Coronation Day

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by Pete Bodo

You couldn't really call him a streaker, and not just because the gawky apparition was wearing black knickers and red-and-white Switzerland stockings, and using the Barcelona football club flag for a cape. And you couldn't dismiss him as a mere clown, looking for attention he could never get any other way. The truth was that this stork-like, balding, whatever-it-was projected something menacing and blink-your-eyes unreal, something ugly in a way that somehow seemed lewd.

After loping onto the court (the crowd watched in rustling disbelief) the court invader (allegedly, someone who calls himself Jimmy Jump) stood there just a few feet from Roger Federer, taunting, shaking that blood-red flag, in a way that might have been described as childish, were it somewhat sinister and other-worldly, and were he not standing at point-blank range from the stunned and perhaps frightened player who was in the process of rewriting the tennis history books.

What might it have been like for Federer at that moment, when a millisecond earlier he had been floating happily in that shimmering, elastic soap bubble of his perfection - leading Robin Soderling, 6-2, 2-1, 15-0, in the final of the French Open that ultimately would earn him a career Grand Slam, tie him with Pete Sampras for the most Grand Slam singles titles in history (14), and vault him, in most eyes, beyond all his Open-era rivals for the title, Greatest Of All-Time.

What might it have been like to have that maniac prancing before him, like something out of a nightmare, a grotesque spook coming back from a terrifying dream Federer once had about Rafael Nadal, and what that dark young Spanish nemesis had done to interrupt the arc of his career at Roland Garros.

And then to have that lurid intrusion into his consciousness - the same well from which Federer had until then been drawing up beauty in buckets, one glowing and elegant shot after another - yank a strange red cap from its head, and try to place it on Federer's, it might have been terrifying in the same way as glancing at your forearm to find an enormous, multi-colored poisonous insect resting there.

"All of a sudden I heard the crowd, and I looked over and he jumped over the fence or something." Federer recalled later. "That gave me a fright, just like seeing him so close right away. It definitely felt uncomfortable once he came close to me.  Looking back, it definitely threw me out of my rhythm a little bit. One game later I thought that maybe I should have sat down and taken a minute or two to kind of reflect on what just happened. Was that real or what? But I don't know.  I mean, I wanted to play on and whatever, get over it. But it was a touch scary, yes."

Not scary enough to achieve its presumed intent, to unnerve Federer and throw him off his game. Although Federer lost that game (Soderling was serving) in a flurry of distracted errors, he regained his composure quickly and held his next service game to go up, 3-2. There followed the most dangerous portion of the match, as Soderling began to find his groove and hold serve, while gusts of wind sent red dust devils swirling on the court and the inevitable rains came as the set rolled on toward the tiebreaker.

When the games reached six-all, Federer was ready. Boy was he ready. He served only four points in the tiebreaker. Every one was an ace. I'd call it his career game but for the fact that if all you see Roger Federer do is hit aces, you're missing an awful lot - impressive as it is.

If this was indeed the coronation that seemed inevitable, by the time the actual match started it looked as if were being conducted on Golgotha. A day that had dawned clear and bright with a light breeze had, by match-time, grown dark and heavy with clouds. A cold wind whistled through the ivy on the side of the Court Philippe Chatrier. Soon, the skies would bleed a cold drizzle, imbuing this day with a funereal gloom.

It isn't supposed to be like that, for a coronation, especially a coronation on clay in June at Roland Garros. And most especially not for the coronation of someone like Roger Federer, the man whose game has always radiated ease, grace, along with an almost otherworldly lightness that belies the sting of that marvelously fluid serve, the hiss of that crosscourt topspin backhand, and the snap of that expertly lashed forehand.

It should have been bright and warm, with birds twittering on the limbs of the chestnuts while chic Parisians were Twittering on their Blackberrys and sipping their cafe cremes. The flags encircling the top of Court Chatrier hanging slack, like drapes, to create perfect conditions for a career-defining win.

But this was a tournament of surprises and a day of surprises, and while some are more pleasant than others, surprises are never welcomed by tennis players - at least not unless until they find themselves on the winning end of them. Oh, you could say Robin Soderling taking out Nadal in the fourth round here was precisely that sort of pleasant surprise for Federer, with the added bonus that Federer's opponent on this day of destiny fulfilled would be that same Soderling, still a first-time Grand Slam finalist and victim of Federer's rapier nine times in a row - and with no wins of his own from which to draw inspiration.

Soderling talked a good game before the final, promising to take it to Federer. That was refreshing, because it suggested that whatever else might happen, Soderling was not there to bear witness to history as much as to stop it from happening - which gives you a pretty danged good idea about what it's like playing Federer.

But Soderling's best intentions went to waste, as he learned something critical about the rivalry that existed in his own mind (if not in the record books). "The match was what I expected. I think I didn't play aggressive enough. But every time I play Roger I say, 'I played so bad today. . .' I learned (today) that it's not that I play so bad, it's that he makes me so bad."

He amplified that idea, admitting that he's never played anyone who plays as "fast" as Federer. Nikolay Davydenko also uses that precise word to lament losses in which he's swarmed and overpowered. 'It's much easier for me to be aggressive with Rafa," Soderling went on. "In all the match (his fourth-round upset of the defending champion) I dictated the play. But against Roger so far, it's been impossible for me to do that. Roger's game doesn't suit mine at all because he keeps me on the run all day and that doesn't allow me to be aggressive."

Still, it wasn't like The Mighty Fed could mail this one in. The pressure he was under was obvious and enormous - how would he have felt being the guy who, with a chance to complete a career Grand Slam etc. etc., lost to the world no. 25 against whom he was 9-0 etc. etc.?

That Federer asserted himself so forcefully and showed such poise in the face of every wicked surprise this day threw at him had to be comforting, and the amount of relief he must have felt  was hinted at by his subsequent loquacity. There was a Soderling-grade dose of honesty and realism in his remarks, too:

Addressing his record on clay, Federer politely distanced himself from the otherwise excellent company of John McEnroe, Stefan Edberg and Pete Sampras - other icons who had somehow never won in Paris: "Well, I always tended to disagree with those (suggestions). I had the feeling I gave myself too many opportunities over the years at the French Open.

"I think Pete (Sampras) was maybe once in the semis. Other players were maybe once in the finals. I was in the final three times, one semis before, and I was able to win Hamburg four times and be in the finals of Monaco and Rome, of all those tournaments.

"I knew the day Rafa won't be in the finals, I will be there and I will win. I always knew and that I believed in it. That's exactly what happened. It's funny. I didn't hope for it, but I believed in it."

Now let me backtrack a little and admit to being a bit melodramatic at the top of this post. I had my reasons, but the fact is that Federer did not entirely surrender to fear, or paralysis, when that invader confronted him. It's easy to underestimate how quick-witted he is, and how quickly he processes information, and that's partly why that psychically violent intrusion didn't play a larger role in the match. Going into greater detail on his feelings, he said, in a surprisingly jocular tone:

"The good thing is like it happened before, you know, so that's why I guess I didn't panic. It happened in Wimbledon before when two guys ran out on the court, and once I think it was in Montreal when I lost to Roddick when I was playing for my No. 1 ranking in the third set.

"So it wasn't the first time. Normally they (the invaders) always kind of look at me and go, I'm so sorry I have to do this, because they have some sort of a reason for it, you know (at that point, everyone in the room - including Federer - laughed) I remember the English guy was actually quite funny. He looked at me and goes, I'm so sorry I have to do this.

"I was like, Okay, just don't touch me, you know.

"This guy, I don't know, he looked at me and I was not sure what he wanted. It seemed like he wanted to give me something. So I was actually okay, because I saw he wasn't pulling for anything stupid."

I'll have a broader analysis of Federer's achievement, and the way this tournament may be a game-changer for both Federer and Nadal, in the coming days. Meanwhile, I emailed Pete Sampras shortly after the match and he called me just a few minutes ago.

"This puts him at the top, as the greatest player in my eyes," Pete said. "But you have to be fair to Nadal, too. Rafa's just in the beginning stages of his career, but he has a good record against Roger. So what happens in the next couple of years could be real interesting."

Pete was a little late getting out of bed and saw just the third set, but he felt not a twinge of sadness or melancholy seeing his record equaled. "I was prepared for it, it was not a matter of 'if' but of 'when.' It's also great that he's a friend. Records are made to be broken, I really believe that, and if I'm going to have my record broken, this is the kind of guy I want doing it."

Does anyone agree that when Roger and Mirka have their child they ought to name him or her Robin?