For Roger Federer, Greatness is Vengeance!

“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.” – William Shakespeare

For those who remember that dreadful evening at SW19 when Roger Federer came within striking distance of winning his eighteenth Grand Slam title, the pain and anguish would have been hard to endure. The next opportunity to avenge the defeat seemed eternities away. And when the occasion came, the dream final at the US Open was abrogated by the heroics of Marin Cilic and Kei Nishikori.

True that there were other matches like the ATP Shanghai Masters semifinal, the ATP World Tour Finals and the International Premier Tennis League, but nothing could come even remotely close to matching the supreme aura that a Federer-Djokovic “final” exudes.

Until two nights ago!

Dubai seemed the perfect place for two stalwarts of the game to renew their epic rivalry. Clash of the titans, world no. 1 takes on world no. 2, seventh heaven versus Djoker fifer, call it whatever you like but nothing said it best like Roger Federer vs. Novak Djokovic.

While the country was still trying to recuperate after the loss at the hands of India at the ICC World Cup, a different set of fans (read tennis fanatics) were making their way to the Dubai Duty Free Stadium on a clear night to witness a stellar clash - a rematch of last year’s semifinal when the Federer juggernaut was too hot for Djokovic to handle. Would this year be any different? Current form would state differently.

As the players line up for the pre-match photograph, one could feel the butterflies in the stomach of the kid who has been “ordained” for the coin toss. His first flip of the coin is a disaster. One can’t blame him though. He’s standing in the presence of the best tennis players in the world right now. I’m just glad he didn’t throw up. Federer looks at the kid and smiles. That should calm him down. Djokovic pats him on the back to comfort the lad and give him a sense of belonging. Time for the toss again. No pressure kid!

Any match between Federer and Djokovic promises to be a thriller and tonight is going to be no exception. Time now for Federer and Djokovic to pose for the players’ photograph. Time for the fake smiles to come out. Click! Now it’s time to get serious. Djokovic places his hand on Federer’s back and says, “Good game.” Federer returns the favour with nothing but a smile. “Let’s do this,” he thinks.

The match begins with Federer’s serve that seems to be teeming with meticulous precision. The intent is clear. It’s a slow start to the match but it’s a sign of things to come. It’s never easy to push a player like Djokovic, whose immense emanation on the court can deflate even the best, on the back foot so early in the match. But nonetheless Federer is doing it and doing it in style. It’s the kind of greatness that Federer was born with and it’ll remain unparalleled till the end of time.

Meanwhile, the camera focusses on Switzerland’s Davis Cup and Federer’s personal coach Severin Luthi. Stefan Edberg is not here tonight. Hence, the onus is on Luthi to lift Federer’s spirits should he feel low - a fanatical paradox that is ineffable when it comes to an explanation. Luthi knows that his job is easy considering the manner in which Federer is playing. Djokovic’s coach Boris Becker, on the other hand, seems to have a task cut up for him. Things just got serious in the Djokovic camp after just two games.

The Serb retaliates in emphatic fashion and rushes to earn one break point. Djokovic waits for Federer to serve. He knows the gravitas of the next point. An early break could have a crucial impact on the match. Federer knows it as well. He looks up and then back down. Just like he always does. He knows exactly where to hit his serve now. But Djokovic is not just any opponent on the other side. In a world of incisive competition, players tend to know their opponents more than they know themselves.

Federer serves! It’s one of those boomers that just zip right past without giving one a chance to even breathe. But Djokovic is ready for it. He fashions an unbelievable return that looks too good to be true. This one seems to be bagged. “Come Awwnn,” almost yelled Djokovic only to have his bubble shattered by the sheer audacity of a phenomenon called Roger Federer. Not only did Federer manage to get an immaculate angle on his one-handed backhand there, but he also managed to flatten Djokovic’s ego.

It’s not often that one sees the world no. 1 Novak Djokovic spellbound thinking what needs to be done next. Everything that he’s hitting is being sent back with equal or better magnitude. Federer, on the other hand, is getting better and better as the match is progressing. Not only is he slapping immaculate volleys, but he’s also killing those crucial points with his 1-2 angle combinations and with his one-handed backhands that have power, precision and that “dear-lord-did-that-just-happen” prowess.

Djokovic has this dazed look on his face. He knows that on his day no one can come even close to reaching Federer’s level. Let alone surpassing him. Just like a batsman who has been stupefied by a bouncer-yorker combination, Djokovic too seemed to be knocked out senseless. “This can’t be happening,” he tells himself wondering how old Federer is. May be 31, 32! Nope! Try 33! At some level Djokovic knew that he had a good chance of losing today, but this just seems to be an inequitable riot.

Almost in an act of reprisal, Djokovic hits his traditional two-handed backhand to silence the crowd who is going wilder with every Federer shot. The Australian Open champion thinks he has a chance now considering that Federer has missed a couple of easy shots. Momentum shift? No way! Federer’s just too good today. He hits yet another pristine 1-2 combination. This time resembling the jab and hook!

The umpire calls for new balls. The old ones have taken quite a beating it seems. Federer looks upon this opportunity as a time to change his racquet as well. The crowd goes wild at this unscheduled break. Djokovic does not seem happy waiting. His impatience is pertinent. Some in the crowd suggest that this is a ploy from Federer to play mind games with Djokovic. The Serb hits an unforced error followed by a double fault. Mind games affecting him already? But boom! An ace! “He’s back,” say the Djokovic fans.

But alas! Federer bounces back with an angle so deep into Djokovic’s court that even the 6 feet 2 inches 2-time Wimbledon champion could not reach it in time. Break point Federer! His first of the match and what a time to get one! The pressure builds on Djokovic. He needs to put in his all to save this one. Djokovic serves! Not a good first serve according to Djokovic standards. “This one is mine,” thinks Federer as his pounces on the ball to convert the break. Djokovic is left fuming. The world is enthralled!

Federer serves out the next game to take the first set. Djokovic tries to put up a fight but I guess it’s a little too late. The Serb hits an unimpeachable return to save one set point. But Federer follows it up with a scintillating first serve. Federer is just that damn good tonight. A dejected Djokovic starts his slow walk back to his dugout with a mind heavier than the weight of expectations on his shoulder. His body language gives an impression that he needs a reboot. Just like his tortured racquet needs to be restrung.

The crowd at the stadium erupts with joy at the onset of the second set. Two of the greatest at present are giving them a show that will last in memories for a lifetime. Djokovic begins serving in a hope to implement a new strategy. It’s time for him to start calling the shots. Literally! But Federer is in no mood to let the momentum shift. He starts charging up the net. Something that the Swiss maestro is quite uncomfortable with at times. Edberg might not be in the stadium, but he’s still evident on the court.

Federer starts running Djokovic all over the court. An out-of-this-world drop shot is followed by an angle. A sliced return followed up with a powerful cross court passing shot. Everything that was deemed impossible is happening on court. This is vintage stuff from a stellar persona and that too against the world’s best according to ATP. Becker’s edginess is as apparent as Federer’s fluorescent orange t-shirt. Djokovic somehow holds on to win the game. Deep down inside he knows that he might have won the battle, but he’s losing the war.

Djokovic catches Federer’s eyes at the changeover. They stare at each other for about 2 seconds. Too little to count on a watch perhaps, but when it comes to evaluating a tense rivalry those 2 trenchant seconds become long enough to last an eternity. “How many times will I have to win a point to actually win it?” Djokovic’s eyes ask. “One too many times mate,” reply Federer’s. Almost immediately my mind drifts to the World Cup Titantron with David Warner saying “Game Awwnn” in his thick Aussie accent.

Djokovic is now trying something new. He’s started hitting his serves to target Federer’s weakness – his backhand. Something that Rafael Nadal exploited quite brilliantly at the 2008 Wimbledon final. Djokovic shoots a commanding first serve. So robust was its speed that it could derail a freight train. Federer returns it with ridiculous ease. Almost in the effortless manner that Rahul Dravid used to leave a 160 kmph Shoaib Akhtar delivery. The crown goes wild. The commentator goes wild. Djokovic just applauds.

Greatness is not targeting others' weakness with your strengths. It’s killing others' strengths with your weakness. And that is what makes Federer who he is. Djokovic serves again to Federer’s backhand - his weak spot they say. Federer hits it on the opposite side as a return ace. “Leave Djoker alone,” frustrated Djokovic fans shout from the stands to Federer. The joy of greatness comes for a price and for Federer’s benefit it’s Djokovic who’s paying the price tonight. He knows it! Becker knows it! The world knows it!

Federer begins the next game with an ace. His fifth of the night! That makes it 9000 career aces for him. For the world it’s a big accomplishment. But for Federer, it’s just another number. Djokovic gets a passing shot of his own on the next point, but soon realizes that he did not win the point because of himself. Federer misjudged that one. Even greatness is accompanied by gaffes. Federer hits a stupendous lob on the next point. Probably the greatest in Dubai’s history. Title number 7 beckons!

Djokovic now looks at Becker. Becker with his stone cold eyes can’t help but applaud the genius of Roger Federer. In his mind though, he is already planning the next tournament. Meanwhile, the tables seemed to have turned suddenly. Djokovic rushes to a 15-40 lead on Federer and has earned two set points. All the pressure has suddenly shifted base and is now on Federer. He serves and then charges to the net. The crowd cannot believe this move. 2 set points to save and you rush to the net after a slow serve?

Djokovic thinks that this is in the bag but he still hits it out. That’s what demoralization does to you. Next serve time. Boom! Federer with a killer serve saves both set points. Fortune favours the audacious it is said. But aggression, on the other hand, is the final nail in the coffin. Federer knows it! Djokovic knows it! Even Brendon McCullum knows it. Djokovic looks lost. He looks defeated. He looks out if this one.

There have been numerous instances when Federer has been written off because of ludicrous reasons. But what makes a champion is the inspiration he derives and the manner in which he derives it. Djokovic could do nothing but smile in this match. Not because he did not have the talent, but because the 17-time Grand Slam champ, who was on a “no-mercy”, mode had derived his inspiration from vengeance.

Federer is always at his best when he has revenge on his mind. Whether it was the year 2009 when his Australian Open sob was followed by his career Grand Slam achievement at Roland Garros or the 2011 Wimbledon exit at the hands of Jo-Wilfried Tsonga that led up to his prodigious form in 2012, every action has an equal and sublime reaction for Federer. His mind just like his persona is a tennis legend.

Roger Federer never shows his frustration on court. He never loses his cool on court. He rarely throws a tantrum on the court. Even when he does, his quietness follows his rant. But for all Federer haters and opponents, who think that they’ve succeeded in taming the virtuoso, just remember one small thing.

Federer never gets mad. He just gets even!

The curious case of ‘Murreysmo’

It’s been quite a while since I’ve heard those ‘three little words’ that sometimes bring a smile on my face. Those words that were meant to ease the pain in a manner that would make even the boring into something interesting. Those words that showed that there still was a ray of hope in the world and that all relationships could last despite partners being complete opposites.

Prepare. Attack. Destroy!

Remember them? For people across the globe they were just ‘words’ on an Adidas t-shirt, but for me those ‘words’ signified the prodigious fusion between a certain Scottish goody and an American badass. I don’t know when, how or why Adidas came up with the idea, but they sold it at the best possible time as it summarized an amalgamation that to the tennis fraternity was the start of something spectacular.

8-time Grand Slam winner Ivan Lendl joining forces with Andy Murray was a match made in heaven it seemed. For a tennis player as bland as Murray nothing is better than winning a Grand Slam (let alone the 17 that Roger Federer has) and for the Scot to have the epitome of ambushing brilliance on his side meant things had gotten serious in camp. So serious that “raw aggression” seemed an understatement.

Almost immediately one could sense the changes in Murray’s game. The intent to win every point was instilled. An aggressive approach to the game was adapted. Those drop shots stated serving the purpose they were destined to serve. Andy’s net-play that never was a major part of his game suddenly became his “go-to” move. Perhaps for the first time ever Andy could smell the glory of a Grand Slam success.

The world waited with baited breath as to what Lendl had planned next. Every move was scrutinized. Every shot was analyzed. Murray started getting the “oohs” and “aahhs” that differentiates the good from the best. Lendl was clearly visible in Murray’s persona. “That shot had a Lendl tinge in it,” said the people. There was no place for emotions. No more pain. No more crying. The path was set for the Andy Murray bandwagon and it showed no signs of derailment. The dream reignited. A knighthood loomed.

Not only under Ivan Lendl did Andy Murray reach the Wimbledon final in 2012, but he also won an Olympic Gold Medal in London a month later, won his first Grand Slam, the US Open title, the same year beating Novak Djokovic in a gruesome 5-setter, reached the Australian Open final in 2013, where he gave a much better fight to Djokovic than the year before, and ripped the Serb apart in straight sets later that year at Wimbledon to give Great Britain a new song to sing ever since the “Oh hail Perry” anthem.

The term “first win since Fred Perry” started making an appearance more often than it did when the great Tim Henman was on the circuit. Great Britain could finally cheer for someone who could give something they’d waited for since forever. Ever since the lowest low in January 2010 when the words “I can cry like Roger, its shit that I can’t play like him” were muttered by a tear-faced Andy Murray amass the picturesque Rod Laver Arena, the world had been waiting for the prodigal son to bounce back.

And now, the time had come! The only problem – it lasted just two years.

In September 2013, Murray took probably the most treacherous decision of his career when he decided to have back surgery. Although at that time the Scot did not see the same as a career-threatening move, it did turn out to have quite an impact on his career. Not physically, but mentally. His comeback was not a fairytale one and unfortunately for British fans it was Ivan Lendl who had to pay the price.

Since the inconceivable and intense final at the Flushing Meadows against Djokovic in 2012 and the spanking finale against the same opponent at SW19 a year later, all eyes had been on Murray to have an  extravagant encore. However, ever since his back surgery, Murray’s ranking tumbled from No. 2 to No. 9, his form was nowhere near to his intimidating best and he was characterized as a player who did not have a style of his own. To make things worse, he had to play consecutive ATP 250s just to make the cut for the ATP World Tour Finals.

Needless to say, Lendl was on the first flight home, which probably turned out to be the worst decision good ‘Ol Andy has made in his entire life. Lendl’s departure was bigger a loss for Andy than any final he ever played as it brought back the demons that not only took possession of Murray’s feeble mind but also gave birth to a virus that infected the Scot’s game. He started losing matches from winning positions. Fred Perry’s name seemed lost in history now and Great Britain went into gloom again.

However, the one quality that Andy Murray has working for him is his will to not throw in the towel. Something that was clearly evident at the Australian Open this year. Apart from the fourth set in the final against Djokovic that saw the Serb fashion a blitzing bagel, Murray has been known to grind it out until the end of time. Before heading into Wimbledon 2014, the Scot got 2-time Grand Slam winner Amelie Mauresmo on board as her coach. A move that was probably aimed towards setting the records straight that Murray thought he still has a lot to offer when it came to top quality tennis.

Andy, of all people, knew that working with Mauresmo was going to be looked upon with questioning eyes at all times. Yet, he still went ahead with the move because he actually has a lot in common with the Frenchwoman. Just like Murray, Mauresmo too had to spend her life being an underdog and always having to cope with handling pressure. Mauresmo too has just 2 Grand Slams like Murray. And best of all Murray, just like Mauresmo, believes that winning a match is about variety and not aggression.

Such was the variety conjured by Mauresmo that even a pretty one-dimensional Murray inculcated some wicked and acrimonious angles into his game that left his opponents at the Australian Open fuming at the other end feeling as if a brutal bruiser had stolen their lunch money. Melbourne was witness to the new-old Murray when he demolished the likes of Grigor Dimitrov, Nick Kyrgios and Tomas Berdych with scintillating artistry which was something even Lendl, the man who for eternity will be attributed with turning Murray into a Grand Slam champion, could not ingrain.

Andy Murray and Amelie Mauresmo also found common ground on how to effectuate a strategy when it comes to finishing a tennis match. As there are incalculable views on the subject in today’s power-driven era that sees the gym-bred physicality rule the courts, Murray and Mauresmo are moving forwards with a strategy that believes in quality, not quantity, and in keeping things simple.

Now it is left to be seen whether or not that strategy will work wonders for Murray, who at 28 does not have a lot of time in hand to create a facade of being called a legend, or whether he can rediscover the intensity and vigour that led him to the breakthrough US Open victory and the earth-shattering Wimbledon triumph; however, at the end of the day what matters is that the player and coach must have the same views on how to play the game.

Something that ‘Murreysmo’ has already mastered!

The Indian Express….. If Only!

January 8, 2015. The time 2045 hrs. As I adjust my chair in front of my ‘idiosyncratic’ television in office, I can’t help but remember the good old days when the term ‘Indian Express’ meant more than just the newspaper. I gaze around my ‘estranged’ workstation hoping to find at least one soul with whom I can share my feelings. I find the abyss of nothingness instead – in terms of passion, knowledge & commitment.

Was it just I then who was excited about what was in store for the next 1.5 hours? I guess so!

Sitting in the office of the biggest ‘Sports’ broadcaster in the country, I look towards the bevy of televisions behind me. I hope against hope that I don’t have any channel to work on. I don’t want to miss even a second of what was about to be shown. I end up disappointed. I see 2 of them free.

Dejected I dash towards them in a sense of urgency to fire something that I think brings emotions like me to watch something that comes once in a blue moon. Anything I write would not bring justice to the magnanimity of the situation. Friends-turned-foes! Indian Legends Collide! CTL v IPTL! Anything else?

In the end, I keep it simple. Leander Paes versus Mahesh Bhupathi! That says everything. That says it all!

Who to support or who to boo? I ask around people for their thoughts. “No idea!” Of course! 2011 was the last time that the Indian Express played together here. They won! The crowd cheered like crazy. The pair had just re-united then. All differences were kept aside. Both wanted to win the 2011 Australian Open crown to complete their career Grand Slams and had played in Chennai as warm-up. Things didn’t work out for long though. The misunderstandings had crept back in. The pair couldn’t go on. If only!

They have played against each other many times ever since. This time around though, it was different.

For the first time in the history of the tournament, Chennai Open was set to see Paes and Bhupathi battle it out from opposite ends. Never before in its 20-year tenure had such a situation occurred. Chennai did not know how to react to it. Vijay Amritraj didn’t know how to commentate on it. The broadcasters did not know how to produce it. And I did not know why the world was not going crazy.

Raman Bhanot, the sports anchor who it feels has been around since the dawn of time, is on court for the introductions. “First up are Mahesh Bhupathi and Saketh Myneni.” Saketh who? Myneni! The guy who Leander Paes recently replaced in the Davis Cup doubles. All the more reason for the lad to be fired up for this if playing amidst Lee-Hesh was not a big enough reason.

The duo starts walking out. Bhupathi, with a look on his face that resembles the sultry Chennai weather, walks out first with Myneni just behind him. The crowd gives them a warm reception. The look on Mahesh’s face shouts out loud that he’s more relieved and does not want to misconstrue the response as an insult. Myneni meanwhile just walks out with his head down eager to extract the ‘Paesy’ revenge.

Bhanot, whose job description also has him handing out cricket bats to winners for them to hit tennis balls into the crowd, gets ready for the next introduction. “And their opponents,” he pauses. As if to tease the crowd. The SDAT Tennis Stadium erupts with elation. My “who to support, who to boo” question has been answered and answered even before one half of the players have walked out.

“Leander Paes and his 99th doubles partner, Raven Klassen.”

Just standing up to applaud the greatness of a 22-year-old disguised as a 41-year-old legend seemed pretty little to me at that time. I wanted to shout. I wanted to hoot. I wanted to chest bump the freaking wall. I looked around (yet again!) and found no one even remotely interested. Here we have two of the greatest Indian tennis players in history, who have staggering 26 Grand Slam titles between them, walking out to face each other and not a squeak in office. I wanted to high-five some cheeks. If only!

Raven Klassen was feeling as if he had walked into a WWE arena. At least the look on his face when the players came forward for the toss seemed to tell that story. Team Bhupathi won the toss and chose to serve first. Mahesh stole a glance towards Leander as if to say, “Let’s see what you’ve got mate!” Leander just stared back with his big cold eyes. Maybe for a second, but God it looked like an eternity.

He didn’t have to speak. The raucous crowd did all the talking for him. The stadium began reverberating with the “Let’s go Paes, let’s go!” chants. If it wasn’t clear who the favorite was before, it was now.

Myneni hit the first serve. “Fault,” retorted the linesman. Myneni could not believe the call. Bhupathi felt as if the whole world had started to conspire against him already. The review showed the ball was miles inside the legal serve area. The umpire laughed. Leander laughed. Amritraj almost fell off his chair laughing. Mahesh was unruffled. The call was reversed. 15-0! The crowd enlivened. It was now time for Leander to come forward to the net and be inches away from Mahesh. The first rendezvous upfront.

Myneni served again. Klassen sent the ball back to Myneni who hit it straight to Leander at the net. Mahesh’s eyes gladdened. “This was it,” he thought. “Anything from Leander and I have to hit it no matter what.” Leander hit the most deft and unplayable slices in Chennai Open history. “The point is mine now,” Leander believed. Contrary to his belief, an out-of-work-for-close-to-9-months Mahesh reached for it in the most prodigious manner to effectuate one of the most immense returns possible.

“Boom,” Mahesh roared! Just two points into the match and a fairytale script was already in passage. The game went by and it was Leander’s turn to serve now. In a spur of a moment Mahesh went back to receive. Unlike the old days, it’s the receiving end who can choose who in the team wants to receive now. Looking at Bhupathi’s body language it was clear that he wanted to receive all of Leander’s serves.

It was ridiculously, obviously, patently unsaid.

Leander served! Ace! Almost instantly a fanciful scorecard read “Paes 1 Bhupathi 1”. An unimpressed Bhupathi stared at the scorecard as if to see how fast that one went past him. There was nothing there. He waited and waited and waited. Still nothing! He would now have to wait for Myneni to play out his point before receiving again. The wait seemed endless. He would have squandered the point if he could as receiving Leander’s serve right away meant more than anything else at that moment. If only!

Oh the sentience of perpetuity for Mahesh Bhupathi!

This was more than just a Chennai Open quarterfinal now. This was personal war. The appeasement of the situation was unendurably painful. I look around once again to find someone as exhilarated as me. Matthew Hayden, who was on the television for the umpteenth time, was my only smiling comrade.

It was really sad to be witnessing such a situation when two of the greatest stalwarts of Indian tennis had reached a point when you had to choose between one of them. With the skill level that was on display, just imagine where they would have been today had they worked out their differences.

If only!

Lee-Hesh grew up with each other. They helped each other mature. They helped each other reach the pinnacle of success and helped each other conquer the final frontier. They were always looking out for each other. They burgeoned in glory together. They agonized in pain together. They were more than just partners on the circuit. They were brothers in arms. They had it in them to be the greatest. Ever!

If only!

The Indian Express was the voice that India never had. It was an underdog movement against the atrocities of a cruel sport that showed no remorse towards the weak. A revolution that meant stopping at nothing until success was at your feet. We reveled with them. We cried with them. In a way, the Indian Express was the story that all sports fans could connect to. It was ‘us’ who was playing out there with them. That is how important they were to us. That is how indispensable they were to us.

If only!

Two guys from India conquering the world in 1999 was worldwide news. It called for fantastic television. They reached the finals of all four Grand Slams that year. They won the French Open and Wimbledon. Two Grand Slams that not only had completely different surfaces, but also took a phenomenal amount of talent, hard work and versatility to vanquish. We were there. We saw it happen. We rejoiced.

If only!

“India can’t produce good tennis players,” they said. “Indian tennis players do not have what it takes,” they said. “Indian Express silenced the critics and took the world by storm,” they never said. Put Lee-Hesh on the court today and it can be said with paramount certainty that they’ll still give the Bryan Brothers a run for their money. I might be getting carried away, but that is the kind of confidence that was instilled in us. They taught us to dream big. They taught us to win big. They taught us to rule.

If only!

Team Paes beat Team Bhupathi this time around. Needless to say, we were thoroughly entertained. Both players showed classy characters while handling themselves. Leander Paes, at 41, proved yet again that age was indeed just a number. Mahesh Bhupathi proved that a 9-month hiatus means nothing if one learns to put mind over matter. If this was a Grand Slam, the match could have gone forever.

If only!

Leander, in his post-match interview with Bhanot, said “I would like to give a huge shout-out for Hesh. He hasn’t been on the court for close to 9 months but has still come out and played a fantastic match.” Bhanot said nothing. “That’s a fitting end,” he thought. Pretty sure that Mahesh was smiling somewhere in the back on hearing that and would have said something similar had he won instead of Leander.

Deep down I feel that they still want to be with each other. They still know how valuable the other one is. They still know what India and the world missed out on because of their split. I know for a fact that I can sleep well at night knowing that if a day comes when the country would need its greatest tennis heroes to defend its honour, then Lee-Hesh would be the first ones to take the court.

If only... If only!

The ‘What’ of a Footballing Nation?

“Yaaawwnn! Yeh match penalties mein jaaega. (Yaaawwnn! This match will be decided by penalties)”

For a certain “dubious” dude watching the grand denouement of a revolution called the “birth of a footballing nation,” penalties seemed to be the perfect ending to an insipid formality. One could sense the excitement in the air on December 20th, 2014. Not because India was on the brink of crowning its first ever Indian Super League champion, but because not anymore would one have to make a spiritless effort to like something that made no sense to begin with.

                                                                                                                         

 YouTube could now be watched freely again.

Meanwhile, approximately 36 kilometers away, a ‘cricket’ stadium was busy buzzing with close to 36000 fans that, knowingly or unknowingly, were minutes away from being a part of a match that culminated in the most ‘Solskjaer-esque’ manner possible.

The official attendance was 42,840, but I quote the figure ‘close to 36000’ because trains were to be caught, taxis were to be boarded, autos were to be shared and ‘oolta chashmas’ were to be viewed. And all this had to be done once the game hit the 80-minute mark because let’s face it – “Sirf das minute hi toh reh gaye the. (Only 10 minutes were left)”

At the same time, somewhere inside the stadium, the greatest sports presenter in the country, while taking out his ‘Man United wallet’ and ‘Man United-cased iPhone’, was sitting back relaxing with his ‘Man United loafers’ on top of a table probably thinking about how cool it would be to buy a ‘Man United shirt’ with his ‘overtime incentive’ considering the match was heading into extra time. The time was close to 2045hrs and according to his ‘Man United watch’ he had a good 30 minutes before work.

“It’s 90 minutes,” he thought. “This one’s over. It’s heading into extra time. I shall open Wikipedia at around the 118th minute to research the goalscorer.” And maybe had things gone according to plan then we could have witnessed some top notch quality questions like “How did you feel playing amidst so many Bollywood starlets?” Or some other questions that would have involved stellar words like “long ball”, “clean sheet”, “through ball” and would have made John Dykes, Andrew Leci and Joe Morrison rethink their lives.

Little did he know that a lad from West Bengal would be cutting short his free period and be forcing him to do his homework a lecture early  - only there was no lecture.

“Podany takes the corner… Mohammed Rafique heads it in and it’s a GOOOOAAALLL.” The greatest presenter in the world almost choked on the water he was drinking from his ‘Man United bottle’ and rushed towards the field. He was now scheduled to be on air in approximately T-10 minutes wearing some sort of god forsaken sherwani asking the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Rafique, kya aapne pehele kabhi goal maara hai? (Rafigue, have you ever scored a goal before?),” came the question.

Mr. ‘Greatest Presenter in the World’ had just asked the ‘Greatest Question in the World’ on the air for a production that was being watched by close to 57 million viewers. So magnanimous was the question’s greatness that my colleague and I remained speechless for more than 13 minutes.

The above instances mean just one thing. That for a country that claims to be ready to start the whole “rejuvenation of football” process, it’s not really ready in reality. Neither are the people. The fact that we’re ranked a disappointing 171 in the world substantiates that claim. Don’t get me wrong, there are people who want good things for Indian football. But the majority wants something else. Abhishek Bachchan, John Abraham, Ranbir Kapoor. This dismal list goes on.

On the other hand, the broadcasters seem to have gone one step further. At a time when the ball was in their court to indeed milk the whole “birth of a footballing nation” phenomenon, they’ve cleverly shown it as just a piece of lucrative business that meant nothing but filling a slot on air that would have gone down otherwise as a waste of “hard disk” space. The ball has been dropped and what a time to drop it.

It’s been close to 20 days since the shimmering tournament came to an end. The ‘1st Champion’ has been crowned. All the promos have now become an epitome of being called ‘platitudinous’. But most importantly – the money has reached where it is supposed to reach. All the transactions have cleared.

People have gone around their usual business. They think that the football is done and dusted till next year. The marquee players have gone back. The redoubtable coaches have as well. Close to two months of continuous football is more than enough they think. The people want something new now they think. People are bored of the football now they think. After all, even Bigg Boss ends after close to 3 months.

They could NOT be any more wrong.

I know that I’m a ‘nobody’ when it comes to the governance of Indian football. What do I know? All I am is just another feeble character in the tale of the unsung story of football mismanagement. For what it’s worth, I might even be mythical as my tumultuous roar is what people call deafening silence.

But I know one thing for sure. What I want is what will save Indian football from the depths of despair.

The Indian Super League did award plenty of glorious awards to a handful of the Indian stars at the end of the league. They did even quote it as an “emergence of young talent”. Mission 2026 they said. But what now? Does anyone know where they are now? “They might be taking rest. It was a long season,” I can almost hear the broadcasters saying at this very moment. Oh! The chutzpah! Unrivalled indeed!

They might be taking rest. But during the half-time breaks when they’re playing the elite Federation Cup. ISL helped India see a number of prime players - Romeo Fernandes, Sandesh Jhingan, Baljit Sahni, Balwant Singh to name a few. Some of whom have scored goals in the Federation Cup as well. Wouldn’t it have been great if we could have seen them in action once ISL was over? But it cannot happen. Why? Because of commercials I guess. Who cares about sports when there’s no money involved, right?

Well I care. But do I matter? I guess not.

Asking for the coverage of the Federation Cup, or even the I-League for that matter, is a little too much considering that even the late Phil Hughes could not find his way on to the Broadcaster segments. We rather see some hackneyed “all-rounder” shows that portray the “triumphs” and the “great knocks” of legends that played during the time when TV was just a luxury instead of a necessity.

I know that I want to know each and every day before I go to bed what happened in 1996 when India took on Sri Lanka in the World Cup Group match in New Delhi. Or how “perfect” a certain Test temperament is. Or maybe how “awesome” an off spinner is. And let’s not forget a “swinging” virtuoso.

And if it’s not the case of commercials, it all comes down to the TRPs. What does TRP even stand for? Total Ridiculous Protocols!? Maybe!

I wonder what the TRP would have been had we been treated to an Indian Super Cup. I-League champions – Bengaluru FC – facing the Indian Super League champions – Atletico de Kolkata. But will it happen? I guess not. Why? I guess it’s too complicated.

Whoever came up with the idea of making the viewing of sports directly proportional to the TRPs was an idiot of the highest order who perhaps did not understand sport and had nothing to do while on vacation with his fifth cousin twice removed and decided to effectuate sport’s ‘perfect murder’.

There will come a day when commercials will force sports to die an untimely death. But the irony of the situation is that even then the sports funeral will not be televised because all that would be shown are the commercials. Am getting carried away, isn’t it? Nah! I’m just worried about the sanctity of sports.

What’s that they ask? My point I say. It’s moot. I’m not wasting my time anymore. It’s a lost cause.

When Champions Get Their Due!

It’s a cold and chilly evening at the Stade Pierre Mauroy in Lille, France. The French team, having gone down 1-2 the previous night, nominate veteran Richard Gasquet as their messiah for the third singles rubber. Some consider it France’s desperate attempt to stay in the competition by handing the wheel to the most experienced driver. Others see it as an act of tactical brilliance adding to the meticulously chosen clay court in order to foil the opposition’s plans of celebrating their first ever Davis Cup title.

At the other end, the hopes of a whole nation are resting on the one man they believe is habile enough to gift them what they deserve. Some fans have travelled close to 700 kilometers to watch him create history. Others are natives who can’t help but cheer for him considering the aura he exuberates. At a moment when a country stands on the verge of being ‘crowned’ into an empire, who better to steer the ship than the man with the most majestic persona. Roger Federer! Could there be anyone else?

Switzerland are in the final after 22 years and who knows when’s the next going to come. It’s already been decided that the match will go down in history despite the outcome, but for Federer it is just another match. It is just another obstacle. Non-playing skipper Severin Luthi, as cold as the wintry winds outside, gets his team in a huddle. They might be from a country with 8 million people, but right now it’s just that one person who matters. They leave him to it. Fingers crossed. “Time,” the chair umpire says!

At almost around the same time, some 6700 kilometers away, the Yas Marina circuit in Abu Dhabi is ‘marinating’ to host a desert duel that has the makings of an absolute classic. Lewis Hamilton, sitting in his polished and unrivalled Mercedes, is thinking about the penultimate corner of the race track that literally derailed his pole position contention the previous evening. Failing to win the title would hand the Brit the unwanted record of becoming the first driver to win four races in a row and not win the title.

His teammate, title-rival and pole-sitter Nico Rosberg, meanwhile, is venerating F1 supremo Bernie Ecclestone for introducing the double-points concept that gives the German a fighting chance to steal the title from Hamilton’s grasps despite winning just 5 races in the season. There are a gazillion permutations and combinations that could decide the title, but all Nico is thinking is to lead the race from start till finish and hope Lewis squanders second. Either that or he’s hoping for Lewis to crash.

The universe, on the other hand, seems to be in Hamilton’s corner. For the last two years Abu Dhabi has witnessed rain on November 23. But not today! Not when a personage like Lewis is in title contention. Not when the United Kingdom has eyes on its ‘favorite’ son. Not when Prince Harry is in attendance.

Oh! The audacity if it rains! The track is cleared off. All support staff, friends and family make their way to the paddock. The cars line up after the formation lap. Nico looks back at Lewis. As if to say, “It’s been one helluva ride mate.” Lewis looks at him and then up towards the sky. The instinctive devil in him says “All right, bring on the rain.” The conscientious pilot says “Let’s keep it simple, shall we?” The engines roar. The drivers wait for the five lights. One! Two! Three! Four! Five! And it’s “Lights out in Abu Dhabi!”

Meanwhile, Gasquet, who’s 2-2 head-to-head record against Federer on clay was probably the biggest catalyst for him being nominated ahead of Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and Gael Monfils, seems to be digging deep to stay alive in the first set. Federer’s all over him and in no time has taken a 3-2 lead that too on a surface that has been baptized as ‘legend killer’. Gasquet calls for his towel. The ball girl stares into his eyes as if to say “It’s not your fault. You’re just up against a freight train.” Richard Gasquet says nothing!

The Frenchman walks over slowly to his side of the court. His racquet dragging behind him as if to manifest an image of an old man being tormented on a football field by bunch of expeditious ruffians. At 28 years of age, he’s neither the oldest nor the fastest on the court. Both of those titles belong to Roger tonight. Back that up with some immaculate volley angles and some gravity-defying drops shots and somewhere in Spain Uncle Toni, with his dropped jaw, tells Rafa to start practicing for Roland Garros.

Federer to serve! His “Pirlo-esque” approach to the game is what makes him, at 33, a man possessed to set the records straight. He looks up once. Looks back down. Throws the ball in the air and Boom! Ace! 15-0! Gasquet can’t believe it. The comprehensive master plan of using clay as a surface to stave off the Swiss Maestro has been effectuated. But why is it not effective tonight? No time to think. Federer looks up again then back to the ball. Just one look is enough. Boom! Ace No. 2! 30-0! Two more times & 4-2 it is.

Back in Abu Dhabi, Hamilton has done just what was expected off him. As the cars head into the first corner, the 2008 world champion’s adept driving helps him vroom past Rosberg in no time to take the lead. There’s a reason why Lewis deserves the title this year and he’s just showed a glimpse of that. Probably the only driver on the circuit today who’s conjured the amalgamation of speed and braking to serene brilliance. His theory is simple – “master the speed, brake late on turns and kill those chicanes.”

Lewis lost the title in his ‘rookie’ season by a single point to Kimi Raikkonen due to technical snags in the last race. He won it a year later though by maneuvering a tranquil overtake on the last turn of the last lap of the last race outstripping Felipe Massa. Both Massa and Kimi are racing in Abu Dhabi tonight. But none can curb the prowess that Hamilton has. The Brit takes a 1.2 second lead on Rosberg after the first lap. Make that 2.7 seconds as he heads into his first pit stop 10 laps later. This one might be over soon!

Toto Wolff, Executive Director of Mercedes, looks at his screen under the setting sun and just can’t help believe what has happened. “Will people put this event to another conspiracy theory?” he thinks. Not so Mr. Wolff. Not this time. Maybe if Nico had tried to back Lewis into the Williams of Bottas and Massa. But the world saw what happened. The world knows Lewis, who’s used lesser fuel that Nico and has preserved his tyres better, deserves the championship and therefore no one is going to question you.

In the meantime, Federer is unveiling one of his greatest performances on clay. Like an opera singer enthralling the audience amidst the unruffled moonlight, Roger too is giving the Lille crowd a night to remember with staggering virtuosity. The 17-time Grand Slam champion wraps up the second set in spanking fashion and a historic title seems inevitable. But wait a minute. Can Gasquet come back in this one? Can France still win? All he needs to do is win the next three sets. Nah! Not tonight! Not any night!

Rosberg has better chance of winning the title though. He’s on fire with two successive fastest laps and, in stunning chain of events, is reducing the gap on Hamilton. Fox Sports commentator Alex Yoong has just been interrupted by a Mercedes team radio message. Who’s it for? Rosberg, of course! “All right Nico, you need to conserve your rear brakes. Too much pressure on the energy unit.” “What? Conserve energy?” Nico thinks. No way. Not when the race of his life is on. And then suddenly, disaster strikes!

Elsewhere Gasquet is praying to the heavens above to end his affliction. He’s splitting into pieces as Federer, who’s moving around the court like a gazelle, is taking the whole of France to the cleaners with his sumptuous play. He’s a game away from possessing the extraordinary feat of winning all the Grand Slams and the Davis Cup. Laver, Agassi, Nadal and now Federer! A league of extraordinary gentlemen indeed! “Time to finish this,” Federer tells himself. 15-0! 30-0! 40-0! Three championship points! Death serving at its best!

“I’m losing engine power!” exclaims Nico Rosberg in the interim. Guess pushing too hard has not worked in the German’s favour. The gap between him and Hamilton is now 7.1 seconds. “Nico, your ERS has failed,” comes the reply from his team. "Can you investigate that now, please? And then tell me what to do,” domineers Rosberg. His team is all but helpful. “It’s not a computer that can be restarted,” they think. Rosberg looks to his right and sees Massa pass by. Then Bottas! Then Ricciardo! It’s over for him!

Federer serves out the match and falls to his knees on the orange surface in similar manner he did at the 2009 French Open. Tears roll down his cheeks. It was special back then and it is equally special tonight. Back then he had equaled Pete Sampras’ “inviolable” record of 14 Grand Slams. Tonight he completes his trophy cabinet for every tennis title possible. He looks over to his wife Mirka in the stands and then to Stanislas Wawrinka in the corner. The feud a few weeks ago seems futile now. History has been made! Switzerland are the 2014 Davis Cup champions. Time for the fireworks! Time for the confetti!

Hamilton, on the other hand, starts the final lap of the 2014 Formula 1 season with a 3.3 second gap over second-placed Felipe Massa. His title is indubitable now. He’s on the verge of becoming only fourth Briton after Sir Jackie Stewart, Graham Hill and Jim Clark to win two world titles. “Where’s Nico?” asks the commentator. “Down at 14th!” comes the reply. One can’t help but feel sad for Rosberg. So close yet so far. But that is how life goes. Alain Prost lost the title to Niki Lauda by half a point in 1984. Hamilton crosses the chequered flag for his 11th season win. But it’s the one that matters the most!

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. An apt phrase to describe the events in Abu Dhabi and Lille on the evening of November 23, 2014. Not only have Roger Federer and Lewis Hamilton gone through adverse circumstances in their careers, but both have also had to withstand the test of time and fend off critics. When they were at their lowest lows in life, the only thing that kept them going was the passion of the sport, the limitless talent they possess and the determination to take what’s theirs.

One might be going through the toughest of phases and there might be times when the light at the end of the tunnel might just be a mirage. At the end of day, however, persistence pays off because no one can stop champions getting their due. “Cometh the hour, cometh the man.” Well said Gladwin, well said!

Sebastian Vettel – The ‘Contract’ Killer!

Contracts, Shmontracts!

That’s what Paula Malai Ali had to say when she was asked to give her views on Sebastian Vettel’s imminent move to Ferrari. Can’t blame her anger, can we? Come to think about it contracts in any sport mean nothing if the right ‘amount’ of money is involved. Contracts have become the allegory equivalent of Novy Kapadia’s football commentary. We know that it is there, but does it really make a difference?

Football sees players signing 5-year multi mega deals every season only to leave 6 months later. Kind of a bummer, isn’t it? I mean why go through all the trouble and spend all that money just to have someone sign something that means nothing if, and when, someone else lures the said someone away by means of showering something (moolah) at ease? The answer – things need to be professional.

Okay! I guess it makes sense to an extent. I mean it’s kind of like a binding obligation that people need to respect in order to function in a civilized manner. It’s kind of like you washing your hands after using the toilet. It’s not necessary, but it’s advisable. But then why leave room for loopholes? Why have release clauses, buy-back clauses and all types of god forsaken clauses that are firm to suck happiness?

The answer to that might lie in the egocentric need of every individual to gain what’s best of a situation. All it took was a meticulously inserted clause in a sheet of paper called a “contract” and Vettel had an out. For Red Bull’s interest, I hope they too had some kind of a ridiculously repugnant clause that would guarantee them some kind of solace as well. Wait a minute. Of course they had. It was money! Right?

Now while Vettel’s move to Ferrari has still not been ‘officially’ confirmed, I guess because the “contract” must not have been signed, it’s just a matter of time that it will be. But what needs to be emphasized and scrutinized in the interim is the reason why the 4-time Formula 1 world champion decided to call it quits with Red Bull and decide that he wanted to ruin my team Ferrari for me.

Vettel seems to be at his diplomatic best when he said that the reason behind his leaving was that he wanted to "do something else, something new". Those are his exact words by the way. When loosely translated into simple English it means, “Fuck you Red Bull you couldn’t help me win those record-equaling 5 straight world titles you promised and therefore I’m off to do the implausible elsewhere.”

Not that he’s going to have any luck with Ferrari either. The Italian team are struggling themselves and run the risk of finishing outside the top three in the constructors’ championship for the first time since 1993. The last time Ferrari had a driver’s champion was in 2007 when Kimi ‘the iceman’ Raikkonen won. Mercedes on the other hand seem to have sorted their car out well for 2015 and it does not look likely that Ferrari would be able to match their ERS capabilities and present Vettel with a title-winning car.

Hmm! Okay! So if Vettel is smart enough he would obviously know that he won’t be winning anything for at least one more season. Unless of course if Ferrari pull off a Brawn. In that case Ferrari with Raikkonen and Vettel would be the undisputed coequal of Liverpool fielding Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo together. Possible? All right! I got carried away there. But you get the gist of what I’m saying.

Coming back to the “something else, something new” expression, Vettel, who in exemplary fashion, has rewarded the team that made him what he is today ever since being spotted as a 12-year old nothing has failed to comprehend that no one is naive enough to fall for his jinky antics anymore. Especially not this late into the season.

What does “doing something else, something new” even mean? He got bored of racing with Red Bull? Or was it the fact that the shade of navy blue makes him look fat? Maybe red is the color for glory (ahem Liverpool). Tell me Seb! I’m dying to know what the phrase means. Because what I feel is that the one season that a rival teams literally blows the wind out of your sails you decide that you’ve had enough.

“It’s not a decision based on the current results, it’s more a voice inside me that kept growing and it’s a step that I’m very much looking forward to,” Vettel said.

Was that voice Daniel Ricciardo’s? Because to be overshadowed, by a newbie nonetheless, in stunning manner after exhibiting an aura of gnarly dominance would definitely be a hard bullet for Sebastian to swallow. A guy jumping from Torro Rosso and eclipsing a champion who has won the world title 4 times on the trot was an occurrence that none in the fraternity would have dared to call. Another year of such “debasing” and Vettel would have considered retirement.

So what was left to do? Move to a team that is synonymous with and is an epitome of Formula 1 at a time when it wants you more than you want it. Maybe that answers the “something else” part. I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with the “something new” part especially because Sebastian Vettel at 27 years of age seems to have done most of the things that any Formula 1 driver could dream of.

And as much as it hurts me to agree, he has been one helluva driver. People might say that Red Bull gave him a great car and that he was just a puppet in the cockpit following orders and being given the right instructions to do the right things at the right time, but in all fairness his records speak for themselves.

He was the youngest driver  to drive at a Grand Prix, the youngest Grand Prix pole position winner, the youngest Grand Prix winner, the youngest Formula One world champion, the youngest driver to bag a podium position, the youngest driver to score a grand slam (pole position, win, fastest lap, and led every lap) – which sadly was at the 2011 Indian Grand Prix – and many many more ‘young’ records.

In addition, Vettel currently holds the records for most championship points earned in a season, the most podium finishes in a season, the most starts from front row in a season, the most wins in a season, the most pole positions in a season, the most laps led in a season, the most consecutive wins, the most wins from pole position in a season and numerous other achievements.

Please note that I’ve left out most of his other records because it was kind of getting depressing, distressing, discouraging and dispiriting to write a note about his superiority and find out that he actually came quite close to becoming the greatest of all time. If only Mercedes had not decided that enough was enough and it’s time to “recover” some long-lost “energy”.

Hence, what I’ve understood from this is that the “something else, something new” a guy with Sebastian Vettel’s “always-wanting-to-win-and-sulking-when-losing façade” can do, with a team that has been struggling for the past seven years in a sport that it has made itself tantamount with, is -------------------------- Kill another “Contract”! J

Li Na – the phoenix who dared to dream!

I know that this post is a week too late, but to be honest that is the exact period of time it took me to realize what a loss Li Na’s retirement has been to the tennis fraternity (especially Asia). The ‘Chinese Sensation’ as she was fondly known to her fans decided to hang her racquet due to ongoing injuries and thereby in the process ended one of the most glorious and momentous careers in the sport’s history.

Believe me when I use the word “momentous” to define Li’s career because quite frankly I could not come up with a better word to suit her undying dedication and ruthless grit when it came to playing a sport that meant so much to her. Not only did she manage to exceptionally effectuate a plan that would lead her to distinctive eminence, but she also managed to bestow tennis in an unprecedented manner that will forever be talked about.

Her contribution towards tennis has been nothing short of being immense. Her trailblazing act of popularizing the sport in an “uncharted” territory like China (and even Asia to an extent) clearly speaks volumes of the kind of personage that Li Na possesses. What I guess today is that 10 years from now a pack of tennis fanatics will remember that the 5’7” Li Na mesmerized people with her exalted crouching forehand. However, I say with extreme surety that the world and its people will always remember her as an epitome of resistance.

Coming from China and choosing a sport that has not gifted the country with a “medal” since like forever would be a tough decision to make for any sportsperson. But nevertheless Li Na chose to go down that path. Not because she was forced to (unlike many Chinese Olympians) but because she wanted to stand out and make a difference. She wanted to grab a sport, which in her own words was in “infancy” in her country, by the throat and take it upwards to notability. And that’s exactly what she did.

I still remember watching the 2011 Roland Garros final when Li Na vanquished the exploits of then defending champion Francesca Schiavone of Italy to become the first ever Asian and Chinese Grand Slam singles champion and etch her name in history. Even though the sport of tennis is not uncommon in India and we’ve had our share of legendary Grand Slam champions, I have to admit that was indeed a proud moment for me as an Asian.

What’s extraordinary about that tournament in specific is that in addition to taming Schiavone in the final and romping her way past top guns like Petra Kvitova, Victoria Azarenka and Maria Sharapova in the process, Li Na was successful in drawing the attention of 116 million Chinese in watching the sport. That’s a win for any sport any day of the week and I guess the fabulous Chris Evert put it brilliantly and said it out for everyone when she said, “That kind of exposure is crucial for our sport; and it never would have happened without Li.” And it has indeed reaped great benefits for tennis in China.

From two professional tournaments in 2008 to ten today is just one of the many accomplishments of Li Na’s endurance and continuing fortitude. Her stirring list of “firsts” that include being the first Chinese to win a WTA title, the first to reach a Grand Slam quarterfinal, the first to reach a Grand Slam final, the first to compete in the WTA Tour Finals, the first to be ranked in the top 20 and top 10 and the only till date to been ranked as high as World No. 2 has helped her country boast of having four players in the top 100 today– a feat that needed Li Na’s unflinching and indispensable perseverance.

Another achievement that Li Na can be proud to have under her cap is having the Rod Laver arena boo a defending champion in the final. The 2013 Australian Open final against the then defending champion Victoria Azarenka not only won Li millions of hearts around the world but also portrayed her as a phenomenal fighter (or ‘phighter’; now I know what Mary Kom a.k.a Priyanka Chopra meant). As mentioned before, the Chinese Sensation would hardly be remembered for her double-handed backhand. But what she will surely be remembered for is her crouching forehand. Because for a player to stay that low and smash the ball cross court with inconceivable speed clearly deserves some praise.

Undoubtedly the match that made Li Na’s unbreakable persona was the Azarenka final. After having won the first set comfortably, Li was down 0-3 in the second. Her valiant game play helped her level the second set at 4-4 even after twisting her ankle in the process and hopping her way to her chair en-route a medical timeout. However, Vika edged Li there to force a deciding third set.

The third set started with a literal “bang” as the match was interrupted due to the Australia Day fireworks celebration just at the point when Li had taken a 2-1 lead. When it resumed, she twisted her ankle for the second time and “banged” her head on the surface while tumbling over. Amidst the crowd support, Li Na distinctly appeared bleary during her second medical timeout and eventually gave in 6-3 to allow Azarenka lift her second straight Australian Open trophy among the Melbourne hostility.

That’s the kind of presence that Li Na had on the court. It’s really sad that the sport of tennis will now be deprived of the jolly and gleeful charisma that she brought to every game. But I guess like Bollywood’s unrivalled aura of making dismal sport movies, recurring injuries too had taken over Li Na’s body. Her journey by all means has not been easy. It never is for champions actually. But those who are the “bird that sticks out” will always stride towards victory with slicing brilliance and master the impossible.

“Not many people believed in my talent and my abilities, yet I found a way to persevere, to prove them (and sometimes myself!) wrong. Whether you want to be a tennis player, a doctor, a teacher or a business leader, I urge you to believe in yourself and follow your dream. If I could do it, you can too. Be the bird that sticks out. With hard work, your dreams will come true.”

Thank You Li Na! Thanks for being the change the world needed!