As I sat on a plane in Florida yesterday, waiting for it to take off, I could dimly hear Christmas music being piped through the cabin. I tuned it out as long as I could, until I finally couldn't ignore what I was being told: “It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
Now I like the time off work and the gift certificates that come with the holidays as much as anybody, but “most wonderful” seems a bit much. Does that mean the rest of the year is merely “wonderful.” Personally, I never find it particularly wonderful that another year has passed, and that I'm one year older. Such was my line of thinking as I stepped out of my apartment this morning and looked up at a heavily clouded sky. I knew there was only thing to do: Pull out my IPod, circle it down to the Rolling Stones, and turn the volume all the way up.
There was only one Stones album that fit the bill, of course: Exile on Main Street, their great shot of defiance at time’s passing. Made as the youthful spirit of the 60s was dying and the band members were entering their 30s, Exile isn’t about aging gracefully, it’s about aging tough—“Kick my like you’ve kicked before/I can’t feel the pain no more”; “Always in a hurry/Never stop to worry/Don't you see the time flashing by?”; “It’s the graveyard watch/I’ve taken all of the knocks.”
The first time I heard Exile I was in 9th or 10th grade. I bought the used-cassette version at the mall and popped it into my Walkman as I headed to a friend’s place. From the first murky, ever-expanding roar of the opening song, “Rocks Off,” I knew this was it. There was no other music that could possibly be as important as this. Walking to work today, I thought back to that moment and realized how right my teenage self had been. Exile still cuts deeper than anything else. It still braces you for the knocks. It still resonates with, as the critic Lester Bangs, said, “a strange kind of humility.” It still teaches you to acknowledge the inevitable, and defy it anyway. It’s still the perfect album with which to confront a new year.
OK, so what does that have to do with tennis, and what does it have to do with the YouTube clips—of the 1980 and 2008 Wimbledon men’s finals—I’ve posted above? Let’s just say that sometimes only the best will do. Forget the underrated baseline stylists, forget the plucky grinders, forget the indie rockers, forget the sensitive souls, forget the beautiful backhands, forget the guys ranked No. 3, No. 4, No. 5. Only the best stand the test of time, only the best are remembered. Only the best teach us anything.
I suggest you watch both clips at the same time, but I'll begin with what has long been considered the best match in tennis history, Bjorn Borg’s 1-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-7, (16!), 8-6 win over John McEnroe at Wimbledon in 1980. I can still recite those scores by heart, the same way I’ll never forget the words to the Stones' “Tumbling Dice.”
—The last time I watched this match, I was a little underwhelmed. It had the drama, but the shot-making seemed rudimentary compared to the way the game is played today. Of course I knew these guys were playing with small wooden racquets on a bumpy grass court. Still, it looked like slow motion compared to the game today.
This time, seeing it in highlights, I was suitably impressed again. While the points were much shorter and there was less variety within them, this clip gives you an idea of the fabulous shots these guys were able to come up with within the relatively compressed formula of grass tennis at that time.
—If anything, I’m more impressed by McEnroe. Such quickness getting to the net, great range when he’s there, solid volleys whenever he gets a look at one.
—It’s clear that Borg’s serve was a life saver that day, not unlike Federer’s against Nadal at Wimbledon in 2007. Borg used it for service winners, to keep himself in the match in the fifth (he lost two points in seven service games in that set), and to give himself the easy volleys he needed.
—The one shot that has undeniably been improved since 1980 is the return of serve. The speed of the grass may have changed, but it’s the aggressiveness of the return game that has spelled the doom of serve and volley. Compare Federer’s returns in the last post to the ones these guys hit. McEnroe blocks most of his back; Borg stands well behind the baseline to give himself a full swing. In 2001, Federer stood in and fired away.
I agree that this has something to do with racquet technology, but it also has to do with the simple evolution of technique. After years of being faced with flame-throwers like Becker, Sampras, and Ivanisevic, tennis players were forced to make their returns better if they wanted to have any kind of an edge.
—Love how Borg measured a backhand pass. Lethal concision.
—McEnroe could also hit a pass or two, with that tiny backhand push forward. Borg’s forehand approach seems weak. It’s hard to remember that Borg wasn’t playing his natural game. He had to play Mac’s game on grass.
—Barrett calls the fourth-set tiebreak a “poignant moment" as it begins. It would go way beyond that.
—“Fleeting opportunity, and it’s through like a rapier.” Now that’s how a Borg passing shot should be described.
—The tiebreaker really was something special. As Barrett says, it would have been the first time that a Wimbledon title had been decided by one. Dare I say that these guys “took it to 11.” You need no other evidence than the crowd’s reaction after it’s over. You can see one spectator with his hands over his head. It’s also hard to remember that these people didn’t know who was going to win. We’ll never know that feeling about this match again.
—This was brilliant tennis within a stricter set of parameters than we see today. You had a couple shots to make something happen. If you didn’t get your return low, you were done. Now there are more chances within any point to gain an edge. That makes today’s game more athletic and, at its best, balletic, but it made the sport crisper then.
—I admire the all-white tradition at Wimbledon, but the splashes of color that McEnroe and Borg wore help this match stand out, more than just as a great tennis match, but as a battle between two personalities: The international man of mystery in Fila pinstripes vs. the twitchy, hair-scratching American brat-punk in red, white, and blue. That’s not the case with Federer-Nadal, who both stuck to all white.
—Like the match itself, Borg’s celebration in 1980 was as compressed as Nadal’s was wide open in 2008. Funny to see Borg let it all out just for a second as he goes to his knees, then regain his composure right afterward. He gave us a little peek behind the headband. According to journalist Tim Adams, on the sidelines afterward, Borg “muttered something to himself, a single word, in Swedish. The word meant “unbelievable.” You can see him say it in this clip. But there’s also a look of strain on his face. I have the benefit of hindsight and of knowing what will happen to him, but Borg seems almost haunted by this win.
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Let’s jump ahead 28 years. We’re on the same court, at the same tournament, and we’ve got the top two players in the world again, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Somehow we’re treated to the same jaw-dropping fourth-set tiebreaker and fifth-set feat of will. Everything else, though, is very different.
—The first thing I notice in these highlights is how far the court has been expanded by the players. Federer and Nadal send each other up, back, and way wide of the sidelines. They cover not just every inch of the court itself, but every inch of grass available.
—There’s more freedom in these points, and a balletic quality to the movement. At the same time, neither Federer nor Nadal can afford to hit one weak shot. Whenever they give the other guy a look, even the slightest look, the point’s over.
—Federer is a quiet, cat-like mover, but I like to hear the scrape-scrape-scrape of Nadal’s feet. Watch the number of steps each guy takes in any given point—that’s what it takes to be a pro.
—I’ll always think of this match in darkness, so it’s odd to see how much of it was played in bright sunshine. It was a long day.
—Like McEnroe 28 years earlier, I’m just as impressed by the loser, Federer. So many great gets and counterpunches from him.
—This is baseline tennis, but it can’t be compared to the clay-court game. There’s a frantic element to each point and each shot here. Nadal is playing as far forward as he can and making things happen much earlier than he usually does. Federer is also looking for the first opening he can find. Where Borg and McEnroe served and ran to the net, Federer and Nadal move up a few steps, back a few, up a few, back a few, then race off way past the sidelines.
—The most emblematic shot of the match is Nadal’s running slice backhand crosscourt pass winner. On this day, offense was defense and defense was offense.
—Amazing how much more variety Nadal shows on his serve than he had in the French final the month before. There he put every single ball into Federer’s backhand; here he’s all over the box and changing speeds constantly.
—Like 1980, the tiebreaker format, with the title on the line, pushed these guys to new heights.
—Nadal’s backhand has never been better. Maybe it never will be.
—I said last week that Becker-Sampras in 1996 was the perfection of attacking tennis. I would say that this is the perfection of the power-baseline game. Like Pete and Boris, Nadal's and Federer's games, while different on other days, were almost mirror images here, as if they’d found a way of playing the game against each other that was beyond their individual styles and far above everyone else.
—Can we ever again put down power-baseline tennis as boring or one-dimensional? It may be dull on any given day, and between any two given players, but Federer and Nadal proved that it can also be as beautiful, as classical, as drama-inducing as any style that has come before.
—There’s a point where Nadal unloads on an inside-out forehand from the baseline on the first shot after his serve, lets Federer’s return bounce, then drills an overhead for a winner. This, believe it or not, was a break point when he was down 3-4 in the fifth set.
—Borg and McEnroe had a better ending point-wise, with a winning pass. But Nadal-Federer had the drama of the darkness and the flashbulbs.
—Both times, the loser is waiting for the winner in the same spot at the net. There’s a handshake in 1980; there’s a hug and a pat on the chest in 2008.
So which is the greater of these greatest matches? I’ve regained my total respect for 1980, but I’m going to say 2008. Part of it is my automatic recoiling at the idea, common among tennis fans, that everything was better in the past. But most of my appreciation for the 2008 final comes from the amount of tennis—the amount of running, the amount of shot-making, defense, improvising, and full-swing clean-winner hitting, as well as the number of tiny little steps that Federer and Nadal forced each other to take. I love the aura of Borg-McEnroe, but I was shocked by Federer-Nadal from the first point. I didn’t know tennis could be played like that.
For now, let’s throw out all those spectacular shots, all the talk about the quality of play, all the comparisons of styles between eras. Let’s forget the fruitless and dispiriting discussion of surface changes—bottom line: the court is always the same on both sides of the net—and improvements in racquet technology. Let’s not worry about who the Goat is for a minute. None of those elements of tennis can teach us anything.
Let’s focus for a minute on the losers. At the end of Borg-McEnroe, you can see Johnny Mac sit down and immediately start to put his jacket on, as if he were finishing up any other day at the office. It strikes me as the gesture of someone who knows he’ll be back. At the end of Nadal-Federer, Rafa walks up to hang out with not just his own crew, but his opponent’s as well. We don’t see it in these highlights, but I remember Federer in his chair on the sidelines, Cardigan already on. He was a man on an island, the only person in the building not able to celebrate, cut off even from family and friends.
Thinking back to him sitting there, I can only say that the loser's despair is also part of what makes these moments in tennis so special. It's cruel, but there would be no reason to watch Federer-Nadal if both guys could come away winners. Even in a match this historic, this supreme, this dramatic, someone had to lose.
That said, these two matches, like all matches, were ultimately about the winners—in these cases, I'll call them the survivors. Borg and Nadal were both playing on a surface that didn’t suit their games. Both were playing phenomenal opponents. Both seemed to have the Wimbledon championship in their hands in fourth-set tiebreakers. Both saw it slip out of their hands. Both won the fifth set anyway.
In ’80, Borg could have been forgiven for subconsciously thinking that he already had four Wimbledons anyway, and after six match points blown, it was McEnroe’s turn. But he didn’t. In ’08, Nadal could have been forgiven for not being able to forget his two match points in the tiebreaker, for not being able to wipe away the memory of Federer’s all-or-nothing backhand pass that saved one of them. But Nadal did forget.
The last song on Exile On Main St. is called “Soul Survivor.” And that’s the way I think of Borg and Nadal in 1980 and 2008: They went someplace deep to survive. And they taught us, just in case we’d forgotten, that anything is possible.
"Anything is possible" may be well-worn term, but I can’t think of a better one to remember as a new year begins.
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I'm done for this season. Thanks to everyone who read this blog—and even more to everyone who took the time to comment—for helping make this the best year so far at TENNIS.com. I will leave you with a glimpse of those aforementioned Rolling Stones in their primes, and at their most defiant. Like I said, sometimes only the best will do.
Enjoy the holidays and see you in ’09.