SINGAPORE: I used to root against Roger Federer whenever he glided across my television screen.Yes, against him.It was possibly because my younger brother was a Federer fan, but probably because the man seemed simply invincible.
Backhands sliced with exquisite perfection, forehand winners swept past desperate lunges, cross-court volleys hit with inch-perfect precision.Federer had a magician's repertoire.
A hint of a smile, a pump of the fist, a wave to the crowd. Little sound, not much sweat.Match after match, Grand Slam after Grand Slam, the juggernaut rolled on.
After all, there is a reason why he is nicknamed Federer Express. It was a little infuriating how good he was to the teenage me.
Related News