Roger Federer, the artist, wrote poetry with his racket

Roger Federer is saying goodbye to professional tennis. Just because we saw it coming, or at least anticipate it — slowly making its way across the court — didn't mean it wouldn't envelop us in sadness. When they finally arrived, the neatly crafted words and the impeccably delivered audio message provided neither cushion nor solace.

Yeah, damn!

Usually, when an athlete, or a champion, especially, retires, we have made a habit out of pronouncing that we won't see the like of them again. That an era has ended with their leaving. Curtains on a glorious, unrepeatable chapter. The tendency is to coat every departure with cloying and overdone tributes.

But in the case of Federer, it all feels appropriate. Perhaps future historians will even come to look at tennis through a 'Before Federer' and an 'After Federer' demarcation. It is true that he was part of the golden trinity — with Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic — that went on to give us the greatest era of tennis. But it is also true that he was the one who laid down the marker for uncharted-territory greatness.

For all their supreme gifts, Nadal and Djokovic have been the ones in pursuit.

At the latest count, the three of them share a mind-boggling 63 Grand Slam titles among them. Nadal leads with 22, followed by Djokovic with 21 and Federer finishes with 20. Astonishing numbers.

He was the World No. 1 for a total of 310 weeks — a record 237 of them consecutively. Between 2004 and 2007, he won 11 of the 16 Majors, an era of domination like never seen before or after in tennis.

Across a 24-year career, he collected 103 titles, played in 31 Grand Slam finals, accumulated 369 Grand Slam wins, and conquered Wimbledon on eight occasions. The list goes on.

But with the Swiss maestro, it has never only been about the numbers, as jaw-dropping as they are. It's the way he played the game, and the way he made us feel in the process. In his famous New York Times essay, the late American writer David Foster Wallace likened watching Federer to a religious experience.

Every time we watched him play, we walked away enriched.

He didn't run on the court, he glided across the surface; hardly ever broke sweat and with effortless ease produced shots after shots of esthetic purity. Federer was the most graceful tennis player, who combined minimalist elegance with an abundance of flair.

His forehand already belongs to the tennis hall of fame and his one-handed backhand produced exquisite verse. Along with Frenchman Richard Gasquet, he saved it from extinction in the men's game.

Watching him play was to participate in a communion. Nadal elicits raw passion and noise; Djokovic, something verging on awe. Federer was capable of these too; but the sound that truly defined his game was the pristine purr of the crowd, the barely whispered gasps of those watching it on the screen.

Sounds so delicate they could only belong in a prayer.

And it is this sound — the sound of the purity of his tennis — that we will miss the most. We will be reminded of how difficult a task it was to combine stunning shotmaking with consistency, efficiency and monumental single-minded ambition whenever we see a certain Australian produce the occasional stunner only to smash his racquet at the end of the set. Beneath a veil of effortless grace, the Swiss wore a will forged from granite.

At any minute, at any point in the game, he was capable of conjuring a piece of sorcery. His opponents knew it; the watchers knew it and anticipated the magic. Again, knowing that it was coming didn't diminish the wonder when the moment of magic did arrive.

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What sets Federer apart?

Beyond mere numbers, how do we calculate or measure such factors of greatness? On and off the court, Federer was grace personified—the perfect tennis evangelist and ambassador. This graciousness was what set him apart from the rest.

He belongs to that fortunate breed of sportspeople who found the love requited. He openly, unabashedly and deeply loved tennis, and tennis loved him back in equal, if not more, measure.

It is said that greatness in sport can be measured in terms of achievement, longevity, style, and graciousness. The lucky few possess some of it. Roger Federer had it all in abundance.

We will miss it all. But mostly, we will miss the breathtaking purity of his tennis.