-compensated IMG executive said, early in 2003, “Just a passing fad. No money there, forget about it!” And you wonder why their business is in the toilet?). As I understand it, IMG has been busy trying to kill off the original home of Rafanatics, the VR site.
But let’s forget all. Rafa got his gifts (teddy bear, anyone?) from his best fans. It’s a good day.