Days ago, in an almost humorous turn of events, the Russian security personnel detained American diplomat Ryan Fogle who was accused of trying to recruit an agent from the Russian special service for spying purposes, shoving him to the ground and allegedly ripping a dirty blonde wig off of his head. The state of Russia condemned the U.S. for a severe breach of trust even as Fogle was declared “persona non grata” and expelled from the country.

And all of this happened against a backdrop of the U.S. and Russia imposing severe economic and military sanctions against Iran, denying its people basic medical access among many things, in view of the latter’s nuclear ambitions. Across the borders in Syria however, Iran and Russia had joined hands in arming the ‘regime’ even as the U.S. was mulling on the best possible options to back the opposition in the now bloody civil war.

Clearly, these were three nations which were the unlikeliest of allies; nations that openly despised each other and had few, if any grounds to agree upon. And yet, the Grand Central Terminal at New York on the Wednesday afternoon saw a coming together of these three countries in a common cause. As the best wrestlers from each of these nations tried to maul each other onto the padded floor, there was no hatred, no difference of opinion. The war in Syria, the bombs in Boston, the ‘blonde’ spies, none of that mattered. These were nations with a single cause of keeping wrestling in the Olympics. Amidst all the blood and distrust, it was a celebration of sport.

Such is the nature of sport. Such is its power; to call for truce in the bloodiest of times, to create trust where none exists. This is perhaps why it has always occupied a significant position in the grand scheme of things, for it stands for the very best in human nature, for camaraderie, for mutual respect and for trust.

Elsewhere in India, in the early hours of Thursday, as Delhi police arrested 3 Indian cricketers on charges of spot-fixing, it was an act which dismantled this very foundation of trust that the whole idea of sport is based on. A breach of the unspoken contract in which the fan agrees to invest every bit of his passion and emotion into the game and the player on his part gives his very best on the field. It was an act which made our reluctant selves question the very core of a tournament that we had all come to love over the past few years, an act which scarred the credibility of sport, forever. A phenomenon which held the power to bring bickering nations together was itself left helpless and vulnerable.

We had learnt of course, not to confuse champions with heroes. We knew that the men whose posters were scotch taped to our bedroom walls were not necessarily role models, leading exemplary lives. We were aware that beyond the boundary, they were ordinary men, prone to desire and lust as any other. Outside of a sporting arena, they seemed less impressive, their skills seemingly diminished, their bodies, sweat now dried, more ordinary.

Tiger Woods taught us that when he failed to remain faithful to his wife, Boris Becker taught us that when he had a tryst with a model on a restaurant stairs. We grudgingly acknowledged that the sportsmen must be held to no higher moral standards than the rest of us are. Yet, the one thing that gave the sport its sanctity was the faith that a sportsman would not cheat the fan, that he would keep his side of the deal.

It is perhaps due to this assumption that when Sreesanth did the impossible and handed the Australians moral high ground with his on-field antics, we found it in us to forgive him. When Gilchrist suggested that his son was more mature than the fast bowler, we laughed it away as a simple flaw in his personality. We pretended to turn a blind eye when he broke into dance in a Test match after hitting a six, and when he created a scene in IPL, crying uncontrollably, holding his visibly swollen cheek, we tuned in to a different channel. And yet, as the details of the spot-fixing scandal come out, we cannot find it in us to forgive the cricketers. Perhaps we shouldn’t, for if we do, what is left of the sport?

To suggest that the scandal has not affected the credibility of the tournament would be a plain lie. To believe that it was a one-off incident with no influence on how the tournament has panned out would be rather naive. This is an incident that has left the IPL resembling a reality show than a sporting tournament and the only sensible step is to acknowledge it and find ways to deal with it. It’s an incident which has left us wondering why we trust the sport at all. This is a kind of issue which disgusts the fan and rightly so.

So, will it kill the IPL? Certainly not. The players will be banned, bookies jailed. The BCCI will give an impression of having dealt with it strongly. When another scandal erupts elsewhere, the media would turn away, days would pass and before we know, we will be cheering for Gayle to hit out of the park again. The show will continue, but the sport would have died.

Any possible solution to the real problem of trust involves both the parties, the players and the administration. It is impossible of course to police every financial transaction in the sporting world, as it is in any other field, but the least we can expect is financial transparency, a model which is more open with its numbers. As long as there are statements with the phrase ‘undisclosed amounts’ involved in the dealings of the IPL, and people in powerful administrative powers continue to hold personal assets in the league, it remains an impossible task to trust the functioning of the league. Every time the BCCI refuses to come under the RTI, it makes us question their motives.

It is about time the sport’s most powerful administrative body showed some intention of protecting the sanctity of sport. The fans deserve as much. Cricket deserves as much.

As for the players themselves, they will do well to remember Rahul Dravid‘s words from his wonderful speech at the Bradman Oration:

“Disrespecting fans is disrespecting the game. The fans have stood by our game through everything. When we play, we need to think of them. As players, the balance between competitiveness and fairness can be tough but it must be found.

If we stand up for the game’s basic decencies, it will be far easier to tackle its bigger dangers – whether it is finding short cuts to easy money or being lured by the scourge of spot-fixing and contemplating any involvement with the betting industry.

Cricket’s financial success means it will face threats from outside the game and keep facing them. The last two decades have proved this over and over again. The internet and modern technology may just end up being a step ahead of every anti-corruption regulation in place in the game. As players, the one way we can stay ahead for the game, is if we are willing to be monitored and regulated closely.

Even if it means giving up a little bit of freedom of movement and privacy.     

Players should be ready to give up a little personal space and personal comfort for this game which has given us so much. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.’”

Is it entertainment after a hard week’s work? A way to let off steam and take a break from all the challenges of real life? Do we perceive it as a gripping story line which, with its intense characters and thrilling twists, captures us in its unreal, imaginative world? How then would you explain the alarm that goes off at 3’o clock on a Monday morning so that we can catch the toss of a Test match? Surely we don’t deprive ourselves of sleep and sabotage our work performance, so essential for that promotion on the horizon, only to catch up on some entertainment, however great the actors, however enthralling the narrative. Moreover, why would we even care about the concept of ‘live action’ then? It should make no difference if we watch the match as it happens or in the luxury of a Saturday afternoon. After all, we don’t insist that we watch the scenes from our movies as the actors shoot them, and it certainly does not bother us that our particularly jobless friends who got tickets for the Friday morning show already know the ending of the movie. Why is it any different with a tennis match?

Maybe we have an intellectual relationship with the sport. Maybe we watch the sport as we study an interesting subject. We do try and understand the art of an out-swinger while we watch a perfectly shaped delivery from Dale Steyn. We do try and decipher Roger Federer’s grip when he lands one of those accurate first serves that flies past a clueless opponent. Maybe we are selfish at the very core, only watching the sport so that we can get a free lesson which helps us have a more satisfying game the next time we are on court ourselves, or for that sense of having understood a subject that most haven’t, and the healthy boost of ego that comes with it. But an experience that’s truly intellectual is one of rationality and reasoning, where then is the place for emotion? How would you explain the tears after the 2011 World Cup victory, the anger at Berdych for refusing to shake hands with Almagro after the 2012 Australian Open encounter, or the sheer jolt of joy that follows a perfect cover drive or a precise down-the-line backhand? Surely, if sport were to stand for an intellectual experience, I should be getting better grades and having much more fun in college.

Or maybe it isn’t about our individual experience at all. Maybe we follow sports as it is an integral part of our identity thrust upon us by our nationality. Maybe we watch sport for the same sense of pride that accompanies the many glorious stories of our country which we grudgingly read about in the history lessons. It is perhaps a way of reinforcing our deep sense of nationality. That explains all our hatred towards the Australian cricketers or the special status we give the India-Pakistan matches, however unbalanced the two sides might be. But how then would you reason for all those facebook cover photos of the truest Indians, born and brought up here, declaring ‘You shall never walk alone’ or ‘mes que un club’ or of those who have ‘Meet Rooney’ is their list of ‘top 10 things to do in my life.’ Sport surely must transcend nationality. The satisfaction that comes after your favourite club, somewhere in Europe, wins a match might never be the same as the one that follows the national team’s victory, but there is no denying the large number of people whose only bit of ‘sporting identity’ comes from a place they are in no way geographically related to.

Perhaps it’s a celebration of human skill and ability then? Of the joy of watching the perfection of an art form. A breathing, moving example of what human will and perseverance is capable of. That must be it. It explains the sense of awe and admiration that we have towards our athletes. We try and study them and imitate them, for we are deep down convinced we are capable of it too. We watch them for the same reason we are at times lost for hours in nature – for the seductive beauty. But how then would you explain prejudice? Why is it that we hate one and love the other? Why have there been instances where athletes have been stalked, and others stabbed? Why then does nationality matter? Are we so shallow to narrow down our admiration of genuine beauty by its nationality, race or gender? If it was only about perfection, would our pre-conceived ideas and notions come in the way?

So again, why is it that we watch sport? Why is it that we find it perfectly acceptable to put our lives on hold to catch a match happening in a part of the world that we might never visit, played by men we might never meet? What is it that makes us embrace the dreams and struggles of another man to an extent that we sometimes forget our own? What does sport mean to us?

The answer, like it does to all life’s great questions, perhaps lies within you. Maybe to you, it is one of the above, or a mix of a few or something entirely different; but almost certainly, what it means to you might not be the same as what it means to me. Maybe the question should after all have been ‘Why do you watch sport?’ Maybe it is a reflection of what you truly want in life. Maybe it tells you something about your own identity. Maybe you should now take some time to think.

Tennis today is perhaps at a place where most sports desire to be – when the sport is more of a lyrical narrative than a set of events awkwardly strung together. The characters themselves are as intriguing as the plot; some hated, some loved, but each one closely followed, for each one has a story to tell. A legend in his twilight years fighting off youngsters, resolute to prove he still belongs amongst the best; two younger heroes apparently operating at a level unreachable to most others touching the very limits of possibility; and even a famed fighter taking a mysterious season off citing injury, the details of which still remain largely cloudy. This is a storyteller’s dream come true. It should perhaps come as little surprise then that Andre Agassi recently said “I think we’re living in what history will say is the golden age of tennis.”

In a day from now, we’ll witness another chapter being added to this narrative as No.3 Andy Murray takes on the defending champion Novak Djokovic in an attempt to carve a place for himself in the history books. I would be lying of course, if I said we did not see this coming. For the level of tennis that both these players are playing, they had pretty straight forward draws up to the semi-finals and after contrasting semi-final wins (Djokovic steam-rolled David Ferrer in less than one and a half hours, while Andy Murray had to slog it out for four hours to beat Federer in a five-setter), we have the two men that most people picked before the tournament to be there (the story of men’s tennis for the last couple of years really). As predictable as it was, this final still promises to be a ripper, for we will see on exhibition two extraordinary players with almost other-worldly skills, take on each other in what almost surely will be a brilliant display of tennis and here’s everything that you need to know about the game…

What’s at stake?

Novak Djokovic 

A victory here would make him the first man in the Open era to win the title three consecutive times. It would also be his 4^th overall, tying him with Federer and Andre Agassi for most Australian Open titles. More importantly though, a win will reassert his claim as the world’s best tennis player and end the grand slam drought that has lasted for exactly a year now.

Andy Murray 

He will, of course, be looking to win a second consecutive grand slam and a victory will also cement the dominance that he has at the majors for now (3^rd consecutive grand slam final appearance). His progress at the Australian Open was halted by Djokovic twice before in 2011 and 2012 and revenge could possibly be on his mind. But, what perhaps Murray will most look forward is the shot at No.2 position that this victory will bring along.

Head to head

Novak Djokovic leads 10-7. 14 of these games have been played on hard court and Djokovic leads 8-6 in them. But considering Andy Murray has been a completely different player since last year, I doubt if Djokovic will be paying any heed to these numbers. Djokovic has also won 2 of their last 3 meetings but the last time they met in a best of 5 event, Murray beat Djokovic in 5 sets (2012 USO finals). Interestingly, Murray also has a 4-3 edge in tournament finals. Advantage Djokovic.

Aces

Andy Murray has served 71 aces on his way to the final while Djokovic has served 46. Andy Murray was able to find aces in some critical points of his match against Federer and any player would be wary of that. Djokovic certainly knows the importance of aces in big matches, having been at the receiving end more than a couple of times himself, and will look to use all his returning skills to not let this statistic hurt him. Advantage Murray.

Double faults

Andy Murray has 2 double faults for the entire tournament. As trivial as that may sound, that’s an impressive statistic to have and is an indication of how solid his serving has been. Djokovic, on the other hand, has made 10, 5 of them in the 5 setter against Wawrinka. Though he will certainly not be losing sleep over this, he will not want to give away free points to Murray tomorrow. Advantage Murray.

Service points

Djokovic won 80% of his first serve points and Murray 75.8%. While there is little to separate the two here, Murray will be really concerned about his second serve. Djokovic has the tournament’s best figures of 66% 2^nd serve points won while Murray has only won 51% of his. The second serve looked particularly weak at times in his semifinals match against Federer and will be a major chink in his armor when he goes against Djokovic. Advantage Djokovic.

Returning points

These two players have been the best returners in the game for a while now and expectantly find themselves at the top of both the first serve and second serve returning points won charts for the tournament. Djokovic leads with 148 first serve receiving points won while Murray won 126 of them. As for second serve returns, Djokovic is again slightly ahead with 142 against Murray’s 138. Advantage Djokovic.

Break points

Murray had 5 straight set victories until he reached the semi finals (heck, he didn’t even face a tie-breaker until the semis) and that of course means he created and won a lot of break points – in fact, more than any other player in the tournament with 41 break points won, while Djokovic won 33. Many people argue this is the most important statistic in a tennis match and it could well be the deciding factor tomorrow. Advantage Murray.

Challenges

This is increasingly turning about to be a useful skill to have, the ability to challenge calls, and going into the final, Djokovic has a 36.36% success rate against Murray’s 26.92%. Surprisingly enough, Federer has had better luck with the challenges than both of them with a 43.75% success rate! Advantage Djokovic.

Forehand

Both these players have very similar quality of ground strokes, making it practically impossible to rate one over the other. Murray’s forehand, while significantly improved from a year ago, still looked vulnerable at times in his semi-final match and is certainly the least natural looking of all his shots. Over a five set encounter, you might want to hand the advantage to Djokovic.

Backhand

This is the preferred side for both the players and they certainly have the best backhands in the business. Backhand to backhand encounters is certainly something to look forward to in the finals for the sheer quality of it. There is nothing between them really, but considering the little more variation that Murray can produce with his backhand, you just might want to say advantage Murray.

Other factors

The crowd most probably will be evenly split, and shouldn’t be a factor for both these players. Windy conditions will work in favor of Murray as we saw from the US Open finals last year. Streakers could be equally distractive for both.    

Del Potro makes an early exit: No. 6 seed Juan Martin del Potro became the first major casualty of the Australian Open when he lost in five sets to Frenchman Jeremy Chardy. In a match that lasted close to four hours, del Potro found no way to deal with the blistering forehands that Chardy was raining down on him. It was perhaps a little odd for the 6ft-6in Argentine to be given a taste of his own medicine as Chardy conjured 78 winners, 44 from his forehand side, while del Potro finished with 12 forehand winners. Chardy gave credit to his pre-game strategy of employing tennis’ version of the 1-2 punch – backhand slice followed by big forehand – for the upset victory.  “My tactic was very simple,” Chardy said. “I play slice with my backhand, and I try to play short slice because like this he has to come in the court. After, with my forehand, I can go full power.”  Jeremy Chardy d. del Potro 6-3 6-3 6-7 3-6 6-3

Contrasting wins for the top seeds: Meanwhile, the women ensured no such drama ensued on their side as top-seeded Victoria Azarenka and the tournament favourite Serena Williams picked up their wins in contrasting styles. Serena Williams made short work of her Japanese opponent Ayumi Morita with a straight sets victory which included a monstrous 207 kmph serve down the line, by far the fastest in this tournament on the women’s side. ‘’Now I am going to try 210’’ was what she said after the match, in a certain warning to her awaiting opponents. Victoria Azarenka however survived a scare against the big hitting American Jamie Hampton as she edged her out in 3 sets. Hampton, who took a medical time-out for a back problem, showed no signs of physical weakness as she ripped winners all over the court and even led 2-1 in the 3rd before Azarenka won five straight games to close out the match. Victoria Azarenka d. Jamie Hampton 6-4 4-6 6-2,  Serena Williams d. Ayumi Morita  6-1 6-3

The thin line between bold and flippant: Patrick Smith wrote, “There is a difference between being bold and being flippant. It might just be that Tomic can’t tell the difference” before the hyped-up 3rd round encounter between Tomic and Federer, and Tomic did everything on court to prove him right. The Australian, who talked up his chances of beating the World no 2 on every occasion possible, lost in straight sets to the Swiss. The match itself was not without drama though as Tomic forced Federer into defense in the second set which saw some amazing strokeplay from both sides of the court. At one point, Tomic had saved 12 of the 13 break points that Federer created with a display of some brilliant tennis under pressure. Federer eventually took the second in the tie-breaker before he gave the Australian a lesson in pressure tennis as he played near flawless tennis to close out the 3rd set 6-1. Roger Federer d. Bernard Tomic 6-3, 7-6 (5), 6-1

Clash of the future stars: In what was dubbed as the next generation battle, American teenager Sloane Stephens picked up a straight sets win against Brit Laura Robson to advance to the fourth round. Robson seemed to be suffering the after-effects of her late-night epic with Petra Kvitova as she took a medical time-out for treatment on her shoulder. Robson, who was struggling to serve with her injured shoulder, could not hold up her game in windy conditions as she piled up 47 unforced errors. The crowd though was strongly behind the Melbourne-born Brit which prompted Sloane to comment after the match, “I felt like I was playing an Italian player in Italy. It was crazy.” This win takes the American into the top 20 in the rankings. Sloane Stephens d. Laura Robson 7-5, 6-3

Battle of the battered Frenchmen: This was perhaps the weirdest match of the tournament so far as Frenchman Gilles Simon beat compatriot Gael Monfils in a 5-setter that lasted 4 hours 43 minutes. Both of them received medical assistance during the match, Simon for his arm and quadriceps and Monfils for his blisters. After two high intensity sets, it started looking like a ‘last man standing’ contest. There was a point in the match when Simon complained to the chair umpire that he was hungry and asked if he could get a ‘chocolate bar or something.’ Monfils on his part was tackling the Australian heat by taking sips out of a Coke tin that he had brought along. Simon, whose fastest serve was 210kmph in the first set, was serving at an average of 136 by the third. Their physical condition, however, did not stop them from engaging in a 71-shot rally that took 2 minutes, and is by far the longest of the tournament. Gilles Simon d. Gael Monfils 6-4, 6-4, 4-6, 1-6, 8-6

There is something about imperfection that is redeeming. It creates the little room for struggle that reminds you of your humanness. The little nagging flaws that let you bend down and take guard, body unwilling, for another hour in the dusk, when the mightily talented, to whom timing comes effortlessly, have long gone home. There is something about imperfection that never lets you lose sight; that pulls you back to the nylon cages of practice nets on the days of your greatest triumph, gently reminding you that there is no victory without effort.

The former English batsman and now author Ed Smith writes, ‘Talent has a nasty knack of protecting the talented from the urge to self-improve.’ Greater the talent, greater the curse of complacency. This perhaps, is the biggest problem that the Indian team faces today. One look at our squad and you will come across multiple names for whom prophecies of extraordinary achievement were drawn before they even made an international appearance. We were asked to remember the names and were promised that they would definitely make a mark at the highest level. After a string of losses in our own backyard and consistent failure of our prodigies in every one of them, we are back to discussing the two greatest batsmen of our time, the same two for whose heads we passionately called for only months ago – Rahul Dravid and Sachin Tendulkar.

Sharda Ugra, Senior Editor at Cricinfo, recently in a debate on national television, vehemently and quite rightly pointed out that it would be unfair to put the two greats on the table and ask ‘this or that?’, for the Indian team got to where it did not because of either one of them but because of both their contributions. This article is not about comparing their personal achievements and rating one over the other, for the records and numbers speak quite clearly for themselves. This is also not about discussing the unrealistic scenarios of un-retiring either one of them and imagining the state of Indian team with them induced into the batting line-up. This is about pondering on the ‘personality’ of a player which could possibly influence and turn this mightily talented bunch of youngsters into a team that can produce consistent results.

At the outset, I will get it clear that I do not believe in Malcolm Gladwell’s theory of 10,000 hours to excellence, which proposes that anyone, irrespective of his/her talent, can reach the highest level of his craft after 10,000 hours of dedicated effort. I can practice the square cut for years at a stretch and still say with confidence that I will never be able to get it to the level of Dravid’s.

So, I am not going to preach that Dravid held no gifts and became what he was through sheer hard work and perseverance. But what I will point out is a fact nicely captured by Sidharth Monga in one of his articles, that ‘Rahul Dravid became the best batsman, wicketkeeper, short leg, silly point and slip that he could become’. It’s true that he was gifted with talent, like hundreds of others are, but what set him apart is that he lived his potential. Suresh Raina confessed that he had never seen Rahul Dravid miss an optional training session and that inspired him to never miss one himself. When Dravid dropped a chance in the slips during the England tour in 2011, he tore his cap apart in disgust, for he practised catching in every training session and treated every dropped catch as a defeat; talk of men who wear large grins after the ‘amusement’ of a dropped catch. There were times when he had to make phone calls to get the gates open at the NCA for he was the first person to arrive in the morning. This is what a personality like Dravid’s could bring to the dressing room; an extraordinary level of professionalism, an unmatched work ethic that is almost contagious and a fire that burns until you exhaust every bit of your talent. He could instil in the youngsters the ability to score runs on the bad days, the unwavering focus that never lets you succumb to the temptation of a bad shot and teach them perhaps how to attain greatness, for not everyone is born into it.

I can almost hear Sachin fans screaming into my ears ‘Hey, Sachin was very professional too’(in much ruder words, of course). Yes, he was and there is no denying that. But what he also was, was supremely talented, the kind whose walk to the middle held more grace than the best shots of many batsmen, the kind whom to watch was to feel awe, the kind whom you would comfortably label a genius, a freak of nature almost. The problem with genius however is that it comes along only once in a few generations, and a genius like Tendulkar, perhaps once in many. What a personality like Sachin cannot bring to the dressing room is the art of struggle, the quest to work on and conquer the imperfections, a way to connect with batsmen who actually have to slog for hours in the lonely nets before timing the ball right.

When questioned once during a charity dinner in Sydney on what kept him motivated after all these years, Dravid replied that as a schoolboy, he remembered many kids who had at least as much desire to play professional cricket as he did – they attended every camp and net session, no matter what the cost or the difficulty of getting there. But you could tell – from just one ball bowled or one shot played, that they simply didn’t have the talent to make it. He knew he was different. ‘‘I was given a talent to play cricket,’’ he explained, ‘‘I don’t know why I was given it. But I was. I owe it to all those who wish it had been them to give of my best, every day.’’ The Indian team today is full of youngsters with talent, not always extraordinary, but enough when combined with hard work and dedication to craft a great international career. And there are few men who have lived this story as well as Rahul Dravid did.

When the year commenced, Agassi was ready. Ready to run to that extra ball deep into a match. This was his edge. Of the eight Grand Slam titles he won, four came at January’s Australian Open. - Rohit Brijnath

For all its lack of action, the off season might well be amongst the most exciting periods in the tennis calendar. It’s true that the art exhibition called Roger Federer seems to be temporarily closed, that Pierre, that cute little poodle, is getting more of Djokovic’s attention than all his fans, and Rafael Nadal, apart from his occasional tweet, might as well be the mysterious Sicilian mafia boss living underground. There is however a building sense of anticipation that seems to make up for all the lack of action. The December break has been crucial before (remember Novak Djokovic after the break of 2010) and there is every reason to believe this one will be as well. Perhaps, it’s got to do with the fact that this is the only part of the year when tennis players can try and rework their basic skill set, change the service action to add a few miles, flatten that forehand a little or get a slightly more solid backhand, and at the level tennis is currently being played, it is ‘fews’ and the ‘littles’ that make all the difference. Or maybe it’s just the motivation with which players return to the tour from their breaks, for in as tightly packed a schedule as this, momentum can take you a long way. Whatever the reason, the break ensures, almost always, a change in order, an emerging hero or a struggling legend, and makes the new season of tennis that much more fun to watch. And as we come to the end of this break, here is looking forward to 2013 with the Big Four.

1. Novak Djokovic: He began 2012 stating two clear goals. Win the French Open, win a medal, preferably gold, at the Olympics. By the end of the year, he had accomplished neither. He lost a rain plagued final to Rafael Nadal at Roland Garros and lost the bronze medal match at the Olympics to del Potro, after being knocked out by Andy Murray in the semi finals. You would have been tempted to call it a disappointing year, but for the fact that he finished World no 1. He won 6 titles including the Australian open and actually won 5 more matches than he did in his magical 2011. He certainly enters 2013 with a lot of momentum.

Best 2013 scenario: For a man who came agonizingly close to achieving the calendar Grand Slam in 2011, you have to say, win all four Slams.

But at the level Andy Murray and Roger Federer are currently playing, it might just be outside the realm of ‘realistic.’ He will look to win at least 2 Grand Slams, Australia, where he is looking for his 3^rd straight, and the US being his best shots. If his desire to finish 2012 as World no 1 was any indication, he has grown fond of the number and will certainly do everything he can to stay there.

Worst 2013 scenario: Finish without a Slam and end the year ranking outside the top three. Depending on how strong a comeback Nadal makes, this is a possibility. He held a losing record in 2012 against the rest of the Big Four (7-8) and will certainly have to turn that around to avoid this scenario. del Potro  and Andy Murray are his biggest contenders on the hard court, Federer is still legendary on grass and the clay had Rafael Nadal scribbled all over it. So, basically nobody is handing out Grand Slams. He will have to fight through this year to finish at the top of the pile.

2. Roger Federer: While so much has been written about Djokovic finishing World No 1, it has to be noted that Federer held the top spot all the way from the victory at Wimbledon to nearly end of the season. He won as many titles as Djokovic including the Wimbledon, had a win loss record of 71-12, and at 31 that is no mean achievement. Add to that the silver at the Olympics and you are looking a year that most tennis players would die for. The Swiss by no means is at the prime of his game, but you cannot help but admire the passion with which he strives against his younger competitors, who with swifter feet and stronger arms have a clear physical edge. He heads into 2013 with the same passion that has defined his game so far.

Best 2013 scenario: Win the Wimbledon and maintain, if not improve, the ranking.

Federer currently shares the record of most Wimbledon championships with Pete Sampras (seven each) and he will do everything to make it his own. It is also his best chance at winning a Grand Slam. The second part is a bit harder though. To remain at No. 2 or get back to the top spot means to be able to consistently beat the rest of the Big 4 and see off threats in del Potro, Tsonga and others. His straight sets loss to Andy Murray at Shanghai and the two losses to del Potro (Swiss Indoors finals, WTF Round Robin) are however not very healthy indications of this.

Worst 2013 scenario: Finish outside the top four rankings and announce retirement at the post match conference of a second round exit at the French Open.

While a case can be made for the first part, the retirement in Paris is rather unlikely (that would mean retiring before Wimbledon). Federer did indicate earlier this month that he will try and manage his schedule so that he can play at the highest level until the 2016 Olympics at Rio, but by then he would be 35 and I am certainly not holding my breath. He will look to be particularly picky about tournaments this year though. He played 19 tournaments in 2012, 2 more than Novak Djokovic, apart from his commitment to the Davis Cup and he will have to cut down to have a chance of staying longer.     

3.  Andy Murray: Andy Murray had a remarkable 2012. He finally got the ghost off his back, winning the US Open and in my view more significantly, the Olympic Gold in front of his home fans. While arguments have been made about the Olympics being a best of three sets tournament and therefore not comparable to the Grand Slams, I would still consider it extremely close to a Grand Slam. If you consider the way the top players steered their schedules to have a well prepared Olympic outing and the fact that a lot of matches lasted as long a five setter indicating commitment and the whole lot of national sentiment involved, you will have to agree the gold is a very significant result. Murray goes into 2013 more confident and relaxed than ever and finally with authentic defense for being considered the part of Big 4.

Best 2013 scenario: Add to the Grand Slam tally and achieve the No 1 ranking.

The only worse achievement than winning no slams in the view of Tennis media is perhaps winning one slam and none thereafter. You will be eternally subjected to the ridicule of being the ‘one slam wonder’ who had incredibly potential but never made use of it. Over the long run you might even be written off an aberration in a logical order of things. And with the British media right on his back, Murray will want to add as many slams as he can and as quickly as he can. He is also the only one in Big 4 who has not held the ATP World No 1, and he will certainly look to change that.

Worst 2013 scenario: Fire Ivan Lendl, have a string of losses, settle down in the Scottish countryside and write a book called ‘How I won the Olympics and a Grand Slam.’

Different players take differently to success, especially if it has come after a long struggle. There are some who are fuelled with renewed flame of desire now confident of their capabilities, but there are also others who succumb to a false sense to complacency, now convinced they have achieved everything that they have been sent down for. It remains to be seen if Andy Murray still has the flame burning for more success, more Grand Slams and a career worthy of the hall of fame.

 4. Rafael Nadal: The customary French Open, a shock second round Wimbledon defeat at the hands of ‘never heard of until, never heard of thereafter’ Lukas Rosol and bad, really bad knees have defined Nadal’s 2012. He pulled out of the exhibition event at Abu Dhabi, where he was to make his comeback, the ATP tournament at Doha and the Australian Open citing a stomach bug and that has raised more questions than it has answered. His fitness has been a major concern for the tennis fans and 2012 was certainly poorer without him being there for most part. He heads into 2013, well, injured.

Best 2013 scenario: Return to full fitness, get into the top 3, win a Slam.

I really hope his rehabilitation strategy works out. He has done everything that he can to avoid a very tricky surgery and try and solve the knee problem once and for all. He clearly thinks one long but successful break from the tour is better than recurring injury problems and you will have to agree with him considering the level of today’s tennis. Now the plan is perhaps to get back in the clay season where he has been the most dominating player in the history of the game. A French Open title and a top 3 finish should be considered a very successful comeback year.

Worst 2013 scenario: I almost don’t want to say it, but yes, another injury.

While it has only been spoken in hushed whispers during this injury, another injury of similar magnitude and within an year of recovering from the previous could possibly (still, not definitely) call curtains on what could have been amongst the very best careers of the modern era. And I really have my fingers crossed for those knees to hold up for Tennis without Nadal somehow never feels complete.          

LONDON, ENGLAND – NOVEMBER 12: Novak Djokovic of Serbia poses with Roger Federer of Switzerland as he holds the trophy following their men’s singles final match against Roger Federer of Switzerland during day eight of the ATP World Tour Finals at O2 Arena on November 12, 2012 in London, England.

“People ask me what I do in the winter when there is no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I sit at the window and wait for spring to come”.                                                               

                                                                                                                              Roger Horsby

As Novak Djokovic’s majestic backhand flew past Roger Federer in the finals of the World Tour Finals, it was a mix of emotions. There was the overwhelming joy of having watched a hard-fought, brilliant game of tennis between two true champions, but there was also the slow sinking realization, that you couldn’t come back home after a hard day’s work to the soothing sound of a bouncing tennis ball anymore. Not for a couple of months at least.

This is easily the most dreaded part of the year for a tennis fan. The time of the year when we aimlessly flip through sports channels for hours hoping to catch the highlights of a Grand Slam final or a Masters final or a tennis game or heck, even an advertisement for the Australian Open, and yet on most occasions have to settle for the displeasure of watching two heavily built guys, clearly on steroids, doing a miserable job of convincing us that they want to kill each other. As the players enjoy their well-deserved break from the circuit, all we are left with is intense frustration. While minor bouts of depression, anger and a sudden but keen ability to observe the pointlessness of most other sports are common symptoms of an off-season for a tennis fan, we could be quite annoying to our otherwise friendly neighbors.  So here are the six ways to deal with the off season and keep that neighbor from calling the cops.

1. Go out and play:  Ever had the goose bumps watching Nadal’s forehand with its vicious topspin fly past a stunned opponent, or the warmth in the heart that accompanies a perfectly executed Djokovic down-the-line backhand? Well, you can play them too. Agreed it takes a little more than a decade and a little less than a miracle to get the quality of your shot to their level, but there are few pleasures like watching that uncle across the street stare at you in ever so slight bewilderment as your cross court forehand flies past his posh racquet. Now that you have a month without any tennis action, you can create some of our own. Go out and learn the game. Get to the 90 mph serve, develop a deadly forehand and work on a reliable backhand. Yes it is a bit expensive and a lot of hard work, but trust me, its worth it.

2. Stay in and play: ‘The further you get into technology, the further you get into gaming. That’s the rule’. Playstation, X-Box, PC, Wii, you name it. There is a brilliant tennis game on every console. We have an opportunity to escape into the virtual world and live out our heroes and beat up our opponents like never before. Gaming can keep you hooked for hours, as you unlock new stadiums, gather more ranking points and try for hours at a stretch to perfect that lob. There is the Top Spin franchise if you want a realistic gameplay, Mario tennis for a fun arcade gameplay and Virtua Tennis which fills the void in between. It’s a whole world out there waiting to be discovered. I would personally recommend the Wii or the X-Box Kinect for consoles as you also get to put in some physical activity. And of course, for those boring afternoons in office on a basic PC there is always the flash version. (Go ahead and win the tournament with ‘Anna’, I dare you).

UNSPECIFIED, UNDATED: (EDITORS NOTE: THIS IS A DIGITALLY ALTERED COMPOSITE IMAGE) 15 of the top male tennis players in the world (L-R) Ryan Harrison of United States, Bernard Tomic of Australia, Milos Raonic of Canada, Kei Nishikori of Japan, Fernando Verdasco of Spain, Janko Tipsarevic of Serbia, John Isner of United States, Tomas Berdych of Czech Republic, Roger Federer of Switzerland, Novak Djokovic of Serbia, Rafael Nadal of Spain, Andy Murray of Great Britain, David Ferrer of Spain, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga of France and Mardy Fish of United States look forward to the Indian Wells Open, the first of the season’s ATP World Tour Masters 1000 events.

3. Read: Tennis perhaps is the most intellectual of modern sports. There is a constant endeavor to look at the larger picture, study into the complexities of human effort and a sense of respect for the long and cherished traditions of the game. It certainly reflects in the literature. While most books by current sportsmen border between trash and restroom reading, the ones by the tennis players are often reviewed alongside serious literature by accomplished authors. Pete Sampras’ ‘A Champions Mind’, Andre Agassi’s ‘Open’, John McEnroe’s ‘Serious’, and Rafael Nadal’s ‘Rafa’ are some highly rated books that are sure to give you a new perspective to the game and into the life of a professional tennis player.

4. Watch: “I don’t read books. I mean, I go on the Internet a lot and read stuff online, but I don’t read books. I haven’t read a book since I was about 14, 15. I got halfway through the third Harry Potter book. It was the first one that was really, really big. It was like 600 pages. I stopped around 200. I haven’t read a book since then.” — Andy Murray. (I believe he was mentioning the Goblet of Fire, the fourth book which was the first of the ‘really really big’ books). I don’t blame you if you are not the reading type. It takes a lot of patience in the era of the Internet to sit through a book. But, because it’s the era of internet, you don’t have to. YouTube is a treasure house of ways to kill time (no, I am not asking for a Nobel Prize for discovering that), and you can get everything from beautifully made documentaries, brilliantly edited highlights, incredible compilations, amazing interviews and a ton of funny videos (half of them featuring Novak Djokovic) right at your fingertips. Just click on a video, one thing leads to another and it will be hours before you notice the ticking clock.

5. Get the numbers: Ever got stuck in a Facebook argument where the other guys is rattling out numbers irrelevant to the topic and refuses to acknowledge the point? It can be quite a pain, and the only way to stop these guys is to rattle off some numbers of your own. This might be a good time to look up career statistics of your favorite players and more importantly your favorite opponents. Wikipedia is a natural resource, though a Google search will throw up many more websites with better presentation. Next time someone tries to remind you how many Grand Slams Boris Becker won (which by the way is 6) you can show him who’s the boss.

6. Try something new: While it is great to be the guy who explains the rules of a tie-breaker while watching the Wimbledon final with a group of muggles, it doesn’t exactly hurt to learn about the ‘line of scrimmage’ or to form an opinion on whether the Notre Dame football team is the greatest ever (they are not) and find out why they are called the ‘Fighting Irish.’ So try a new sport, preferably one that isn’t followed very much in your circles, and see if you like it. It’s only a month or two before tennis returns, and at the end of it, even if you don’t end up becoming a fan, you will at least know one more sport that is not as good as tennis (and therefore one more group of people to piss off).

The greatest of victories are built on risk, triumphs on chance and success on pure instinct. But so too are defeats. A courageous shot that lands an inch outside the boundary line is praised and sung about, a courageous shot caught an inch inside, admonished, censured. The merit of a desperate player attempting a winner while down match point is determined by the static line of the tennis court; inside, a hero, outside, an idiot. In sport, like in life, the line between courage and foolishness is rather thin. There is no certainty in the outcome, no guarantee of a result, but an attempt has to be made to tread it, for the timid are never the heroes.

Ricky Ponting literally lived on this line. Grim-faced and square-jawed, he lived every moment on the field as if it was a matter of life and death. Never would he back away from a decision, back away from a challenge; it was almost as if he was incapable of doing it. Perhaps it was this outrageous will of his to win, no matter the cost, that earned him the tags of arrogant and cocky, both in the subcontinent and in England. He didn’t mind it. As long as the victories were coming, nothing mattered. But his greatness perhaps lay in the times when the victories weren’t coming as often any more. For a captain who has won two successive World Cups, he also is a captain who lost three Ashes. As an Australian, you do not want that record. He could, on numerous occasions, have blamed that he didn’t have the same team any more, the team that comprised of legends like Mark Taylor, David Boon, Steve Waugh, Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath, that it was unfair to expect a spotless record from every team. Not once did I hear him complain. That wasn’t who he was. Only a couple of months ago he said, “It’s one of the biggest motivators I have right now. Every morning I get up and go to the gym and I’m pounding away on the bike or the treadmill, it’s with some of the memories of The Oval still in my mind from the last couple of tours. These are things that don’t go away very soon.” He was, at 38, still willing to fight for the urn.

The sport at times creates moments when the athlete begins to doubt his ability. In a silent stadium of a million fans, when a defender, often before the opponent’s goal, has to take the deciding penalty; when the tail-ender, in his awkward stance, has to face the ultimate ball of the innings – a hit you win, a miss you lose; the dying moments of a basketball game, when all but 2 measly points separate you from your opponents. Most athletes, in an overwhelming rush of anxiety and messed up nerves, falter and succumb to the enormity of the moment. But there are others who live for these moments, who cherish the goosebumps; they want the ball – it is, for them, an examination of their own self, of how good they are, a chance to show off.

Ricky Ponting belonged among those few. On the biggest stages of cricket, in the most intense moments of the sport, he had an ability to perform, even better than than in ordinary circumstances, perhaps. No Indian cricket fan who’s been around for a while will ever forget the 140* that he produced in the 2003 World Cup final against us. Coming in at No 3, on a damp, lively strip, he played one of the most dominating innings ever played in a World Cup final. You could see in his eyes how much he wanted to win. But for me, the most memorable picture of Ponting at a World Cup will not be the one holding a Cup. In fact, it comes from his least successful outing, in the 2011 World Cup. In the quarter-finals against India (which by many people was dubbed as a Roger Federer vs Rafael Nadal match), he constructed an innings of 104, this one not so dominating, but constructed with pure grit and determination. But now at home, and more used to winning, Yuvraj Singh was making short work of the Australian target. In the penultimate over, as the result became increasingly clear, you could see Ricky Ponting standing at point, still calling out to his team-mates, pushing them, barely able to hold back his own tears. You could see in his eyes how much he wanted to win. That will remain etched as the picture of a man who hadn’t considered the chance of losing before coming on to the ground.

He was, of course, for all his courage and brilliance, never accepted in India. He was a man who spoke his mind, had scant respect for his opposition, sledged the best of our batsman and never missed an opportunity to point out that his team was better than ours. But then, that was what made Ricky Ponting unique. It was a package of an arrogant man and a brilliant cricketer and we couldn’t have one without the other. To ask him to be humble was a bit like asking Dravid to attempt a flurry of sixes in a test match, or asking Sehwag to bat cautiously for a day to save a test match. You could only accept them for who they were, and find a way to deal with them. Maybe even find a way to appreciate them. When he ended up with a black eye and a 2-match suspension after a bar brawl, while we enjoyed our moment of ‘I told you so’, we couldn’t completely ignore the manner in which he confronted a full press conference, admitting he had drinking problems. That was him – always front up, never the one to shrink away; an attribute that stuck till the end.

“If there’s someone out there better than me that is breathing down my neck and pushing me out the side, that’s international sport. If there’s someone better than Michael Hussey or David Warner, that’s the way it is. You have to be picking the best team to win every game you play. I honestly think if we play the way these guys can play and we just do things that little bit better, they’ll find it hard to beat us – I don’t care who we play.” Brash, upfront, arrogant. Ricky Ponting.

In sport, perhaps more than in any other profession, we tend to confuse champions for heroes. A hundred centuries, 17 grand slams, even a last ball six in a World Cup victory; we label these as acts of heroism ascending them to the service of our soldiers, fire fighters, of the hundreds of those faceless men who risked their own lives in floods, fires, earthquakes to save those of others. We mistake timely acts of sporting brilliance as acts of courage. Admittedly, there is a demand of courage in going for a cross-court winner when you are facing a formidable serve at match point too, but not the kind that is demanded of a man who chooses to run into a blazing fire to save the life of a stranger, of a man who chooses bravery in the face of mortal termination.

But ever so rarely at the theatre of sport, do we get to see a hero. Maybe not of the pedigree of a wartime soldier, but the closest that this field of life can produce. When Arthur Ashe fought against apartheid at a time when coloured men were treated as an inferior race, that was an act of heroism. Later in his life he would begin a second battle with AIDS and that would still not stop him from fighting against the burden of his race. In fact when once questioned on AIDS, ‘’Is this the hardest thing you’ve ever had to deal with?’ he said, ‘No, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with is being a black man in this society.”  When Terry Fox, Canadian basketball player and a long distance runner, with one leg amputated due to cancer embarked on a cross Canada run to raise money and awareness for Cancer research as early as 1980, he became a hero. The disease would eventually claim his life, but not before his Marathon of Hope made a difference to the way cancer was dealt with in that country. Heroism is essentially linked with selfness, the ability to electing to live with a human purpose when a choice of personal comfort is right at hand. Today, we might be at the brink of adding one of our own to these ranks of sporting heroes and as an Indian, I take pride.

I am not saying Yuvraj Singh belongs alongside the likes of Arthur Ashe or Terry Fox, not yet, but am only pointing to the fact that he has done nothing to suggest otherwise. He would often wake up in the nights during the World Cup, coughing blood, unable to breathe, and yet refused to shy away from the challenge. He gave his best on the field, and quite deservedly turned out to be the best player of the tournament. Even after the diagnosis, he had a choice to go into a state of denial, become a prisoner of his own self, surround himself with sympathizers, people who would say things like, ‘How could this happen to you, you were such a nice person’ (as if cancer happens to bad people) like most patients do. Yet he chose to fight, sent us pictures of him recovering, and maintained from the very beginning that he still wanted to play cricket for India. He refused to play the victim. After a complete recovery, which itself ensued only after a courageous battle against the disease, we perhaps still wouldn’t be discussing him today if he hadn’t found the will to come back to the sport at its biggest stage.

In a country where emotion is seldom divorced from sport, his selection for the T20 World Cup was perhaps based more in sentiment than in logic. It was questioned of course; Ravi Shastri for instance went on record saying “When it comes to India versus Pakistan, I’m not the kind to get emotional. He’s still rusty and he’s still a bit slow.” And in that very match, he came on to bowl in the seventh over and struck twice in quick succession to leave Pakistan tottering at 49 for four. After making a couple of diving saves early in the innings, he even claimed a late run-out with a direct hit from cover, and then crunched a couple of elegant boundaries before hitting the winning run with three overs to spare. There are far too many sporting comebacks that die in the corners of a sports page, this wasn’t one of those. He was on that day, the personification of Kelly Clarkson’s wonderful lyrics:

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger

Stand a little taller…

What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter

Footsteps even lighter…

 A World Cup, a battle and another World Cup later, he finds himself in a unique position. His sheer presence on the cricket field, now a tribute to what human will can achieve, will tug at the hearts of millions of men. He will be more than the flurry of those six consecutive sixes off a distraught bowler, more than the ‘Man of the Tournament’ award at this sports biggest competition, more than every run that he has ever scored, every wicket that he has ever taken. He now has the power to make a difference to the lives of real people, not just the scoreboard. Arthur Ashe saw heroism as  ”not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost, but the urge to serve others at whatever cost.” Gifted now with a second bout and a fresh perspective, it is this phase of his life and it’s resemblance to Ashe’s wonderful words, that will define the hero that he can be.

And so far, I am delighted with what I have seen. Earlier in July, he launched a cancer awareness program called YouWeCan, was pictured playing cricket with kids and on more than a couple of occasions spoke out for his fellow cancer victims “In the coming time, I will definitely do something for people with cancer; patients struggling with cancer are like a family to me. I can understand their pain and I feel more connected to anyone who is going through it.”

Here’s wishing the hero a glorious journey, to infinity and beyond.

‘’In all the chatter and clamor  and chest-bashing, and statistic-tossing, a goddamn endless, insane, gleeful cacophony of cricketing praise and persecution, sometimes it’s hard to hear it, but if you go out there, put your ear to the wicket, you’ll hear its sweet strains. Tendulkar’s defiant Last Waltz has begun. Are we hammering out epitaphs here, returning the Great One to his family and some well-deserved sanity? Nope. Just reminding you it’s time to sit back and enjoy the concluding notes, some still polished, some hesitant, of the best bloody batsman to have lit up so many lives.’’

This was Rohit Brijnath in the summer of 2007.

September 2012. If you were to put your ear to the wicket on the fourth day of the second test against New Zealand as a Tim Southee delivery flattened on to his middle stump, you could perhaps still hear the sweet strains of his defiant Last Waltz. The same concluding notes, some still polished, some hesitant…

Rather mysteriously five years on, Tendulkar’s Last Waltz still lingers. A career whose obituary was written years ago still remains an unfinished story in search of a distant sunset. It just might be a little too much if I also asked you to believe that meanwhile, he won the World Cup, captained a T20 side, scored a T20 century, got to the 100^th century mark, won Test series abroad and like he always has, scored more runs than I can care to count.

Timelessness is an accepted illusion in sport. Yet there come along a few players, very few and far too apart whose gift never seems to fade. A select class of men who seem to make a mockery of our hard wired notions. Maybe, that’s why we question them at the first sign of weakness, wear our grim smiles as we convince ourselves that the reflexes are slowing down, that the gift is finally fading away. They, on their part have the annoying habit of wiping the smiles off our face, and most of the times, they do it with cricket bats, tennis rackets, golf clubs.

At the Wimbledon in 2002, long after the conqueror – a little known Swiss named George Bastl had left the sunshine of the grass court, Pete Sampras stood still, his face in certain remorse staring at the ground on which he had won seven of the last eight championships. A second round exit on a surface that literally belonged to him, meant for many a critics, an end to the glorious chapter. Nobody saw a Slam with his name on it any more. The best ways for his exit were discussed even as statistics were pulled up to fill the retirement piece that could not be very far away. Three months later, a 30-something man who looked completely washed up late June shouted into the noise of victory, ‘’I f**king did it’’ as he beat Andre Agassi to win his final Slam at the Flushing Meadows  the same place where he won his first. The retirement did come soon after, but not before the might of the human will restored our faith in belief and effort.

That is the thing about great players, they refuse to live within the boundaries set by us ordinary men. They constantly question the limits of possibility, they take delight living in places unconquered before. Every mention of retirement will only spur them on. But then, when their talent and sporting prowess are taken apart, they are but human, limited by the ability of their bodies. And here lies the danger. What if the sportsman fails to notice the use by date. What if in his obsession with being the very best, he ignores the fact that his limbs are not getting him where he wants to any longer, that the signal from the brain got to his hand only after the ball has passed the racket. What if in delusion of invincibility, he spends the very end years without achievement. What of his legacy? Will the fickle fans, now busy in worship of a younger hero even give credit to the exploits of his career?

Timing a retirement must be amongst the toughest things for a sportsman. This is where logic and emotion get into a headlong collision, each making their emphatic case, leaving him in an internal mess. When Dravid and Laxman announced their retirements, it was logical. They knew that their best years were behind them, that the century while still coming, was coming a bit too far apart and with a lot more effort. They did not let the picture of a standing ovation at their home grounds blind them from the decision that they knew they had to make. Their exits were graceful and without the hue and cry – very much like their sporting careers. But now, we have the case of Sampras and Phelps. They went by emotion and had two of the greatest exits that the sport has known. When Micheal Phelps dived into the pool for the third leg of the 4×100 meter medley and came out having put his team on lead, en route to his 18^th Gold medal, sang ‘The Star Spangled Banner’, gave in to some tears, hugged his team-mates and bid his final adieu, that was pure sporting gold. Surely any sportsman who has played the game for most of his life will want an ending like that, amidst the ovations and the adrenaline rush that comes with thousands of people shouting your name.

That brings us to Sachin and Federer, and the whole big debate about when they should do it. There are opinions that Federer should go the moment he wins his next slam, there are worries that he might spend too many months without a slam and will have to announce his retirement at the post match conference of a third round exit and this would hurt his legacy. There are worries that Sachin might be dropped by the selectors (like that’s ever going to happen) and like Hayden or Katich will have to announce his retirement more out of lack of choice than of it. When I think, I realize, it actually doesn’t matter. Would it have made any difference if Bradman had got those 4 runs in his final match rather than get out for a duck? Would Phelps be a lesser swimmer if he landed only a silver in the final event rather than the gold? Legacies are made during the lifetimes of the sporting career, not at their twilight. Amidst all the hype, like Ian Thrope said ‘People forget athletes were once kids who love what they do.’ So relax, sit back and enjoy their artistry while it lasts. They will know it when their time has come. Not a thing for us to worry. The concepts of legacy and perfect retirements are after all, overrated.

Lance Armstrong

There comes a point in every man’s life when he has to say, “Enough is enough.” For me, that time is now. I have been dealing with claims that I cheated and had an unfair advantage in winning my seven Tours since 1999. Over the past three years, I have been subjected to a two-year federal criminal investigation followed by Travis Tygart’s unconstitutional witch hunt. The toll this has taken on my family, and my work for our foundation and on me leads me to where I am today – finished with this nonsense….If I thought for one moment that by participating in USADA’s process, I could confront these allegations in a fair setting and – once and for all – put these charges to rest, I would jump at the chance. But I refuse to participate in a process that is so one-sided and unfair. Regardless of what Travis Tygart says, there is zero physical evidence to support his outlandish and heinous claims….

Travis Tygart

Nobody wins when an athlete decides to cheat with dangerous performance enhancing drugs, but clean athletes at every level expect those of us here on their behalf, to pursue the truth to ensure the win-at-all-cost culture does not permanently overtake fair, honest competition. Any time we have overwhelming proof of doping, our mandate is to initiate the case through the process and see it to conclusion as was done in this case.

Through the years of this USADA vs. Armstrong fight I would always side with Armstrong. He was an athlete who was ridiculously easy to admire. He came back from terminal cancer and achieved, in one of the most demanding sports on earth, what no man had ever achieved before. As an athlete, he was simply beyond parallel, and throw in all those hours of his life that he selflessly spent in building the ‘Armstrong Foundation’ which has raised over 500 million dollars towards cancer research, you simply couldn’t hate this guy.

Admittedly, today it has become a little tougher. You cannot help but wonder why a man who verily epitomized the grit of never giving up and taught us to ‘livestrong’ succumb to the ‘trivial’ burden of legal procedures. Surely, it can’t be harder than all those arduous miles on the Tour de France terrain. Surely, if he could train for hours on the bushy terrains of Texas right after his chemo, he can hang in a little while in his retired life to prove to the world that he had been fair and true all his life. Why did he give up?

But it isn’t exactly easy to side with USADA either. To believe in them would mean suspending belief in the science of drug testing. It would mean to place our faith in a bunch of men who swear they saw Armstrong doping, and ignore all those hundreds of tests and reports that claim otherwise. It would clearly be against the concept of level and fair playing field where every athlete is held to the same standard, a champion or a qualifier, irrespective of if he has come back from cancer or not.

As a sports fan, times like these are painful. Suddenly we are unsure of everything, what we have believed in for years is threatened and a there is a feeling of frustrating helplessness. Did he do it or was he set up? No way of finding out and therefore a lot of anger. But eventually, always, we make peace. We play back in our minds all the memories that we had of the athlete, and like a seasoned jury, carefully consider the evidence and then pick our side. I have chosen mine today, and here’s why.

In this whole mess of an incident, generously littered with accusations, denials and conspiracy, if you take the personalities out of the way, Armstrong, Tygart, the witnesses, all of them, you’re left with pee in a cup and blood in a syringe. Armstrong never failed a drug test. He was tested in competition, out of competition. He was tested at the Olympics, at the Tour de France, at dozens if not hundreds of other events. And he never failed a test. If he had, Travis T. Tygart, the head of USADA, would have personally delivered the results, beaming, to a group of carefully selected international journalists, ensuring that we would know about it in a matter of hours.

But what Tygart has done today is to collect a group of men who are willing to swear that they witnessed Armstrong dope. And by logic that I cannot fathom, this is supposed to outweigh all the hundreds of reports proving Armstrong didn’t dope. Makes me wonder, why spend all those millions on drug tests at all? Why not just ask around people if they happened to chance by somebody sticking a needle. That seems like a reasonable system. Chuck this whole scientific setup of testing out of the window then. It’s messy, clumsy and costs a lot of money anyway. Let’s just ask all competitors to assemble at the end of the day and tell on each other…. And if you remember school days, everybody tells on the most successful guy in the class.

Frankly, people lie. Blood and urine? They don’t. Even if they do, they don’t lie 500 times.

Now imagine another situation. Imagine that Armstrong’s drug test had come out positive. That illegal, performance enhancing drugs were in fact found in his system. If he were to collect a bunch of guys who swore that they were with him all through the day all through the competition and they never saw him use drugs, would USADA have bought that? Would Tygart have conceded that since 10 people are sticking to the same story, the drug test must be wrong?

How come it works only one way?

Actually, I have no idea if Armstrong doped. I have no idea if this is a conspiracy, if the witnesses are lying or how much influence Tygart has had on their statements. Did Armstrong give up this battle so that he could win the war against cancer that he originally set out to? Don’t know. Did he give up because he was guilty? Clueless. But what I do know is that Armstrong never failed a drug test and that he came back from a place in life that very few men even survive, to win a record number of times at the toughest competition in the world. I know that he has been an everyday inspiration to millions of people around the world and to all those men who swear that his life story has played a massive role in their fight against cancer, this ugly incident does not mean anything.

To me those yellow wristbands, stamped “LIVESTRONG,” will still remain quiet and mighty symbols of the strength and perseverance. On a bad day, I will still look to him for inspiration.

13th March 1996 - The quiet Scottish town of Dunblane.

Thomas Hamilton walked into the Dunblane Public school with two 9 mm Browning HP pistols, two Smith and Messon M19 .357 Magnum revolvers and 743 cartridges. He made his way to the gymnasium and opened fire on a Primary One class of five- and six-year-olds, killing or wounding all but one person.  Fifteen children died together with their class teacher, Gwen Mayor, who was killed trying to protect the children. Hamilton then left the gymnasium through the emergency exit. In the playground outside he began shooting into a mobile classroom injuring a further eleven children and three adults.He returned to the gym and with one of his two revolvers fired one shot pointing upwards into his mouth, killing himself instantly.

Meanwhile, an eight year old Andy and his older brother Jamie, were on their way to the gym. Having heard the gunshots, they hid under a desk in the headmaster’s study, in a room adjacent to the one where the shooting took place. They were perhaps too young to understand the whole event. But, Andy remembers being devastated. He remembers being told how lucky he was.  As he would later put it, he could easily have been one of the seventeen victims.

Little would you imagine that a kid once spared by destiny would one day be marked for greatness…

5th August 2012 - The quiet English town of Wimbledon.

The Center Court at Wimbledon is a heady place. There is the Champions Locker room still rich with the memories of  John McEnroe, Jimmy Connors, Pete Sampras. Then, there is the walk from the locker room; the corridor lined with framed photographs of all former champions, the trophy cabinets displaying the symbolic equivalents of victory and defeat, and as if to maximize the intimidation, right at the entrance, over the doorway are the Kipling’s famous words

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same.

But Andy Murray wasn’t willing to take advice today. It was barely a month ago that he had played his heart out on the very same court and yet at the end, met the wrong imposter. He knew exactly what disaster felt like and he knew he couldn’t treat it ‘just the same‘. Sport in a rare gesture of generosity had given him a chance to right his wrongs and he wasn’t ready to squander it away.

So he played, played like a man possessed by the scent of victory, unflinching in his focus, unremittingly aggressive, refusing to let the action be dictated by his superior opponent. The pressure of the occasion that would consume him before propelled him today. In front of a vociferous English crowd (there was one confused fan waving a Brazil flag in the front row though) he smothered Federer, never gave the Swiss an opportunity to sneak back into the match. There are times in tennis when the final score is deceptive, when it makes a hard fought match look like a meek surrender. This wasn’t one of those. When the scoreboard read 6-2, 6-1, 6-4, it pretty much told the story. This was Andy Murray at his brutal best.

For a tennis fan though, more than the gold medal itself (this would eventually end up on the neck of his rather amused pet dog), this match offered glimpses of a player who had finally broken through, proof that the agitated outsider had finally found his peace. Here’s why I think we have discovered a new champion.

The mind set. For years he was the embodiment of a chippy Scotsman, grouching and grumbling his way through the tournament when he was not clutching some body part in agony. He would often border on disinterest, generously throw slangs into the open air and  at times of desperation shout at the players box as if his team was supposed to fetch that cross court forehand. But at the final, there was composure. He did display frustration a couple of times, admonish himself now and then like he does ever so often, but never lost sight of the end. The irritation of a bad shot didn’t spill over into the next point. He bent his head and started fresh. Now, considering that a majority of Murray’s problem was with his attitude on court, this sure is a sign of brighter days ahead.

His game itself. He always had amongst the best backhands in the game and possibly the best backhand slice. His second serve was a potent weapon and his court coverage was good enough. But, what he did not have was a brilliant first serve and the confidence in his forehand. His forehand would breakdown often and on many occasions was the prime suspect in his faltering at the big stage. When he came into the Wimbledon final, he brought an advanced version of his earlier game, Andy Murray 2.0, if you may. His forehand was largely improved and he was using it with greater authority than ever before. He still didn’t have the best first serve in the world, but was clocking numbers that were good enough to win against the best. At the Olympic final, he looked refined.

Purpose. For a long while Murray gave the impression that he played the game only as an obligation towards his outrageous talent. The game was great, exceptional even, but the fiery eyes of Nadal, the absolute focus on Djokovic’s face or the assured confidence in Federer’s demeanour, that was missing. He came across as a restless young man constantly in a battle with himself. He was confused when he said he would support anyone who played against England at the World Cup. Now, he seems to have found his peace. He seems to have come out of the state of stern non revelation that he maintained. When he cried in front of the English crowd in Wimbledon after the heartbreaking final, and thanked his fans with all sincerity, he seemed to have found a worthy enough reason to play the game. At the Olympic final he was the picture of a man who knew what he wanted. The medal should strengthen his resolve.

When all is said and done, it’s only upto him where he goes from here. It is possible, especially when the breakthrough has come after such a long struggle, that he might a get a false sense of having achieved his quest and in a moment of relaxation slips quietly back to his old self. It is possible that the Grand Slam might elude him eternally, that he will still falter on the big stage and retire a great talent who never lived his destiny. But I for one wouldn’t be putting my money on that.

Roger Federer

LONDON, ENGLAND – JULY 26: Roger Federer of Switzerland during a press conference at the Main Media Conference Centre, Olympic Park on July 26, 2012 in London, England. (Photo by Roger Sedres/Gallo Images/Getty Images)

Clearly, amongst the top three Federer has the most straight forward draw. He faces Alejandro Falla in the first round and a potential rematch with Julien Benneteau in the second. Interestingly, both these men have blown two set leads at Wimbledon to Federer and that should give him a mental edge (tidbit: Falla in Spanish means ‘fault’. Interesting that a tennis player should have this name). After a likely date with Spain’s Fernando Verdasco, who gets to try to stop Federer in the quarters is a tricky affair. John Isner, David Nalbandian and Janko Tipsarevic are all packed in a tight little section, and the big-serving Isner could be the biggest threat. Federer will then most likely meet David Ferrer, Juan Martin Del Potro or Phil Kohlscreiber in the semi finals and after one look at the other half of the draw, Federer will take this gladly.

Federer is just off an amazing Wimbledon victory, has an excellent feel for grass, is hitting the ball almost as good as ever, is the best player under the roof and certainly a clear favorite at the tournament.

Novak Djokovic

LONDON, ENGLAND – JULY 26: Novak Djokovic of Serbia serves during the practice session ahead of the 2012 London Olympic Games at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club in Wimbledon on July 26, 2012 in London, England. (Photo by Clive Brunskill/Getty Images)

To be Novak Djokovic at this moment in time—while desirable—probably isn’t the easiest thing in the world. He came off an unbelievable 2011 and the slump in 2012 was only natural; any sort of a year after the last (winning 10 tournaments including three Grand Slam titles) would be a slump. He clearly stated his major goals this year were to win at the French Open (where he lost to Nadal in the finals) and to win the Olympics. Djokovic’s brilliant 2011 was triggered by the Davis Cup victory for his country, and the Olympics could just provide the stage for resurgence.

He has the trickiest draw amongst the top three. After playing the opener against Italy’s Fabio Fognini, he will likely meet the big serving Andy Roddick in the marquee second rounder, then the hot-handed Marin Cilic followed by the big hitting JW Tsonga, all this to potentially face Andy Murray in the semifinals. Phew. While this is certainly no run-through, I still expect him to make the finals, and he is my pick for the tournament. Well, yes, I do believe in magic, now that you ask.

Andy Murray

LONDON, ENGLAND – JULY 26: Jamie Murray (L) of Great Britain and his brother Andy Murray (R) react during the practice session ahead of the London 2012 Olympic Games.

Andy Murray finds himself in a situation that is eerily similar to the one before Wimbledon. A lone Brit with a chance of a medal in tennis and an entire nation banking on that. He has had to carry the burden of history more than any contemporary player and he has done very few things so far to lighten it.

But he is no doubt a much improved player ever since his stint under Ivan Lendl began, and his performance at Wimbledon showed it. He played a level of tennis against Federer that we hadn’t seen from him before (most prominently his forehand) and this is as good a chance at winning a major title as any.

Pressure will hit Murray immediately in the form of Stan Wawrirnka who stretched Murray to five at Wimbledon a couple of years ago. After that, a potential upset match against India’s Somdev Devvarman (kidding, but hoping for sure); Richard Gasquet will likely wait in the third round, before a quarterfinal collision with former Wimbledon finalist Tomas Berdych. He will have to take on childhood friend Novak Djokovic in an interesting battle of the prodigies before getting a peek at the gold.

Dark horse

A certain Frenchman named Jo-Wilfred Tsonga. In a best of 3 sets grass court tournament, a guy with with so much firepower and touch is certain trouble.

NOTTINGHAM, ENGLAND – AUGUST 01: Youvraj Singh of India holds out his injured hand after being hit by the ball during the second npower Test match between England and India at Trent Bridge on August 1, 2011 in Nottingham, England. (Photo by Tom Shaw/Getty Images)

phoe·nix/ˈfēniks/: It’s described as a bird with a colorful plumage and a tail of gold and scarlet. It has a 1000 year life-cycle, near the end of which it builds itself a nest of twigs that then ignites. Both nest and bird burn fiercely and are reduced to ashes, from which a new young phoenix arises, reborn anew to live again…

Sportsmen can perhaps connect to their mortality better than most others. Even on the most glorious days of their career, they are silently aware that should strength fail or form abandon, it could mean the end of everything that they have believed in. They know in a competition that is now taken over by younger limbs, they will have no place. They realize sport is unforgiving, once done, always done. Very much like life.

But ever so rarely there is defiance. A possibility that goes beyond the realms of sports comparison to reality. When the sportsman ousted by the arena chooses to return again. The comeback.

Comebacks have always intrigued me. So constantly are barriers being reset, so rapidly does new talent arrive and the game improvised that the athlete who does not adapt is left behind in utter daze. So what of a retired professional now taken in by the comforts that follow a sporting career, whose equipment is stored away and wake up alarm stilled to allow for a late breakfast in bed? What chance does he have? How does he even believe he has a chance?

Yet they come, the defiant, resolute lot. Kim Clijsters, Michael Jordan, Michael Schumacher, Ian Thorpe. A look at sporting history and you will soon realize most comebacks die in the corners of a sporting column. I used to wonder, aren’t these champions worried about their legacy till Ian Thorpe answered me “People forget athletes were once kids who love what they do. I am finding that love again. I am prepared to sacrifice my legacy for that love.”

Exceptional athletes defy the natural course of things, operate in an area called extraordinary and the concept of comeback certainly belongs here. Few things are celebrated in sport as much as a successful comeback. We love a comeback perhaps because of the same reason why we hung on to seven volumes of Harry Potter, why the mention of Phoenix brings warmth to our youthful hearts; it’s an expression of what’s believed to be impossible. But more than the fairy tale ending and classic literature for sporting discussions, a comeback is a sign of eternal hope. Here’s how.

You would think a man who had just survived a brush with death and whose calling is one of the world’s most demanding events – the Tour de France – would hold back a little when he has time for some recovery. But when Lance Armstrong was at home just after the chemo, he would hike through the bushes in his native Texas to a waterfall named Dead man’s hole set among limestone hills. There he would stand on the rim and launch himself the 45 feet through the air into freezing green waters. He would train for stamina. He was a given a less than 40% chance of survival after his first surgery, but he fought. Fought against his illness, fought against every man who stood by the racing track and suggested it wasn’t possible. He came back from cancer in 1999 to compete at the tour and won it every single year till 2005.

Mike Grisenthwaite, founder of Cyclists fighting Cancer and now responsible for the recovery of hundreds of kids with cancer, was diagnosed with a non operable kind of cancer when he was 37. He writes “I had this gut feeling that if I stayed fit and healthy I would be in a better position to fight whatever came along. Having an example of someone who could go to those depths and come back – not only to ride the Tour de France but win it – was a massive boost. I am not saying I carried it around my arm, quoting verbatim, but Lance’s book was the seed for everything that I have done since”.  As much gratifying it is for the athlete, a comeback is a story of inspiration that millions will cling on to.

Since the last time she won Wimbledon in 2010, Serena Williams endured 2 foot operations, emergency treatment for blood clots in her lungs, a 11 month absence from the tour, torn ligaments in an Australian Open warm up tournament and her earliest exit from a Grand Slam event in the first round at the French Open. Eminent journalists and eager critics had written her career off. When she came back and won the Wimbledon women’s singles and doubles championship, that was inspiration for every athlete, every common man not doing something cause he could always say “My injury, can’t do it anymore.”

As I write this piece on comebacks, here back home is an exceptional athlete of our own, who has just won his battle with cancer and attempting to make it back to the league of 11 best Indians who can play the sport. He has proven himself a fighter when he used to wake up on those lonely nights during the world cup, coughing blood and yet give his absolute best on the field during the day. He was the ‘Man of the Tournament’. The day he walks out again in national colors is sure to inspire millions to better lives. In a nation which worships its crickets, his story will be an epic. Here’s wishing him the very best.

As sports fans, we live for the moments. The moments of nervous anticipation before the start of a Test match, the goosebumps after an unexpected goal, the rage at a wrong decision, the sorrow of defeat and the exhilaration of victory. The player almost becomes an irrelevant, dispensable medium between us and these emotions. We connect with these intense moments to an extent that it becomes a part of who we are.

When we are in a state of despair, we retain hope, for haven’t we seen the Test match at Eden Gardens when an artist and a sculptor scripted the most impossible of victories. On the day of our biggest presentation, we imagine a 17-year-old Maria Sharapova on Centre Court at Wimbledon, moments away from glory, and suddenly the burden is lifted. When that annoying aunt of ours tells us of how delightfully talented her son is and how it’s impossible to achieve things without extraordinary talent, we replay in our minds Novak Djokovic’s 2011, and that restores our faith in human will and grit. Every sport, long after the matches and trophies, will be cherished for the moments it leaves behind in the memories of its ardent fans.

Days away from the Olympics, amidst all the articles on the Indian hopes, and rendered jobless by a power cut, I sat down to recollect the moments that Indian sports had left behind for me…

I think of cricket. Flashing across are pictures of World Cup 2011. I remember that day, every single detail, the celebrations and the frenzy. People who could otherwise barely stand each other were hugging, exchanging pleasantries; their individuality forgotten in a moment that belonged to the nation. There are pictures of five wonderful men, all of them now retired or in the twilight of their careers, showing the world how to live a sportsman’s life. The promise of the youngsters, the Eden Gardens, the hundred centuries and the ten wickets in an innings… it’s an almost overwhelming mix of memories, but my heart is glad and warm. There are also the whispers of money that destroyed our trust, of team-mates slapping each other… but amidst all the glory I find it easy to forgive the glitches. Happy and satisfied I move on…

I think of hockey. Distant heart-warming stories of the conversation between Adolf Hitler and Dhyan Chand come rushing back. I think of the times when we were invincible and brought back eight gold medals to our eager shores. Black and white pictures of newspapers carrying headlines like “The Colony beats the Colonizer”, “The World’s Greatest Centre Forward” take their rightful place. Suddenly there’s a blur as the warmth is replaced by the disputes, scandals and a lack of medals. The heartbreak of the Beijing Olympic Qualifiers is still fresh in memory, undisturbed by our cricketing success. There is disappointment, I blame the politicians, the organizers… angry and saddened I move on….

I think of athletics, the field events. The ‘Flying Sikh’, the ‘Golden Girl’ and recent exploits by our shooters, boxers and weight lifters briefly make me glad. I glance towards the newspaper that’s lying idle in front of me, only to catch a report on how our athletes could not get a pair of shoes while our bureaucrats were busy booking hotels and organizing their itinerary in London. There are dope tests everywhere, even a gender test. Disgusted, I blame our organisations, the politicians. Almost unwillingly, I move on….

Tennis. I sense there might be happiness here. After all, Vijay Amritraj and Leander Peas are legends of the game. Mahesh Bhupati and Sania Mirza have created more than a flutter in the sporting circles. Somdev Devarman, Yuki Bhambri and Vishnu Vardhan, irrespective of whether they possess grass court shoes or not, hold immense promise. I am happy so far, till ‘grass court shoes’ triggers the memory of the incident. Two countrymen refusing to play with each other. I can almost feel the pain in my heart. A sport that I loved dearly all my life disgraced by the pathetic egos of two individuals. However great the two men, however rich their exploits, I cannot get myself to forgive them. I feel betrayed. I curse the players, the AITA and the sports ministry before I move on….

There is a little voice in my head that I particularly dislike. It tends to come up with pointed questions that make me uncomfortable. It’s stirring again and I don’t like it at all. I try to ignore it, to think of something else. “What have you done about it?”  it asks me, loud and clear. I knew I was going to hate this.

Now I wonder why I haven’t gone back to those sites that I bookmarked to read about shooting and archery events at the Olympics. I wonder why I haven’t opened Abhinav Bindra‘s “A Shot at History: My Obsessive Journey to Olympic Gold” ever since Flipkart dutifully delivered it to me. I am completely aware that Vishwanathan Anand has made our nation proud like few others have, that he is a true World Champion, yet I wonder why I have been putting off reading those two articles on him by two delightful authors (Nirmal Shekar and Rohit Brijnath). Can I name 20 players who have played for the Indian cricket team? Twenty? I can name forty to fifty of them. Can I name 30 players on the ATP tour? Sure, give me sixty seconds, you sure you don’t want WTA also? Do I know twenty names in our Olympic contingent? Twenty? Without Google? Nope.

There it is. I can blame and shout at our politicians and the organizers all I want from the comfort of my couch, and that is not going to make any difference to the medal tally at the end of the Olympics, not even the next one. But maybe, just maybe, if a number of us could get ourselves to support them with the same passion that we support our cricket team, the organizers and the politicians might realize they can’t push over things, for we are watching. Can you even imagine our cricket team not getting their shoes ahead of an Australian, heck, Bangladesh tour?

I will go back to those websites today and learn everything I can about shooting and archery. I will make time to read those two articles on Vishwanathan Anand. Before I devour my new copy of ‘Rafa’, I will finish Bindra’s. If, in the coming days, I have to choose between the Sri Lanka tour of India and an Indian at the Olympics, I will gladly choose the latter. Hope you can join me.

On another day I would be enraged. I would question the audacity of Federer fans, mark it as spam and report it. But not today. Today I don’t have the right. I put myself in their place and realize, I wouldn’t have waited with them for over two years believing in him even as all evidence pointed to a lost cause. I would have rubbed my hands off a spent force and invested my precious sporting emotions on a promising younger player with swifter feet and stronger arms. They have waited. And while they celebrate, I will not complain even if the celebration gets a little loud, a little unruly.

Clearly I am not a fan, perhaps the farthest thing from it. I adored a generation of players that came before him and love a generation that has come after. On most occasions in fact, he was the ‘villain’ who denied my legends and stood in the way of my heroes. I even learnt the double handed backhand to model it after Djokovic’s while my coach insisted that I was getting a hang of the one-hander. I was afraid Federer would be mentioned in resemblance. If anything I loathed him. Yet I write today an article titled ‘What makes Roger Federer a Champion’.

This isn’t about the artist; this isn’t about the numbers either. I will leave that to the fans and I am sure they will more than do justice to it. This is about the twenty-nine months. The twenty-nine months that Roger Federer spent without a Grand Slam and the man he was.

In those unfamiliar times, it must have been easy for him to think of quitting. When Rafael Nadal came back from an Australian Open loss and an injury to dominate the rest of 2010, when Novak Djokovic played tennis in 2011 better than any player played any other sport, and he himself was struggling at times against players whom history won’t even mention on the same page, the thought of quitting must have crossed his mind. It must have been easy for him concede that he did not belong amongst the younger men with faster feet and stronger arms. He must have been beckoned by the promise of a quiet retired life with his wife and the beautiful twins.

He knew that the forehand that would once catch the line was now falling an inch apart. He knew that lethal backhand that once would find the corner of the court was now kissing the top of the net. The gift was fading and he knew it. What he also knew was that, if he chose to retire right then, he would still go down a legend, amongst the best to have played the game. Yet he chose to stay. He hung in there, and to me that’s a champion.

It was Lance Armstrong who said “Pain is temporary. It may last…an hour, or a day, a year…but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” A champion is Anil Kumble bowling with a broken jaw, not an Indian captain, whose name irrelevant, opting out of a Sri Lankan tour. Roger Federer fits this criterion nicely enough.

Do not believe everything that they are telling you. Roger Federer isn’t perfect. Far from it. When he used the four-lettered word at the flushing meadows, that was a terrible example for the thousands of kids watching him. When he wore the white jacket with ’15′ inscribed, on a day when Roddick’s broken heart littered the tennis court, that was indulgent, almost a show-off. He isn’t even the modest guy we are made to believe he is – when asked why he wins so many matches, he says, “There’s no secret behind it. I’m definitely a very talented player. I always knew I had something special.” True, but immodest.

Roger Federer isn’t perfect, but he at least doesn’t live behind a mask like Tiger Woods. He is a real person. He married his girlfriend whom he dated forever and she isn’t one of those blue-eyed blondes who litter the sporting horizon. He cries on court, waves to his kids and reveals to us his humanness. He doesn’t charm us with the commercials while he hides away the dark side behind. Like someone said of Tiger Woods, he at least doesn’t make us buy shirts while he takes his off.

He is a good guy who makes genuine mistakes. There aren’t many players who spend their Christmas, playing cricket at a shelter for Indian kids hit by tsunami. He did. He played soccer in the slums of South Africa and two days before the 2010 Australian Open, worked with organizers, requested players and arranged a charity match to raise funds for Haiti. His numbers brought him fame and he wore it well. To me that’s a champion.

In those twenty-nine months, more than Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic the battle was against himself. Ageing body, weakening will, slower reflexes and a tempting escape route.  After his brilliant match-winning innings in Adelaide 2003, Rahul Dravid said: “You can’t concentrate for 10 hours, you switch on and off, you push yourself, your mind wanders, you bring it back, you steel yourself. That’s the real beauty, when you win the battle against yourself.” And Roger Federer wanted to win the battle badly enough. He did not give up. Champion.

I will not concede he is the greatest to have ever played the game. I will not even agree he is the best we have seen. But a champion, I will gladly accept.

Frankly, I didn’t see this coming: Roger Federer vs. Andy Murray?

Andy Murray had a draw that shouldn’t have let him pass through the quarters; forget the fact that Nadal wasn’t waiting for him in the semifinals. Roger Federer was supposed to make it to the semis with a bit of a struggle and quietly make way for the invincibility of Novak Djokovic thereafter.

Yet here we stand today: Roger Federer vs. Andy Murray.

Actually on hindsight, and completely on hindsight, (I won’t claim I even had the slightest inkling of this just two days ago) you couldn’t have asked for a better final. Explanations of-course are in due.

Historic moments in sport often hinge on results. World No. 100 beat World No. 2 and we are making compilations of the greatest upsets in the history of Wimbledon. If Nadal had beaten Lucas Rosol in the second round, we wouldn’t even have remembered it. (Whom did Federer beat in the second round? See!) Yet, ever so rarely we come upon an occasion when irrespective of the result of the match, an entry into the pages of sporting history is assured: this final is one such. No matter who wins, this match will be remembered, as quite a few records and jinxes are about to be broken.

As much as we write emphatic articles about how statistics don’t matter and how it’s unfair to compare across generations, let’s admit, we as a community of sports fans are obsessed with the numbers. 100^th 100, 99.4, 16 Grand slams… rings a bell? Well, for the sports geek who is looking at the records, this match is nirvana.

Let’s look at what’s at stake for whom.

Roger Federer

Already the first man to make it to 8 Wimbledon finals, Federer will look to join Pete Sampras and William Renshaw as the 7-time Wimbledon Champion. This will also be his record 17^th Grand Slam crown. Should he win this match, he will regain his No. 1 ranking that has been particularly elusive these days and with that, join Pete Sampras having spent 286 weeks at the top of the table. More than anything though, Federer will look to prove a point, that he is still good enough to win the Majors.

Andy Murray

Andy Murray broke one of the oldest curses in sport by making the final in the British major in 74 years and is now trying to become the first Brit to actually win it since Fred Perry in 1936. Should he emerge champion today, he is certain to go down as a celebrated hero in English sport. This will be also be his first Grand Slam. From what we have known of Andy Murray, he won’t be bothering himself with the history today. He will rather try to disprove the innumerable critics he has earned and break into the domination by the Big Three.

Coming down to the match, here’s a look at the numbers so far.

Head to Head

Andy Murray actually leads 8-7 against Federer, but then all these matches have been played on the hard courts. They have never met on grass before and if Federer’s semifinals is anything to go by, Murray better be wary.

Wimbledon this year

Roger Federer took 22 sets to make it to the final, as did Andy Murray. Apart from the fact that Murray has faced tougher opponents, there is little to take away from here.

Aces

Andy Murray ranks 5^th this Wimbledon with 74 aces while Federer is ranked 9^th with 59. Murray holds a slight edge.

Double Faults

Almost as if to compensate for the aces, Murray is ranked 3^rd in this category with 17 double faults. Federer isn’t ranked in the Top 20 with 8. Murray certainly can’t afford many today.

Service Points Won

Murray isn’t even ranked in the Top 20 for the first service points won, while Federer is ranked 18^th with 79%. However Murray makes up a little with the quality of his second serve winning 65% of the points while Federer won 61%. First serve has always been a concern for Murray and he will have to do better than the numbers suggest today to have a chance to win. Federer served extremely well in the semi-final (won 72% of his second serves! And averaged a 102 mph to Murray’s 88mph) and if he can bring it that serve again, he is almost certain to go the distance.

Service Return Points Won

Both Federer and Murray are good returners, but Murray certainly holds the edge here. He is perhaps the best returner in the game right now alongside Novak Djokovic. Federer and Murray are ranked 1 and 2 in first serve returns and exchange places for the second serve returns.

Forehand

Federer by a distance. While Federer has an almost legendary forehand, Murrays is known to breakdown quite often. Murray will certainly look to avoid lengthy forehand exchanges. But there is a catch here. On the few occasions when Federer’s forehand has broken down (like in Paris) it has almost always led to him losing the match. It could be a confidence thing today.

Backhand

Real close. Murray has an excellent backhand, the best after Djokovic’s, while Federer has the best one hander, very solid on most occasions. Murray holds a slight edge here.

Nerves

Andy Murray by a bit. More than his exceptional footwork or backhands or returns, the reason Andy Murray is in the final is because he wanted it so badly. He has shown a brilliant approach and looks really determined. He will also be aware that Federer has a little more at stake.

Federer, likewise, will be aware of what’s at stake and a nerve or two could creep in. He’s been in the Grand slam finals before, in fact more than anyone else, and he knows the feeling exactly. Murray, on the other hand, has nothing to lose.

Other Factors

The crowd will certainly be behind Murray though it’s almost certain they won’t be against Federer who is a respected Champion at Wimbledon. If the roof remains closed, advantage Federer. He’s amongst the best indoor players and his forehand is less likely to breakdown without the wind.

My Take

Andy Murray.

How: Magic.

Enjoy the match!!

Statistics Source: http://www.wimbledon.com/en_GB/scores/extrastats/stats_ms.html

There is something about prodigies that makes you pause and take notice. Perhaps it’s the promise that the perfect forehand swing of a 9 year old holds, or maybe it’s just the variety of ways in which we have known these stories to evolve. Sometimes, it turns out it was just a spark that wouldn’t last, others, an erratic burst of talent that would awe you on occasions but would abscond on most days. There are a few other times, only a few, when the spark lingers and lights up the horizon of sport, when the prodigy turns into a legend.

Fourteen summers ago, when two kids from two different worlds, with little in common except for a passion to belt the ball across the tennis court met in France, you couldn’t help but notice the outrageous amount of talent on show which is gifted only to a precious few. A couple of years later at the Flushing Meadows, when Andy Murray won the Boys Singles Championship, a few might even have ventured to say that Novak, the other kid, would be consumed in Andy’s shadow.

But then, that’s the thing about prodigies. You never know how they will turn out. Fourteen years on, Novak Djokovic has won five grand slams, become the World No 1, won the Davis Cup for Serbia, a Bronze at the Olympics and had what is, arguably, the greatest year in this sport. Yes, there were players before who won 3 Grand Slams in a year and had near-perfect win percentages, but what sets Djokovic’s year apart is the quality of the opposition. Only months ago, we were talking about how Federer and Nadal were the greatest players to have ever been contemporaries and to imagine that the following year a 24-year-old Serb would come and beat either or both of them on every playing surface, is truly brilliant. Novak Djokovic kept his date with destiny while Andy Murray watched from the sidelines, easing to the semi-finals of tournament after tournament, failing to rise to the fight that the ultimate stages of the competition present.

Tennis is a gruelling sport. When you stand alone on Centre Court at Wimbledon playing for the Championship, watched by millions of people and completely aware of the fact that a single unforced error could mean the difference between the Champion and an ‘also played’, that is when you feel the pressure. It is the stuff of the champions not to be overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment, to have the belief and the will to fight for every single point.

Perhaps that’s what stands between the two prodigies – mental strength. When Djokovic beat Andy Murray earlier this year in a five-setter that lasted close to five hours in the semi-finals of the Australian Open, only to face Rafael Nadal who had an extra day of rest, in the finals, logic told us that he wouldn’t last. But Djokovic wasnt operating in the commonplace of logic and odds any more. The longest rally in the final came in the fifth set, over six hours after the start of play. In a pure battle of endurance, Djokovic lost the point and lay on the ground, his heart pounding. I remember telling my friends, “Nadal’s done it again, he’s outlasted his opponent”. Minutes later, Djokovic was ripping his shirt apart as “I Will Survive” played in the background. He had outlasted Rafael Nadal.

Would Andy Murray have survived that match?

Djokovic had once said “I have been through two wars in my 24 years, and I know what it’s like to be without anything, to see the bombs flying above your head.” While Djokovic was spending his months as a kid and a teenager in the bunkers, praying for survival, Murray was perhaps being persuaded to practice for an extra hour to work on that lob. It was only last year when the English media was doing their routine analysis of why an Englishman hasn’t won the Wimbledon, that we read reports of Murray refusing to travel with his team to the tournaments, and preferring the company of his friends instead. He was always a player who could play delightful tennis, exceptional even, but he wasn’t always a player who wanted to win badly enough.

Would Andy Murray have survived that match? Perhaps not.

This Wimbledon, however, we have seen an Andy Murray who is willing to fight. He certainly got the draw from hell, and if not for a brilliant stroke of luck (sorry, Lucas Rosol), he would have been facing Rafael Nadal today. But right through this tournament he has played with a sense of purpose, played, for once, like a man who wanted to go all the way. Yes, there were the tantrums and the outbursts, but never a display of attitude that suggested lack of intent. Maybe it’s the association with an absolute legend and a champion in Ivan Lendl that’s building up a winner’s mindset, maybe he’s just had enough attention for not winning a Slam from the often inconsiderate English media, maybe it’s the inevitable comparison with Novak Djokovic who, born only a week apart and a childhood friend, has much more to show today. Whatever the reason, we have seen a Murray who is willing to fight and that’s brilliant. With Nadal knocked out and Federer and Djokovic already meeting in the semi-finals, a Djokovic-Murray final would be spectacular. If the prodigies meet again on the most sacred courts of Tennis, we will know if things have changed.

Greatness is a fickle thing. More so perhaps in sport than in any other profession. It could embrace you on a day when you are weighing the safety of a banking career against the uncertainties of a life in sport. It could abandon you without as much as a farewell note on the night of your highest achievement.

Sports writers around the world were writing of the lyrical beauty and intoxicating grace in Mohammad Azharuddin’s batting on one day and the story of how he sold a nation that worshipped him for a few blocks of cash the next. Tiger Woods who was a picture of the perfect role model in sports and the greatest brand ambassador, suddenly had concerned parents adding him into the ‘Blocked Search Words’ lists and lawyers scampering around to get the contract termination papers in order.

Woods at that time was living at the absolute peak of his career, well on his way to being the greatest player to have ever played the game. In a few months from then Mohammad Azharuddin would have received a send-off worthy of a legend. Today, we cannot speak of them without our ‘sports accustomed’ brains setting off a series of signals activating the parts of our memory that contain the word ‘Disgraces.

Overnight, deserted by greatness, the ‘heroes’ were suddenly spoken of with a disgust that you reserve only for traitors.

To be a sportsman must be difficult. To be a cricketer in India, a nightmare. Being watched by a billion people- a few of them watching only to catch a wrong move- it takes a lifetime of sacrifice and commitment to stay on that slippery pedestal of greatness. Very few in that number that is flashed across our latest debutante’s test jersey, have managed to do it: to play the game at an exception level and lead a life without blemish.

At a time when there is a great reluctance amongst sportsmen to play the role model, as if it’s an unreasonable, excessive burden (scenes of a 21 year old flashing a rude hand gesture to the crowds and reports of a brawl with the fans in a English bar comes to mind), I cannot help but write about a generation that we grew up with.

We were lucky, for we chanced by a decade that saw at once four players of tremendous talent lead lives with dignity and responsibility. Players who were at once perfect role models and exceptional sportsmen. Players who carried the tag of greatness with absolute ease and more importantly, with humility.

Sachin Tendulkar, Anil Kumble, Rahul Dravid, VVS Laxman.

Each of them can easily claim a page or two even in the most abridged version of a book in cricketing achievements. They gave us more than the evening’s entertainment that was forgotten over days in the complexity of our ‘busy lives’. They gave us milestones by which our lives so far have been stacked away neatly in our memories.

The centuries at Sharjah against the Aussies and the clichéd but appropriate ‘Dust storm in the Desert’ headlines that followed the days after. The epic match at Eden Gardens when VVS Laxman composed one of his finest concertos. (There of course was Dravid at the other end). Dravid’s own unforgettable 233 at Adelaide and 270 in Rawalpindi that clinched victories that were at one point believed to be impossible.The scenes of celebration after Kumble selfishly took every single wicket of a hapless Pakistani line up.

There are few occasions in sport that refuse to be captured by the most poetic of words, most lyrical of sentences. These certainly belong in that league. Yet, years later, the precious feeling of being awed by a masterpiece lingers on.

With thousands of runs and hundreds of wickets against their name at the highest level, each of these men undoubtedly had an abundance of ‘The Gift.’ (Greg Chappell once said of Sachin Tendulkar, “I’d like to see him go out one day and bat with a stump. I tell you he’d do OK”) Together with the dedicated hours of hardwork and almost zenlike discipline, brilliance on the cricket field was only natural.

But it wasn’t these innumerable moments of sporting genius that set them apart. (Woods and Azhar gave us some of the finest moments of genius too.) It was the way they carried themselves around in a nation that literally worshipped them. Rahul Dravid once said,“I do not think I am a hero. My only qualification is that I appear on the television more often than a soldier or a nurse or a teacher”. In a sport where ego is largely attributed the role of driving the players, these men were an epitome of absolute humility. They were private men caught in the most public of careers.

They were patriots eager to represent their nation to the best of their ability, much before being cricketers or celebrities. They would never put themselves ahead of the nation, even as such unfortunate scenes unfold elsewhere in Indian sport. At a time when Cricketers are as much TV stars, with all the endorsements and even reality shows, the only dance steps that they knew was the one that involved coming down the pitch and lofting the ball over midwicket. Sachin Tendulkar, when asked about all the endorsements said,“I’d prefer to average 99.95 rather than sign all these contracts”.

That was who they were. They were in the game only because they loved it. The lucrative perks of the profession that drive many a youngster today held no meaning. They would still have played cricket with as much commitment if you had paid them a tenth of what they were getting paid.

Roger Hornsby, still considered amongst the greatest hitters of all time was quoted, “People ask me what I do in the winter when there is no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I sit at the window and wait for spring to come”.

Perhaps, these guys did the same thing in the lone season when there was no cricket. (Now, IPL fills that void.) Take away the willow and the leather from them and they are just ordinary men in the middle of life, unable to do the one thing that they love the most.

Maybe that’s why, while others have found their calling on poker tables and golf courses, Kumble lingered on for 2 years at the IPL and when the body refused to cooperate, still mentors a team and does an unenviable administrative job at the KSCA. Rahul Dravid a few days back was playing second division domestic cricket. Sachin still hasn’t ruled out the 2015 world cup and Laxman continues to look forward to the Australians. Great? Beyond question.

They were four exemplary men on whom greatness laid claim. For years they have sacrificed selflessly to keep us entertained. The least we could do today is not call for their heads. Two of them have already made their exits, but we continue to look for reasons why the time is right for the other two.

Dravid, when asked why he didn’t wait for a series in India so that he could leave to a resounding applause of a home crowd, just said, “That’s unlike me.” They always have the best interests of the nation in their minds. Maybe, we should let them make their own calls rather than impose our infinite wisdom on them.

Retirement must be a tricky thing for them.  Of course, they wont be looking for the perfect retirement- how can having to stop doing the one thing you love ever be perfect? (Pete Sampras perhaps came closest to a perfect retirement when he shouted into the noise of victory “I f***ing did it” after winning the US Open, same place where he won his first Slam.)

But they will know when the time comes. For now, let us just be glad we witnessed a generation that was the greatest ever in Indian Cricket and enjoy the flick of the wrist, the perfect cover drive and the warmth in our hearts while they last.

The pristine white and the perfect green. The appreciation that seldom rises beyond an enthusiastic applause. The Mr and Mrs that precede the names of often amused players. The courteous bow to the royal box in the presence of Her Majesty. There is a sense of sacredness that one comes to attach to Wimbledon. You cannot help but stand and admire the monument that, over the years, has refused to change, yet survived. It’s a long lived tradition that to this day, we are only too happy to leave alone. Undisturbed.

Every sport has its sacred land. Most of the time, it’s the abundance of history. Other times, a single event so significant, it changed the way the game was played and perceived. Wimbledon has stood so long, it can tell the tale of tennis by itself. Every single detail. The many a glorious chapter of the sports-rich past that have been played upon the lush green courts intimidate the spirit of even the most accomplished of champions, inspire a sense of reverence in even the most unruly of the sport’s fans. This is a venue where the greatest legends of the game have been crowned at their life’s pinnacle, also where those who were believed to be invincible were shown the transience of that elevated platform.

The Wimbledon has been much more than a mere sporting arena where the great and the ordinary alike have played their trivial games. It has been a theatre. Intense moments of unsullied happiness that can be experienced only on a land so historic. Punishing seconds of numbing grief when a lifetime of dreams shatters into nothingness at the feet of fickle fate. The spark of the prodigy. The fall of the legend. Every human emotion has been lived out on those courts to the unwavering eyes of the faithful audience. The Wimbledon has been the Theatre of Life.

Frustration. Anger at the inability to find solutions. One win in 3 years at the tournament. That was how the tale of a legend started. This was the story that was to turn into seven titles in eight years. A fairy tale.

Pete Sampras, after the painful start, made the Centre Court his very own in the nineties. It was Navratilova who said “Wimbledon is like a drug. Once you win it for the first time, you feel you’ve just got to do it again and again and again.” Nobody proved her right as much as Sampras did. It was whispered in hushed tones that he only need to appear and the silverware would walk with him. It was absolute glory, which created in those span of seven years, an illusion of the eternal. In a perfect world, you would imagine at the end of this glorious story, a teary eyed Sampras with the cherished Wimbledon trophy in his hands, bidding adieu to his tennis career. Happily ever after.

On the stage of Wimbledon it was not to be. A 19 year old Swiss, who was best known for the racquets that he broke on the court and not a slam to his name, ended a 31 match winning streak. After a fourth round exit, that was now unfamiliar, engulfed by the cheers that weren’t for him, the dethroned, followed the teenager out of what was believed to be his court. Many a tennis fan swears even today that it was the most painful picture ever painted on a tennis court, perhaps only next to what happened to Monica Sales. The following year, in his final appearance on the beloved grass, in the second round of the tournament, he lost to a 145 ranked fast-court specialist George Bastl, of who little was heard before, and little after. It ended where it began. Frustration. Anger. A drama that had it all.

The 19 year old Swiss himself has a story that is now legend. It was Boris Becker who first went on to call the Centre Court his ‘home’. He owned it for a long time. But when Sampras came along he said, “I had to hand over the keys. I was very reluctant. But I had to.” Sampras himself did not get to keep the keys forever. Just as he settled into the comforts of a retired life, the Swiss was at his door, demanding with the confidence that only 6 titles in seven years brings, for the keys. He could not be denied. He truly belonged at the SW19. The quiet whispers of invincibility which had turned to hurried murmurs were now being spoken out aloud. It was believed that the Spaniard on clay and the Swiss on grass could not be defeated. Not at least by mortals, that the players outside the two were assumed to be. Roger Federer was what you thought when you chanced by the word Wimbledon. They had become synonymous.

When a Frenchman, largely admired for the flamboyance that he brought to the tennis court but also widely believed to be incapable of challenging the big two, came back from two sets down in easily the best match of his career, to beat Roger Federer in the quarter finals of Wimbledon, disbelief was an emotion that you couldn’t miss. For someone, who in 178 Grand Slam matches had never lost the match after taking the first two sets, those emotions were perhaps new. He had soared high above the others most of his career. Suddenly he could feel hard rock underneath. Jo-Wilfred Tsonga had conquered territory that was known to be unbreachable. The mask of invincibility fallen aside, there was just a man behind. What was home now seemed hostile.

As Tsonga led the legend away from the sunshine of the centre court, one couldn’t help but wonder about the amazing drama that sport is. Every human emotion played out almost in slow motion. Life lived in a time-frame limited to the years of a sportsman’s career so that the birth, the death, the happiness, the grief, everything can be savoured at the expense of someone else. Perhaps there is an explanation to why men have followed sport for centuries. We get to be a part of an experience that is achieved only when a lifetime of goals are realised, or when years of hope shattered. We are not sure we want it in our own lives, but when the grief and happiness is someone else’s, we are happy to standby and experience those rare moments from the safe distance of the stands and our couches.

A seventeen year old teenage girl with no expectations being thrust the cherished trophy into her nervous hands. (Eight years on, she still waits for another occasion of glory to come her way.) A Serbian on whom sat the tag of ‘One Slam Wonder’ far too easily for way too long having a bite of the green central court grass, barely able to stand under the enormity of the moment. The sight of two exhausted men forcing a smile after a match that lasted 11 hours and 5 minutes and was played over 3 days with more than 200 aces. (Who won that epic really didn’t matter. We were just glad it was played.) Some of the most inspiring dramas that captured the best and worst of life, and Wimbledon was their theatre. A Theatre of Life. It was perhaps because of this reason that these words escaped Martina Navratilova (and its only fitting that I end with her words. Nobody has tasted victory on that beautiful grass as much as she has) “If I ever reached the stage where winning Wimbledon was no big deal, I’d know it was time for me to get out of the game.”