Rafael Nadal won fewer trophies than Novak Djokovic and enjoyed slightly less favour, at least in the Anglosphere, than Roger Federer. He wasn’t quite as much of a perfectionist as Djokovic, and he wasn’t quite as suave as Federer.
We’re splitting hairs, of course, now a thinning commodity for two of the three. Nadal’s everlasting mark is that he sits as a peer and equal with the other two in the troika that ruled men’s tennis, benignly but absolutely, in the first quarter of the 21st century. That is laurels on which any backside could happily rest.
Rafael Nadal wins another point.Credit: AP
Now only Djokovic remains, and his cloak of invincibility is beginning to fray. Sporting immortality has a short half-life.
Nadal will be remembered for his scarcely credible 14 French Open wins – no feet of clay were ever so infallible – and for his pronounced winning record against Federer. He also had a near break-even record against Djokovic, who statistically and perhaps justly will go down as the greatest of all.
If that was all, it would be enough. But it’s not, of course. As the richest, most universal and highest-profile individual sportspeople, tennis players have unique celebrity. It means that they are constantly on show. Federer was insouciant on the court and displayed an almost goofy charm off it. Djokovic is precision machined in all his endeavours.
But neither ever would nor will prompt a paean like this from a magazine writer once: “Nadal’s golden umber skin, inky deep-set eyes and prominent cheekbones evoke 19th century paintings of Mayan chiefs.” There followed addenda about the “smooth expanse of his shoulders, the curve of his lower back”, “clinging boxer shorts”, “snug denims” and “animal magnetism no woman could fail to register”.
Rafael Nadal at the French Open, his natural habitat.Credit: Getty Images
All that, and 22 majors, too; some people have all the genes.
Nadal was born with a competitive instinct that meant he would wrench back from impossibly lost positions points and sets and sometimes matches. All champions have this quality, but in Nadal it was more palpable than in most. He was loved for it.
The wrist in question: Nadal gets treatment during the quarter-final.Credit: AP
“I love the competition, not only in tennis,” he once said. “I love the competition in all aspects of life. I love to be there and fight for the win. Maybe I like fighting more than winning.”
His strenuous style took a toll. He suffered injuries to his knee, foot, wrist, abdomen and ribs, to name some. It was as if his game kept shaking his body apart. One of his less highlighted achievements simply is his longevity.
He emerged at a younger age than Federer and Djokovic, winning his first major two days after his 19th birthday (Roland-Garros, of course). By 22, some were starting to predict early burnout, a la Bjorn Borg, who was done at 26.
Yet Nadal was still winning majors at 36, and not just in Paris. His recovery from two sets down to beat Daniil Medvedev in the final of the Australian Open that year was as memorable a match as any in the tournament’s recent history.
Only in the past two years has the grind at last overwhelmed Nadal; he has played just 23 matches in that time, just three at majors. He became like an old car, with an engine still good for another 100,000 kilometres, but an unroadworthy body. The frustration was easy to read in his retirement announcement.
Part of the appeal of the supreme trio is that each had a distinctive style, as if playing assigned roles. Left-handed Nadal had that flourish of a forehand, hit with so much topspin that the ball appeared to elongate in flight and sometimes reach his opponent at head height. It wasn’t fair, but big-time sport is not always about fairness. Mastery trumps it.
Rafael Nadal comes back to beat Daniil Medvedev in the 2022 Australian Open final.Credit: Getty Images.
In contrast to the orthodox ways of his peers, Nadal had OC mannerisms and tics that somehow endeared him further to fans: the way he would repeatedly adjust developing wedgies in his early days – it wasn’t just the denims that were snug – the scrupulous avoidance of lines when changing ends. These also defined him.
Then there was his courtliness. Once they’d overcome youthful intemperance, the three together elevated the sport with the way they conducted themselves.
Tennis is unique in that it is one on one, intensely physical and yet contact-free. Some overflow of emotions is sometimes inevitable, yet the three managed to set and maintain new standards for courtesy and respect. You remember the exceptions because they were so rare. Contrast it to Alexander Zverev, the Karen of contemporary tennis.
Nadal’s particular contribution to nobility was sometimes when injured to limp through to certain defeat rather than retire and make an anti-climax of his opponent’s triumph. One such occasion was the 2014 Australian Open final against Stan Wawrinka, who won his first major.
It won’t do to overplay the cuddly Rafa persona. The tennis bubble is big and insular and sycophantic and traps even those with the best will. Nadal, wealthy beyond all knowing, could not resist tacky commercial ventures, nor recently the green-washed Saudi dollars. He’s far from alone, but ever so slightly, this diminished him.
Henri Leconte once protested to Ivan Lendl in an Australian Open match in which Lendl, leading by two sets and a break, was challenging a marginal line call: “Ivan, you don’t need the point.” Likewise, we could say to Rafa, you don’t need the money.
But Nadal’s gilded place in posterity is secure. In time, we will thank him further for whatever inspiration he gave to compatriot Carlos Alcaraz, whose burgeoning rivalry with Jannik Sinner – perhaps with Medvedev as the quirky third wheel – is pointing the game in an exciting new direction to follow the Djokovic-Federer-Nadal dynasty.
Otherwise, we would have had only the much-feared return of the man-brat Nick Kyrgios to dwell upon.
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