You all know the story of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. I'm here to tell you something about Roger Federer. He's no Icarus. Dude landed on the sun last night, still so cool that his feet melted two nice little holes on the surface; all you need to add is the "close parenthesis" and you've got a smiley face icon! And that may be the most counter-intuitive thing of all, when it comes to Roger Federer's slash through the tennis history books. He makes his way with such apparent ease. With such unqualified grace. With such good humor, to blunt the bone-chilling inevitability. Last night, he hit double figures in his quest for Grand Slam titles; he now has 10. Anybody want to fast forward to 20 and drop in to see how he's doing?
Shortly after the match last night, he seemed to be doing pretty danged well. A group of us hallway surfers were gathered outside the locker room, shoving microphones in Larry Stefanki's face. He'd had a few beers, it seemed, and he was waxing philosophical and making a lot of sense. A moment later, the door to the locker room opened and out strolled Roger. As he passed by us, he called out, "Is that so Larry?" He was laughing. He kept right on going, around the corner, to do God knows what end (collecting his 11th Grand Slam title, thereby saving a trip to Paris?).
Five minutes later, while Larry was floating the theory that, tonight,his boy Fernando Gonzalez had been "thrown under the bus" (coaching patois for being flung into his first Grand Slam final against perhaps the greatest player of all time), Federer came back from his errand. Eyes sparkling, he quipped as he strolled by, "Yeah, right!"
"***hole," Stefanki retorted.
So does Stefanki not like