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THere is the best list in the second part of four articles about Spain’s greatest football player. It’s 2007 and Roger Federer and Rafa Nadal are taking to Wimbledon’s Center Court to play their final match. Federer is calm and a little calm; hair floating on her head, wearing a white blazer. Nadal walks behind him, wearing a vest and baggy shorts, shiny hair and wild eyes, looking for all the world like a handsome young man. It captures his first impression: in his early years, Nadal was the first, the fastest and the most charismatic: equal parts tennis player, sports champion and football player.
It feels like our sports legends are being forced off the field. Lionel Messi (38) and Cristiano Ronaldo (41) have both been at this summer’s World Cup. One of England’s most successful cricketers, James Anderson, turns 44 this year and is still active in the County Championship. Being incredibly smart at something requires laser focus, but unlike music or acting or writing, there’s a lot better before the day. And when that day passes, there is a big, scary problem. If the miracles of modern medicine allow you to continue, it is very difficult to leave.
As well as tracing Nadal’s remarkable career from his childhood in Mallorca to its full fulfilment, this series should serve as a meditation on this question. What keeps a man like Nadal going? In terms of accessibility, it couldn’t come close. Nadal himself talks at length, as do his wife, his coaches, his parents, his famous opponents, and many of his doctors.
Access, however, is not the same as awareness. Obviously, this list is close to a problem. It is too close to the head to allow much thought. We find out what Nadal achieved and how he did it. What led to his desire for praise was not impressive. He is friendly if somewhere to watch the trouble. At one point he mentions his wife, Maria, as “the most important support for me”. The language seems distant. There are many Rafa’s that we are not getting to here. There is a sense that, like the best performers, he is an unusual person. But it doesn’t just overshadow the movie’s high-quality graphics.
Instead of awareness, there are details. There is an in-depth analysis of his early rivalry with Federer. Carefully follow the baton going to Novak Djokovic, who will be his bete noire in the following years. There are endless, sad descriptions of Nadal’s injury struggles. Massage. Hold on. X-ray. Painful words in the back of cars after bad medical news. “I’m the best diving player in the history of our sport,” Nadal laughs wryly. His sport was based on endurance; forcing his opponent to play another ball. In different areas, this list requires similar levels of commitment.
And it’s annoying, because the little things make it worth sticking to. There are beautiful pictures of his early years, the pocket player playing youth sports in Mallorca. His victory in the 2004 Davis Cup where, he was among the hundreds in the world and to his delight and surprise, he beat world No 2 Andy Roddick. We see him walking with his young son, known as “Rafalet”. But there is a weight in the narrative that doesn’t seem justified because of its unrelenting, unprecedented success. There is zero levity. Never laugh. Instead, it oscillates between extreme happiness and utter depression. It consists of two articles. Maybe this is all that the gym allows? It would be good for the person to feel better. Maybe some cracks would let the light in?
In some ways, this series is at its best during the game as an unlimited number of things. Sports are good for advertising time, each team or winner brings thousands of idle followers; an endlessly endless race for new stories. Sport is the best way to make your own TV. For this to happen, it must mean everything. Respect is the principle. It must be necessary, absolutely and completely, or it is not worth doing at all.
There’s no need to pretend that this isn’t a deeper dive than it would be for the average viewer. But for the real Rafa-stan, it’s a gold mine. In the fourth round, Nadal announces to his family that he has decided to retire. He said: “Don’t tell anyone. But again and again, we get to witness that time. It feeds into the parasocial pseudo-intimacy that creates this kind of series. And here, perhaps, is a measure of redemption for the sports hero reluctantly retiring in the modern era. Perhaps the last message here is being sent to the old masters. Surprised by the coming, dangerous place? Don’t worry: through the afterlife, it’s not over.
