An ode to The Master

So it won't be a record 24th consecutive Grand Slam semi-final for the Swiss Master. Robin Soderling has brutally broken his run which, though destined to be broken someday (he is human after all, despite all the evidence to the contrary over the years), had already assumed impossible proportions. 23 consecutive semi-finals is ridiculously freakish. That is almost six years of domination at the highest level. That the next best in the list is 10 goes one to show the magnitude of Roger Federer's achievement. And suddenly, one wishes to express his gratitude for having seen history being created for six glorious years.

So its time to let loose today. Let loose all the emotions that have been building up over the years that feared such a day as this.

O Absolute Master, this does not mean that you are on the decline. Even if the razor sharp consistency has waned over the years, you are still someone who the tennis world is fortunate to have. It is you who are still one of the greatest to have ever picked up a racquet. And thank heavens you did, for otherwise we would have been deprived of witnessing the magic that you produce, so regularly and so enchantingly. You, who in this age, when brutal muscular power is the norm on court, have the gall to play that most delicate of drop shots, you who pick the half volley as if you were picking a fallen leaf, you who have that frustratingly vulnerable and deliciously beautiful backhand, watching which is almost like getting a visual orgasm. You who unfurl that cross court backhand like a violinist producing another soft note, you who do the ballet on court, you who bring grace to the men's game which even the women's game lacks (as it is pummeled into oblivion by its Williams double act).

The crowds refuse to believe their  own eyes when they see you losing. They will you on even when they know you have all but lost, because they can't bear to see you lose, they cry with you, they laugh with you, they are enthralled by you. When you are down and almost out, and yet find the time to produce the magic of a precise drop shot when your opponent expects a booming passing shot, the crowd know what they are seeing is something that goes beyond winning and losing. What they are seeing is man at his very best, man creating something that transcends, that endures.

And know then, O Master, that you have elevated the art of hitting a tennis ball to a plane where it feels all surreal. Know also that you will always be loved and revered, no matter what. And lastly, also know that despite all the powerful one dimensional hitters that this age is condemned to witness, there will only be one Roger Federer. And that is the way it will remain. For all eternity to come. Take a bow, Master. And do not be too hard on yourself. You have had just one off day in six years.