Everything is relative. Most players dream of winning a – that would “a” – Grand Slam title or reaching the world No.1 ranking. But Roger Federer is not one of them.
When he tiptoed back to work last year, hoping against hope that his knee had finally healed properly after six months off, he had on his bucket list “another” Grand Slam title (he already had 17 of them at the time). It was a dream, an idle fantasy, but one more before he hung up his racquet would be nice.
Now, 12 months and two more major titles later, he is plotting his path to a 20th Grand Slam trophy and his sixth at Melbourne Park. And with an 8-1 winning record over Marin Cilic, his imposing rival in Sunday’s final, he is plotting with some optimism. Yes, everything is relative.
Now then, let’s get the history out of the way. Should the Mighty Fed retain his title, he would match Novak Djokovic’s Open era record of six titles. He would also match Roy Emerson’s pre-Open era record. In short, he would etch his name onto the heart of the Australian Open.
By winning his 20th Grand Slam title, he would inch closer to Serena William’s Open era record of 23 major trophies (and it is not often that comparisons between the men’s and the women’s game make any sense but these two athletes rise above any gender gap).
And, just for good measure, Fed has reached six finals before and won all but one of them. The only man to beat him in a trophy match Down Under is Rafa Nadal. And he and his sore hip have long since left town.
Here’s a thing: when Rafa headed home, his hip hobbled and his hopes crushed by Cilic, Fed was straight on the phone to message his biggest rival. Was he all right? Would he be OK? And then came the relief when the news from Rafa’s MRI scan was good. Hip still sore but soon to heal. Whew. Rodge could rest easy.
The theory that the top players carry around wax effigies of their foes, complete with a set of specially sharpened pins, had been debunked.
Better still, on the eve of the final, our Swiss superstar was happily telling stories of a family holiday in the Maldives before Christmas. There he was, knee deep in children and suntan lotion, when who should rock up but Cilic and his fiancée. Did Rodge fancy a hit? Sure. Would Marin and the soon-to-be Mrs Marin like to come round for tea and cake? Lovely.
“It was great fun,” Rodge said. “No coaches, no nothing, just the two of us on the court hitting balls. It was just nice and laid back. To get to know the man behind the tennis player, I guess.”
It is not the same as in days of yore. Can you imagine Pete and Andre on a boys’ night out over Christmas? Or Johnny Mac and Ivan “Cheerful Charlie Chuckles” Lendl going for a pie and a pint during a Wimbledon rain delay? It does not bear thinking about.
But Rodge is the smiling assassin. He is the perfect gentleman both on and off the court but he means business. Ah, it’s you Marin/Rafa/Novak/insert name of choice here. Come in, sit down, relax. My I get you a drink? It’ lovely to see you. Of course, you do know I’ll have you on toast in the final….
He has made regal progress to the final without dropping a set. There have been time when he has looked a little less than perfect but such phases have only last for 20 minutes or so. There was the first set again Tomas Berdych when he looked tense. And then he won the first set and cruised thereafter. There was even his first serve in the opening set against Hyeon Chung in the semifinal (21 per cent of first serves landed in the first few games was very un-Roger-like) but it did not matter – the rest of his game was looking ever so good.
Even the way the old GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) approaches his matches is different to everyone else. Not for him a tedious breakdown of forehands and backhands; he has a more creative style than that.
He had never played Chung until Friday night and before the match he was pondering how to go about it.
“I have to look into it,” he promised. “Right now I couldn't tell you how I need to play him. One thing I know is I'm going to be playing aggressive. I don't know how I'm going to do that exactly yet.”
He sounded like a chef staring into the fridge and wondering what to make for supper. We’ve got some fish and some chilli so it’s going to be spicy but shall we try Thai? Chinese? Indian?
Whatever he fancied, the end result was more of a snack than a meal as Chung limped away with a blistered foot in the second set.
With plenty of fuel left in the tank and the rare luxury of an early night on Friday, Federer could not look in better for nick for the final. Another title to add to the collection? Why not.
When it comes to dreams, everything is relative.