Graphic: the tale of the tape

A few weeks after winning his first senior Wimbledon title, Roger Federer toyed with the thought that he might one day break the record for grand slam titles, 14, held by Pete Sampras.

“I’m so happy just to have won one,” Federer said in the summer of 2003. “But will I win 15? I don’t know. The strength of the game is against it. In any case, I have to wait two more years to find out how good I am.” Two years later, by which time he had five grand slam titles, he knew and we knew how good he could be, and today, when he may well win grand slam title No 15, we have to say he is better still.

As well as the thundering beauty of his game, there are many statistics to back up his status as the game’s most winning phenomenon. For example, he is contesting his seventh successive Wimbledon final and he has reached the semi-final round of the past 21 grand slam tournaments. Those achievements defy belief, but one hard fact is surely conclusive: it has taken him six years to equal a total of grand slam victories that took Sampras twice as many years to amass.

Of late, it has hardly been plain sailing. Five months ago, when Federer lost the final of the Australian Open to Rafael Nadal, he gave way to tears. He had already ceded the No 1 ranking to Nadal; he had been humiliated by the Spaniard on clay at Roland Garros and had even lost to him at Wimbledon, albeit heroically in the epic final last year. Nadal had proved his superiority beyond question and on every surface, and the consensus was that if anyone might achieve the Holy Grail of winning all four grand slam championships in a single year, it would not be Federer, as we had all assumed, but his nemesis.

Towards the end of that final in Melbourne, Federer seemed an emotional wreck. He was at a loss, perplexed and negative, afraid to attack. His service and forehand, always his chief weapons, went missing and Nadal easily beat him, for the fifth time in a grand slam final.

The tears suggested self-pity and most believed that the assertion that Federer was the greatest player ever had been proved hollow. And when Federer himself insisted that his pride and ambition had not been badly wounded, that too seemed hollow, as hollow, in fact, as his belief that he could one day win the one grand slam championship to elude him, the French.

So great is the change in climate between then and now that some explanation is demanded. It comes in two parts: Nadal was first injured, now absent; and Federer, having hit rock bottom, managed to throw off his chains and rise once more to his majestic best.

They met again in May in the final of the Madrid Open, on clay. Nadal, naturally, was a firm favourite, but Federer, who had spent time away from the circuit, working on his fitness and strokes, was inspired that day, attacking flat out, choosing his shots by instinct, taking the ball early and calling the tune in rally after rally. He served brilliantly.

There was one especially telling moment. When Federer served for the match at five games to four in the second set, he fell behind 15-40, and missed his first serve. Nadal is never more dangerous than when cornered and a fightback seemed guaranteed. Usually, Federer would have served his second serve wide to Nadal’s backhand. Nadal guessed as much and ran to his right to hit his forehand. Federer read the move and calmly served a three-quarter speed ace down the middle. Nadal, outwitted, was soon down and out.

The axis of power in men’s tennis shifted right there. In the next tournament, the French Open, Nadal, hampered by tendonitis in his knees, was hit off the court by Robin Soderling. Federer, playing with a freedom that had been long missing and able to fight calmly when in trouble, completed his collection of grand-slam titles.

Every opponent, and especially Andy Roddick today, should fear the liberating effect of that victory. In 2003, when Federer won his first grand slam title, he spoke of a similar feeling. “There was all the pressure of having to do it, of being expected to win a grand slam,” he said.” I was afraid of being put in the box of losers, underachievers, fancy players who didn’t make it. It has been a nightmare for me, but now it’s over. Now I start again from zero.” Once again, he is starting from zero, attacking rather than defending his position. He has won 18 matches in succession, starting in Madrid, and has become instinctive again, sometimes even playful.