September 14th, 2009
[As previous posts suggested, 2009 was the pivotal year in Roger Federer’s career. He not only surpassed Pete Sampras’s Grand Slam singles title record, he also completed his career Grand Slam—becoming just the third man (since then, Nadal has joined the company) in the Open era to have won all four major singles titles. But he was unexpectedly ambushed at the US Open by Juan Martin del Potro, 6, 7-6, 4-6, 7-6, 6-2.]
At the beginning, he resembled a plodding, hunch-shouldered, heavy-footed gentle giant, as long as a black Crayola crayon, consistently flummoxed by an opponent who strikes like a cobra from anywhere on the court and moves as if he were dancing with a ball named Ginger Rogers.
It couldn’t have been easy for the big man with the suitably big name, Juan Martin del Potro, in those first 15 or so games. He’d tossed and turned through a sleepless night like a man who would be executed at dawn, and forced down breakfast over the objections of his jumpy stomach. He’s one of those big men who seems loath to draw attention to himself; he mumbles in a monotone, when he sits down he appears to try to make himself small. Upon first exposure, you might be convinced he’s clinically depressed.
And Juan Martin del Potro certainly had reason to shut down, emotionally and mentally, through the early stages of his first Grand Slam final. This was, after all, the US Open, the tournament that he dreamed about winning as a child back in Tandil, Argentina. And when he was at the brink of realizing that fantasy, who did he find blocking his path but Roger Federer. Not only was Federer the five-time defending champion, he had slashed his way through five different finalists in that 40-match supernova. Del Potro could be forgiven for feeling a little like a customer in a bakery, clutching his numbered ticket, patiently waiting for his turn to take a beating.
By the end, though, del Potro looked more executioner than convict; if he wasn’t exactly dancing, his feet were getting him where he needed to go. He stood tall and erect, emboldened by the reliable thunder emanating from his racquet. Were those really wings, sprouting from his shoulder blades?
The distinguishing feature of del Potro’s gritty performance on the concrete playing field of Arthur Ashe stadium was that he found a way to stand tall, to be what he is, and what he is tonight is the new US Open champion.
“It’s so difficult to keep trying, to keep fighting,” he said after his 3-6, 7-6, 4-6, 7-6, 6-2 win—the first USO men’s final to go five sets since Andre Agassi’s five-set triumph over Todd Martin in 1999. “But the fans kept me trying, and I have to thank everyone for that. I succeed to be focused every time, and I had a good feeling with my forehand.”
He had good reason to harbor those feelings. Del Potro was consistently cracking forehand winners at 110 mph, and that’s the kind of speed that, over time, even a Roger Federer can’t handle. The combination of a faster court and a flatter ball took us to the edge of Federer’s genius—finally. Still, it wasn’t as if the versatile defending champion didn’t have his chances.
Del Potro didn’t really catch fire until Federer was up a set and a break, 5-4 in the second set. If Federer had found a way to hold that game, even Delpo’s forehand was unlikely to save him from perdition. But Delpo’s resistance stiffened at the 11th hour, and he uncorked a picture-perfect forehand passing shot to break Federer for 5-5. Playing with newfound fury, forcing himself to hit with sufficient length to keep Federer on the defensive, he rolled into a tiebreaker and right on through it, to even the match.
Federer probably transitions from defense to offense better than any man, but over the remainder of the match del Potro played a form of uber-defense that closed down Federer’s offense option. Both men hit an unusual number of remarkable shots from deep behind the baseline to keep a point going. But it was del Potro who made the better use of them.
Del Potro converted 5 of 15 break point opportunities. It wouldn’t ordinarily be a number to crow about—until you see that Federer’s conversion rate was 5 of 22. Delpo had one more winner (57) and two fewer unforced errors (60). What these numbers tell you, most of all, is that this was a shoot-out. The most striking statistic is that del Potro had 37 forehand winners, nearly twice as many as Federer, who tagged 20.
The sense I got, as the match progressed, is that the court was much larger on del Potro’s side; this would ordinarily be seen as a great advantage in a match against as accurate and precise a shotmaker as Federer, but del Potro neutralized it. Time after time, he appeared to disappear into either corner, chasing a ball, and the next thing you knew Federer was having to chase down his scorching return. Federer was unable to capitalize on defending a court that seemed much smaller on his side because of del Potro’s range and power. By the time the fifth set began, del Potro was in a comfort zone, having taken a little off the serve that had cost him the third set in the form of two double faults hit from deuce.
Federer said of del Potro’s performance:
It’s always an amazing effort coming through and winning your first [major] in your first final. Got to give him all the credit because it’s not an easy thing to do, especially coming out against someone like me, with so much experience. I think it’s not easy to have a steel racquet.
“Towards the end, of course, up 5-2 in the fifth—that was easy. But he had to live through some really tough moments earlier on, and in both tiebreakers, throughout those sets to come back. So his effort was fantastic. I thought he went through quite a few ups and downs. This is what I should have used to make a difference, but I couldn’t. In the end, he was really good.
Del Potro was not just good, he was emotionally fried. Tears that would flow freely a few minutes later were already welling up in him as he sank to the ground, the US Open champion. “When I lay down on the floor [sic],” he explained later, “Many things came to my mind. First, my family, my friends, everything. I don’t know how to explain, because it’s my dream, my dream is done and it’s over. I will go home with the trophy. Maybe I can explain tomorrow, maybe next week. Right now, I don’t understand nothing.”
When del Potro was asked how he recovered from that awful pair of double faults that lost him the third set, and how he caught himself and stopped just as he was poised to hurl his racquet across the court, he explained: “At that moment, I start to think, It’s the final, I am playing with Roger Federer, the best player in history. . .When I saw Roger and he’s so. . . so gentleman [I thought better of it]. So many times I do that today.”
It will be cold comfort to Federer and his fans that the already iconic champion played that kind of a role in the debut of a new, promising one. But that, too, is part of the Federer legacy, and his heartbroken minions might remember something else he said:
“Five was great, four was great, too. Six would have been a dream, too. Can’t have them all. I’ve had an amazing summer and a great run. I’m not too disappointed, just because I thought I played another wonderful tournament.”
There will be more, too, although he will henceforth have to contend with the del Potro and his racquet—and will—of steel.