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Roger Federer (SUI) def. Andy Murray (GBR) 4-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-4 (Photo source)

It's been a week since Roger Federer won his 7th Wimbledon title.

On the night of the Final, I was nervous. It had been two years since Federer had won a major, and if he was going to win another, it was likely to happen on his favorite surface. But Andy Murray, his opponent, had a winning head-to-head record against him. He was also the home favorite, the British eager to end an eight-decade drought.

The first set was harrowing, and it certainly appeared that the powers-that-be were giving Murray the nod. But Federer held on for the second, and things evened out. Then 1-1 on serve in the third, Federer leading 40-love, play was suspended due to rain. The match stalled for nearly 30 minutes while officials closed the roof over Centre Court. When play resumed, it was a different Federer that stepped out unto the grass. He moved better and faster, made fewer errors, and kept finding the corners and lines. The crack of the ball connecting with his racquet sounded, somehow, more intent.

I haven't written here in a long time, but I felt I had to for this, because a lot of what this blog was about for a long time was Roger Federer. And this Wimbledon was particularly special. There are the obvious reasons, of course: this tournament is his 17th Grand Slam (he holds the record for most won in the Open Era); it is his 7th win at sw19 (he is now level with Pete Sampras); and he has regained his place as World No. 1 (which is almost like an afterthought).

Then, there are the less obvious reasons.

There are younger, stronger players out there (grunting beasts terrified of approaching the net), and Roger Federer is getting older and slowing down. These other guys have discovered he can be beaten, resulting in some disappointing losses over the last couple of years. He no longer dominates the game the way he did five, or even four, years ago. Now, he's in it with the rest of them, in the melee. Federer has never been more exposed. He is playing as a mortal, without his superpowers, but is still able to win Grand Slams. The man's got style.

Also, he beat Novak Djokovic, arguably the best player in the world today, in the semi-final. That guy gets under my skin, but I'll try to be objective here. Or not. Federer beating that upstart was immensely satisfying.

Few things are more beautiful than Roger Federer at Wimbledon. His game is suited for grass, and this year, he looked especially nimble. The Final was a demonstration of precisely what it means to play on the surface. He engaged net play and used serve-and-volley to great effect. His serve was accurate, and his shots from the baseline were absolutely lethal. The elegant angled backhand for the break to 3-2 in the fourth is the kind of genius Federer fans live for. If this truly is the age of his decline but such sublime tennis is still possible, surely this is the stuff of legend.

I have always felt that the events in my life have resembled the dips and swells in Roger Federer's own journey. It has been a challenging few years, but there have been moments of pure magic. And maybe we are seeing the end of his golden era...but what a magnificent end it is turning out to be.

********
P.S. I have nothing but affection for Andy Murray, and he will have his time.

The once and future king

Roger Federer made it to the Finals of the French Open. He defeated Novak Djokovic 7-6 6-3 3-6 7-6, bringing the Serb's 41-0 streak to a grinding halt.

A frustrated Novak (Photo from Roland Garros 2011)

And so, a Nadal-Federer final. Just when you begin to think the world is out of joint, something like this happens and restores your faith in humanity.

(Source)

Good Morning Baguio, with Kubi

A quick note before I attend a seminar about how not to eff up so much in class :)

Rako's wound is healing nicely. Yesterday, it looked like he had an extra lip. This morning when I gave him his breakfast, all I could see was a flaming red line on his cheek. This is relatively satisfactory, because the sight of his teeth through the wound was a little unsettling.

Roger lost to Tommy Berdych on Wednesday. I was so sure of the outcome that I went to bed early. I woke up at 2AM and found two messages from Lem: one at 10:15PM asking if I was still awake and another at 10:50PM containing overtones of sympathy. I knew immediately The Fed's match had gone awry. All of yesterday, I was so convinced that it was my fault he lost. If I had watched the entire match, if I had just stayed up long enough to channel him good mojo, it may have turned out differently. Then I went to Jessica Zafra's blog, and she also blames herself. Haha. I think, perhaps, every Federer fan feels somewhat responsible for the loss.

Later.

Happy Inauguration Day

Semi-quiet day at home. In the morning I did a bunch of chores, which made me feel productive enough to lie around for two hours around lunch time. I watched a little bit of the newly sworn in president make the customary inauguration speech. I was unmoved. Rako's bravado got him into a bizarre tug-of-war with Ludwig. In this case, the would-be rope was Rako's face. A short, deep wound now runs down his upper lip. To avoid panic among certain readers, I will try not to mention that I think I could see the inside of his mouth through the wound. Lem assures me that dogs are resilient, but I continue to worry. Rako is napping under the study table, mending.

This afternoon, I read a little bit and thought about the rest of the week. Today feels a little bit like a Sunday, which would make tomorrow a Monday. That is a depressing thought. I'm trying not to get carried away by the sudden slump. Popped in an old DVD of the first (and only) season of Kitchen Confidential. Bradley Cooper is amusing when he is neurotic. It's a shame the series ended too soon, but I suppose the exploits of the real thing are entertainment enough. My friend Hanna lent me her copy of A Cook's Tour. I've taken a hungry bite out of the first few chapters, where Bourdain recounts the slaying of a fattened pig in Portugal. He writes:

I learned, for the first time, that I could indeed look my food in the eyes before eating it - and I came away from the experience, I hope, with considerably more respect for what we call "the ingredient." I am more confirmed than ever in my love for pork, pork fat, and cured pork. And I am less likely to waste it. That's something I owe the pig for. I know now what a pork chop costs in terms of the living, breathing thing that was killed to supply it.

At eight o'clock tonight, I plan to watch Roger Federer play Tommy Berdych in the Men's Quarterfinals. Kim Clijsters took out Justine Henin and later fell to the younger Vera Zvonareva. What does it take for a come-back around here? In other Wimbledon news: John McEnroe wonders when they will get to use the new roof on Centre Court and Alan Wilkins makes an appreciative comment about pineapples from the Philippines (Vijay Amritraj informs us that the pineapple on the Wimbledon trophy is some kind of symbol for wealth.)

I've just about used up my break. Cell organelles and osmosis await me. Later.

It isn't tomorrow yet.

For my return to blogging, I give you...

GELATO!

It is warm tonight, so I am imagining pear-flavored gelato sliding around on my tongue.

I haven't written in a while, and I am as puzzled as you are as to why I'm starting again now. The new school year begins tomorrow, and I have been hired to wreak havoc on impressionable young minds. I should be up to my neck in Zoology books, but here I am blogging. I think this could be the last dregs of my denial.

My quiet life as a patron of the arts (This sounds nicer than penniless bum.) is at an end. I mourn my slow mornings, my stack of unread books and unwatched movies. I mourn my walks with Dog, and the constant battle to entertain myself. I mourn impulsive downloads and random link-clicking and afternoon TV. I mourn curling up on the green couch and relaxing mugs of tea. I mourn free time and series marathons and unplanned naps. I mourn pajamas during the day and successful, experimental lunch recipes. I mourn peace.

Later.

P.S. Roger Federer lost to Robin Soderling in the Quarterfinals of the French Open. I was not as devastated as I should have been. Lem observes that Roger now reacts to losses in a calm, paternal manner. Rafael Nadal inevitably won the final and now believes he can bounce back from his relatively mediocre year. I didn't know The Bicep harbored such confidence issues. Cheers to the new Number One.

Mrs Roger Federer

Mirka took to her new sport quickly. She was a net charger like Martina, a serve and volleyer, and became Swiss junior champion at 15. She never won a WTA title, spending most of her career fighting through qualifying. But she was a comer on the minor-league ITF circuit for a while, winning three tournaments and at one point posting a 12-match winning streak. Her best result at a major was the third round of the 2001 U.S. Open, where she lost to Justine Henin. A long-running series of foot injuries ended her career not long after that.

By then, she and Federer were fully committed. (And she was still a good enough player to serve as Roger’s hitting partner.) It seems it was Federer who was the aggressor back at the beginning of the relationship. At the Sydney Olympics in 2000, Mirka lost in the first round to Elena Dementieva but didn’t escape the notice of her fellow Swiss team member.

"I couldn't work out why he wanted to talk to me so much," she said, according to a 2009 article in the Belfast Telegraph. "Then, near the end of the Games, he kissed me."

Douglas Perry writes about Mirka Vavrinec on The Oregonian.

It's all good

Another birthday has come and gone, and I'm a little bit closer to being a quarter of a century old. I learned, rather painfully, to be more appreciative of the people who truly care for me. Keep your best friends close, your family closer. They will make everyday special for you.

I will also take this opportunity to show off the birthday loot. I sense it will be a good year in words:

I am so far loving A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. The man is hilarious, positively irreverent. You can read his entertaining blog here and his expositions on the Beta Male here. (This is his old blog URL.) The Beta Male Manifesto comes in three parts, and each is incredibly...accurate. Haha.

Here is T-rex taking a chunk out of Totoro's face. Gentle giant meets Jurassic carnivore. You will notice the hilt of a light saber in the background. This is life with a 10-year old boy:

Yesterday, in the jeep on my way home from taking Jake to school (wow, look at all those prepositions), I sat next to a girl reading The Hunger Games. I peeked discreetly over her shoulder and it was the night just before Katniss enters the arena. Oh this girl is in for a treat.

The Australian Open is in full swing. I watched my first match last Tuesday and it couldn't have come at a better time. The opening round match, which was between Roger Federer and Igor Andreev, had an inevitable end, but it was exciting nonetheless. Federer was working out the kinks in his form, poising himself for a long two-week challenge. Unforced errors flew off his racket, shanks left and right. Andreev won the first set and I panicked a little. If you are a Federer fan, I'm sure you understand. Come to think of it, every Federer fan I know has just a hint, if not an abundance, of neurosis. We dwell on the Past and try to predict the Future. And we certainly love greatness. Roger won the match 4-6 6-2 7-6 6-0. I like to think the last bagel was the Champion making a statement. (He played another match earlier this evening against Victor Hanescu. I'd fallen asleep, but it appears to have been a routine thrashing: Federer def. Hanescu 6-2 6-3 6-2. Schedule of Play here.)

Tennis royalty hobnobbing with, er, royalty royalty.

Good TV has also returned to me. Chuck, finally, is back on air. When the second season ended, a third was believed to be non-existent. Because fans clamored for its return, NBC caved and brought it back. Even better news is that the show has been renewed for a full 19-episode season.Woohoo! Episode 4 just aired last Monday. It's been a sweet return thus far.

How I Met Your Mother and The Big Bang Theory have also re-entered my entertainment circuit. And Nicole has just informed me that Leverage has a new episode out. So really, I haven't been particularly busy. Just well-entertained.

Let's take stock. I have a bunch of new books and wonderful people who love me (and whom I love back). My tennis life is resurrected with a grand slam and Roger Federer in good form. And there is riveting TV to numb my optic nerves. I have to admit, this is not a bad way to start my year.

Portrait of an artist as a child

Roger Federer (right) as a young boy. (Photo source. Thanks!)

The Australian Open starts 18 January 2010. So it begins again.

Tennis look-alikes

I got this hilarious YouTube link from Joyce, who was busy swooning over Marat Safin. I always thought Amelie Mauresmo was a disguised man playing in the women's circuit. Federer and Tarantino share a nose. I wonder if Martina Hingis cares that her boyfriend looks like a ruined hobbit. I finally understand where The Djoker finds comic inspiration. Marilyn Manson needs make-up, but Myskina is all natural. Enjoy!

Losing my religion

The 2008 Wimbledon men's final was more than tennis. It was human drama, awesome in its scope and intensity-- the kind of bittersweet story one craves for in sports. After four hours and 48 minutes of stunning play and frayed nerves, Rafael Nadal inched ahead to defeat five-time champion Roger Federer 6-4 6-4 6-7 6-7 9-7. The final moment of that match was nebulous. Nadal's unbridled ecstasy. Federer's look of heartbreaking loss. The crowd rippled with varying degrees of happiness and disappointment. They celebrated with Nadal, but sympathized with Federer. Emotions ran amok.

Just as Nadal's back touched the worn grass on Centre Court, the TV winked out. It was 4am on Monday morning and my champion lost. All the oxygen got sucked out of my living room.

Nadal found the cracks in Federer's armor and bullied his way in. Brute force eventually won out over innovation. The Spaniard was simply unstoppable, persisting with rallies until he had the upper hand. Still, that same pressure pushed Federer to further elevate his game. He fought to the bitter end, shocking everyone with a beautiful backhand return winner even as his opponent served for the championship. The man went out in style.

Looking back, I realize I should have watched the awards ceremony. I should have borne the agony of watching another man lift the Wimbledon trophy. I should have, because Federer did. And did so with grace, knowing he lost to the better man. Even in defeat, he sets the example for the rest of us.

I am not alone in my grief. Eben Harrell comes to terms with the fall of our hero, saying that Federer's loss spells the death of beauty.

There can only be one

The thing about blogging is it's addicitive. More, more. I want some more!

I was too emotional to write about it then but Roger Federer beat Rafael Nadal 7-6 4-6 7-6 2-6 6-2 in the Wimbledon 2007 final to join Bjorn Borg in the Five-Wimbledons-in-a-Row Club. Federer has been accused of not being able to hack it in five-set matches. But in glorious and convincing fashion, he showed us all he wasn't going to take shit from anyone on grass. Five sets of utter nail-biting, hair-grabbing excitement. Bliss.

In the fifth set, Federer had to face break points in two consecutive service games. He saved them, and went on to break Nadal. Grace under pressure. Calm in the face of near-defeat. It was a stunning display of resilience and genius from both players. Epic.

Watching a replay of history

I waited and waited but stupid Star Sports wouldn't show the Masters Hamburg final. They kept showing MotoGP and football. Good grief, there's football everyday. Couldn't I have just that one match? I called it a night and disappeared into the dark oblivion of my room. At around midnight, I woke up and decided to see if I would be rewarded a replay. I was. The waiting was oh-so-worth-it.

Roger Federer (SUI) def Rafael Nadal (ESP) 2-6 6-2 6-0

Federer rallied from a set down to win the third clay court title of the season, snapping Nadal's 81-match winning streak on clay. I stayed home from work today as I have been infected by some bug. (I can watch another replay!) That's the clinical diagnosis. But I suspect it might be because the impact of Federer beating Nadal on a clay court is too immense for my puny mortal mind to comprehend.

In the decider, it looked as if Roger was up to a shaky start. Nadal was on his heels, but he found his rhythm and all that had been missing in the last five tournaments had returned. He was serving well, his forehand was point-blank, and his movements were cat-like. He kept getting around the ball to deliver punching forehands. In the final game on Nadal's serve, you could see that Federer had entered a balance. His shoulders were relaxed and open, it was like he was dancing. Ah...it was magical. Federer bageled Nadal on the latter's favorite court. Talk about getting out of a rut.

Immortality - take it, it's yours!

Update (28 March 2007): Revenge didn't happen, folks. There must be some weird ripple in the multiverse because Roger seems to be playing like shit. So I suppose Cañas winning at Indian Wells was no fluke. The guy has balls. But ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. Roger looked really dejected after the match. I don't blame him. Back to back losses -that's gotta hurt. Good grief, I hurt. My let's-go-numb mechanism has flipped on.

Elsewhere in the tennis world, Serena Williams beat Maria Sharapova 6-1 6-1. Go Serena! Maria seems too perfect: she's articulate, talented, tall and leggy, and has millions of dollars in endorsements. It's good to see her go down once in a while. At least the rest of womanhood isn't so far behind. Haha.

**********

Sufferin' succotash. I woke up at 2am this morning to watch Roger beat the living daylights out of poor Nicolas Almagro in the third round of the Sony Ericsson Open in Miami. When I got to work this morning, I was smashed. I thought I would have a good night's sleep this evening, but apparently, I was wrong. Roger is scheduled to play Cañas later tonight. Woo-hoo! Revenge - I can already taste it. It tastes a bit like chicharon bulaklak. Utterly satisfying.

Side news from a lowly mortal

Greatness attracts greatness, I suppose. Check out Roger hanging out with Tiger Woods in Miami.

We still love him anyway

Canas (ARG) def Federer (SUI)
7-5, 6-2

Lem texted this morning to report that Roger lost to one Guillermo Canas in the first round of the Pacific Life Open. I know that Roger's going to lose to someone eventually, but everytime I hear that he lost a match, my chest caves in. My heart literally breaks. When he lost to Nadal in the Rome Masters last April, I experienced a slight identity crisis. I was re-evaluating my whole existence when I realized he can't win 'em all. I gained a nugget of wisdom that time, but I was crushed all the same when Andy Murray beat him in Cincinnati in the latter part of last year. And when he lost to Andy Roddick in January. Roger, though, takes it in stride. He doesn't smash his racquet on the court or scream in frustration. He says "Congratulations. Great match." and goes on his way. In his press conferences, he even puts in a good word for his opponent. Very diplomatic. He's a gracious loser. That's what makes him a champion.

Since Roger is too affable to act like a sore loser, I realize it is my job to do the racquet-smashing for him. I get to be unfair to his opponents and make it personal. Being the crazed fan, I can roar and cuss in frustration. I can wallow in his defeat because I can afford to. Leave it to Roger to be mature and leave it to me to be the bawling kid.

(If you want to feel better about this loss by re-living a glory moment, read this old post on Federer winning the 2006 US Open: Champions I)