The Thriller on the Centre Court Villa

Sometimes in sports, we sports writers over indulge in grandiloquent adjectives and ambiguous analogies like this sentence.

And at times, we have a habit at dabbling with them at the wrong moments. They make our job more difficult than it seems, and we place distraction on the readers and ourselves instead of focusing intently on what we are seeing with our eyes. We make the job more difficult than it should really be.

Instead of letting what we witness come to our minds, we fall into a trap of creating or, even more perilously, fabricating a reality that isn’t congruent to what actually happened.

In essence, it would do a total disservice to mention an element that had nothing to do with this match. In fact, even the pre-match hype and the post-match breathtaking moments to think about the glory that transpired in front our irises, retinas, and every part of our ontological perspective can’t be tied together to this 2008 Wimbledon gentleman’s final.

That match made those outside factors become irrelevant the moment that fourth set concluded, though the standard of play, coupled with the rising drama of the day, had long ago made it so.

“The thriller on the Centre Court Villa.”

It was a match that was all about itself. And nothing else.

It wasn’t about the talk of a legendary figure’s last defense of his lofty throne at his first and most precious domicile. It wasn’t about the rivalry generated from the determined brilliance of his Spanish counterpart on the other side of the net, trying to get the title precious to his soul. It wasn’t about a sixth title or a first title. A 13th Grand Slam or a 5th one. It wasn’t about whether their previous match would factor in. And it wasn’t even about what else transpired during the first 12 days of the fortnight.

It was about that last day, and with all respect to the mixed doubles final and its participants of the Bryan brothers, Samantha Stosur and Lisa Raymond, this was the final match of this tournament.

A match that was thee match on its own merit.

A duel that will equal the top duels in tennis history, probably establish itself as the greatest final in the sports’ history.

But forget the comparisons to yesteryear. This match is in its own stratosphere, its own assortment of memorable moments cased by two indelible figures. But they weren’t the only ones apart of it, because the weather certainly made sure it factored in with its great gust of wind and tears from the sky. So did those impassioned fans, who went from concerned about the match ending in straight sets to becoming rapped along in a spectacle drama. Only that was possible by both players entering a unique and near unconscious zone titled “Refuse to Lose.”

“Refuse to Lose” is a place for solely the exceptional. It’s more perfect than any worker’s utopia, more defined than just entering “The zone.” It is an area that encompasses an amalgamation of sheer will along with disciplined nerve. It can leave you breathless with how the fight to prevent one’s self can capture the human imagination. And it can capture the human soul.

“Refuse to Lose” came into inception in this match, when Roger Federer was facing a deflating three sets to love defeat in the eyes at 0-40, 3-3 in that third set, at the hands of Rafael Nadal. From that moment on, from that survival in that game to stave off that horrible feeling, to serving that clinching ace on set point to get the epic comeback belief pumping, the Swiss had joined the Spaniard in that realm.

“Refuse to Lose”, a motto both of these men enthuse to everyone tuned into their duel to the utter death. The fourth set hit your sense of euphoria if you were a neutral fan of this match. Once again, instead of harboring on things to compare the events of this match, just the description will only come close to matching the actions that inspired them:

Federer “refusing to lose” by getting out of a 0-30 jam at 3-4. Nadal “refusing to lose” not trying to give him any itch by surrendering any break points in the set. Federer “refusing to lose” his serve to force the set into a tiebreak.

The match, itself, “refusing to lose” its chance at being something to saver forever, because only it knew what was about to unfold.

The second tiebreaker of the match was an 18 point display that seemed to matter more than any other one in history.

Both players, already masters of the defense to offense and vice versa, took it to a level the game’s greats had nothing seen before. The defense to more defense in order to get that precious offense. The defense that turned out to be actual offense. The offense that ended up as the unfortunately as defense.

It was a constant mutation of who would be the puncher, who would be the counterpuncher, and who would play to their roles at the same time perfectly.

They raised the stakes by following their own formats, their own ways. “Refuse to lose” vociferated through their minds. It wavered in Nadal’s head when he was 5-2 up, two points from winning. A double fault, his last of the match, followed by a backhand into the net. The first time you ever saw signs of tension getting to Nadal.

But “refusing to lose” quickly came back to his soul immediately. Down set point, Nadal scrambled enough like always to force Federer to an easy forehand miss. Change sides, six all. Then, he coerced him into another inaccurate forehand.

First championship point.

But “The thriller on the Centre Court Villa” wouldn’t be anything if neither gentleman exited the “Refuse to lose” zone, no matter what they faced. For Federer, he was staring again at the door, trying to get pushed out by Nadal. He controlled his own destiny on the first attempt, an emphatic serve winner.

Then, came that forehand past at seven-all from Nadal. That spectacular running forehand effort that went by a stretching Federer. For most, that would have been the end of a match. A resignation of “Just too good today” or “It wasn’t meant to be for me after all” type statements. Most would have certainly left the “Refuse to lose” zone after seeing such a devastating blow hit to them.

Not this man, not this prideful champion, not like this.

Second championship point, Nadal looking for that glorious win, going for that moment with more conviction than at 5-2 and 5-3. A deep forehand with a purposeful charge to the net, playing it like the champion at Wimbledon he wanted to be, just like the man across the net. He denied that moment that Nadal wanted so badly with a one-handed backhand pass for the ages. It couldn’t be struck better, by anyone better.

8-all.

Two points of supreme aggression later, from the one on the cusp of leaving the “Refuse to lose” zone just a minute or so ago, a fifth and deciding set hits us. Hits the television cameras, the phtographers’ lenses, the irises and the retinas of those fortunate to have them properly working. It even hit the endocrine system of the man desperate to keep his coveted position, leading him to take a quick bathroom break before the famous finish unveiled itself to us.

Fifth set of “The thriller on the Centre Court Villa”, begin.

The same themes continued though the first four games, with another rain delay in between. Thoughts of whether this match would be grand enough for one day loomed larger and larger, in similar proportion to the drama it was producing. Both men clinical on serve at the resumption of play, revealing in the all court war of explosion that each inflicted on each other. The fans seemly divided into an imaginary demarcation of being on the side of one “R” or the other “R.” Both sets of supporters, whether it was Federer’s longtime girlfriend Mirka or Nadal’s parents, about as tight as their players’ headbands. It was truly a moment when you felt like holding the hand of maybe even your mortal enemy.

The rain stops, play resumes as the night beckons.

Deuce, 2-all. Federer responses with two serves, Nadal can’t touch either one of them. 3-2, then 3-3, then 4-3.

Then, it seemed like Nadal finally was feeling the effects of being so close but yet so far. He the one now placed in the teetering position, on the edge of the “Refuse to lose” door. 30-40, five points away from a lost that would feel ten times more painful than the final score would show. But like Federer, he doesn’t want to leave this place. Powerful forehand that Federer can’t handle. He holds.

4-4. Then 5-4, then 5-5.

Once again, all of a sudden. Federer is pushed to that exit door. 15-40, Federer facing two break points, Nadal five points away from victory again. His response: Another timely ace, and then a forehand that Nadal can’t control on his backhand. 6-5, pressure back on Nadal.

Just like Federer felt on that backhand past at 7-all in the fourth set tiebreak, most would have been devastated and demoralized losing two break points, losing two match points the way Nadal did. And just like Federer however, he wasn’t ready to leave that “Refuse to lose” zone. 6-6.

Pressure back on Federer, in a 0-30 hold again. He gets out of it with that clinical serve of his, 7-6. Pressure back on Nadal, pressure erased again by him. 7-7

Suddenly, it was getting to that time in the match when destiny would have to help one man usher out the other out of the “Refuse to Lose” zone. It finally had to facilitate in the dirty work of ending something near and dear to our hearts.

It had to make one made the winner, and one the loser.

0-30 down again was Federer, and then two points later, 15-40 position of woe returned. So did him stepping up to the occasion, another ace, and another aggressive dictation with his forehand. Deuce.

Two points later, a second deuce.

And then, destiny and Nadal pushed Federer one step out of the door. It caused one miss on that faithful forehand at deuce, and another one on the sixth break point of the set for Nadal.

8-7 to Nadal, one game away now on his serve, entering the 16th game of the ultimate set.

The match resumes

The forehand long from Nadal to begin the game. 0-15.

The serve and volley out of nowhere. 15-all.

“Refuse to lose.”

Another clutch serve and volley winner, the unexpected of the unexpected in a match where that is the sole measure of standard. 30-15.

Another timely, placid backhand pass from Federer. 30-all.

Nadal forcing play with an intrepid spirit to get a backhand wide from Federer.

Third championship point.

Federer once again, for the umpteenth time in a match that will be remembered for umpteen centuries, shows his intrepid spirit, producing improbable magic with a backhand return followed by several “OH MY GOODNESS” from around the world. Deuce!

He’s not ready to leave.

Does this moment not faze either of them, at all?!

Nadal steps up, somehow broken only one time in this match and still not the winner at a quarter past nine. Three match points gone, and all of them producing not a single choke job from him.

They all resulted from the guts and glory of the man on the other side of the net. Any other person would have said “This isn’t my day, it just can’t be.” But this man from Mallorca, along with this man from Gstaad, takes full residence in the “Refuse to Lose” zone.

Ball toss in the air, and two strokes after seeing another backhand go past him on a match point, Nadal had forced a fourth one. “Refuse to lose” now transformed into something different, because at this stage, no one was a “loser.” Nadal step up again, bouncing the ball with no more threats of a time violation from Pascual Maria, waiting patiently for the final cries from the fans of whomever they backed.

First serve in.

Forehand return from Federer.

Backhand cross court from Nadal.

Then, on the fourth stroke of the 413th point of this masterpiece, Roger Federer didn’t leave the “Refuse to Lose” zone, even if he hit a backhand in the net to suffer the lost of his throne at his most valued home.

Instead, Rafael Nadal entered the “I Won” zone.

Down in relief, stretched out on the ground he was after four hours and 48 minutes of tennis that was more than about tennis. It was about the brilliance of the genre we call sports. The flash bulbs were in total effect for photos, whether digital or other, will hopefully never be deleted from our minds or our cardiac muscle.

There’s no need for direct quotes or psycho-analyzing to see how happy and elated Nadal and his camp is and will be feeling. There’s no need to do the same to look into how dejected and sad Federer and his camp is and will be feeling. That’s for another time, another piece.

Because “The thriller on the Centre Court Villa” speaks only about itself. And it has every selfish right in the world to do as so.