I'm not really going to talk about the match here too much. There's no point. Enough has been written. By me. By great sportswriters. By whole damn books and documentaries and the like. Really, there's no point in rehashing the match - back at a time when Roger Federer had 12 majors, Rafael Nadal had five, and Novak Djokovic had one (count since - including this match - is Federer = 8, Nadal = 12, Djokovic = 14). The match was amazing, sure, but I want to talk about how I watched the game. It was at my house, with my late Aunt visiting. I remember her (and her two sons, who both live in the US) watching the match with us, through the rain delays, through the madness. And I remember that this was one of my last memories of her, as she would die about two months later.
I've suffered more loss in my life than I should. Now, I've suffered less than most as well. My parents are both alive and well. My sister is alive and well. So my immediate family is fine.
But when you get past them, it gets a bit more grim. Both my grandfathers died before I was born, one way before (1973), and the other five years before (1986). I met my grandmothers many times, and still have memories of both of them, but my paternal grandmother died in 2002, two days before her 80th birthday, and my maternal grandmother, probably the grandparent I remembered the most, the one we called 'mummy', died in 2007, the year of her 75th birthday.
I had an uncle (my Mom's older brother) die in 1989 (before I was born). I had my dad's brother-in-law (my Autn's husband) die in 1996. I had my dad's brother die in 1999. So I've had to live with my fair share of loss - even if it wasn't my parents or my siblings, it was my parents' parents and my parent's siblings.
Putting aside my Aunt who this story is about, other than mummy (and my Aunt - Uncle's wife - who passed in 2014, after the time period of this story), none of these people I remember. But luckily then, I don't remember the loss either. I don't really remember losing my Uncle Bobby or my Uncle Silvie, and obviously have no memories of my two patriarchs, including the man whose name i still carry - Menezes.
But my Aunt Lolita I do remember. I remember the last time I met her in 2008, the last memory being Nadal's Wimbledon win. Because I remember that, I remember the previous times, be it 2003, or 2001, or in the 90's when we used her flat in Mumbai as a base. It's sad really that I love the fact I at least remember her death, because then I do remember her life with it.
I never knew Auntie Lolita was a sports fan, and I in truth have no idea if she was, but she was a tennis fan, and if memory serves, she rooted for Nadal that day. Of course, so did I, and watching Rafael Nadal conquer Wimbledon, conquer Federer, was such a thrilling experience. Even if Novak Djokovic ends up with 24 majors and is the best male player ever, in any tennis fan's heart (or tennis historian's heart), the 2008 Wimbledon Final will remain the pinnacle of the sport.
The only sporting event I can reasonably compare it to in terms of storylinges and drama was the 2006 AFC Championship Game with Manning's Colts finally beating Brady's Patriots (screw me that a good dozen years later, Brady is still winning Super Bowls!). The ridiculous storylines were similar, with the young buck finally beating the old champion (forget for a moment that Brady is younger than Manning in this analogy). It was a perfect confluence of story and drama in a pre-social media world.
2008 was a seminal year in my life in many ways, the year I finished Junior year with aplomb, and started senior year with drastic senioritis that may not have escaped me through to today. It was the year I was left alone for a summer and grew to love driving. It was the year I rented way too much for Blockbuster (talk about the past!). It was the year I grew to love the NFL more than ever, the year I grew to love soccer more than ever through Euro 2008, and the year that Nadal beat Federer., Not lost in all that wass it being the year that my Aunt came to visit.
She had come before, even recently enough that I remembered previous visits. But from the day she arrived, we all had an inkling it would sadly be her last. She was sick, that all we knew. She was so sick it was a mystery how she made it to the US in the first place. My dad tells a story that despite being warned of her condition, he was so taken aback when she arrived to our house, he immediately called his brother and they cried together. I can't imagine the feeling, the shock, the sadness.
But if anything defined my Aunt's life, it was trying to always see the bright side and experience the best in life. Despite being so ill, she came with us to Manhattan and brought my Dad out to the dance floor in a NYC lounge where an Eagles cover band was playing. The Eagles is the band that defines my family for some reason, and it is not lost on me the beauty of that show being one of her last nights with us.
Even the day of the final itself, she wanted to stay watching the match instaed of turning off the TV in the numerous rain delays. She always wanted to experience the great things in life, and in the Summer of 2008, Nadal v. Federe was about as great as it comes.
I don't know if it is a good thing that sports is the reason I have connections to so many events, that I can instantly go back in time to a memory. Be it the last memories of my Aunt, or my last MUN trip the next March, or the joy of driving when Kansas beat Memphis, or late nights in Bangalore huddled up against a TV.
This whole series, sixteen parts and two years in, has been a series in catharsis, but this is the first time I've connected sports to one of the darkest, saddest events in my life. Sadly, I can do that some more, be it my other Aunt's month's mind (one-month death anniversary) happening the same day here local Patriots beat the Seahawks to win Super Bowl XLIX, or a few others, but this one would always stand out. I don't know if I knew at the time that her days were numbered, but all I knew is I enjoyed watching my Aunt Lolita enjoying watching my favorite tennis player win Wimbledon.
I've suffered more loss in my life than I should. Now, I've suffered less than most as well. My parents are both alive and well. My sister is alive and well. So my immediate family is fine.
But when you get past them, it gets a bit more grim. Both my grandfathers died before I was born, one way before (1973), and the other five years before (1986). I met my grandmothers many times, and still have memories of both of them, but my paternal grandmother died in 2002, two days before her 80th birthday, and my maternal grandmother, probably the grandparent I remembered the most, the one we called 'mummy', died in 2007, the year of her 75th birthday.
I had an uncle (my Mom's older brother) die in 1989 (before I was born). I had my dad's brother-in-law (my Autn's husband) die in 1996. I had my dad's brother die in 1999. So I've had to live with my fair share of loss - even if it wasn't my parents or my siblings, it was my parents' parents and my parent's siblings.
Putting aside my Aunt who this story is about, other than mummy (and my Aunt - Uncle's wife - who passed in 2014, after the time period of this story), none of these people I remember. But luckily then, I don't remember the loss either. I don't really remember losing my Uncle Bobby or my Uncle Silvie, and obviously have no memories of my two patriarchs, including the man whose name i still carry - Menezes.
But my Aunt Lolita I do remember. I remember the last time I met her in 2008, the last memory being Nadal's Wimbledon win. Because I remember that, I remember the previous times, be it 2003, or 2001, or in the 90's when we used her flat in Mumbai as a base. It's sad really that I love the fact I at least remember her death, because then I do remember her life with it.
I never knew Auntie Lolita was a sports fan, and I in truth have no idea if she was, but she was a tennis fan, and if memory serves, she rooted for Nadal that day. Of course, so did I, and watching Rafael Nadal conquer Wimbledon, conquer Federer, was such a thrilling experience. Even if Novak Djokovic ends up with 24 majors and is the best male player ever, in any tennis fan's heart (or tennis historian's heart), the 2008 Wimbledon Final will remain the pinnacle of the sport.
The only sporting event I can reasonably compare it to in terms of storylinges and drama was the 2006 AFC Championship Game with Manning's Colts finally beating Brady's Patriots (screw me that a good dozen years later, Brady is still winning Super Bowls!). The ridiculous storylines were similar, with the young buck finally beating the old champion (forget for a moment that Brady is younger than Manning in this analogy). It was a perfect confluence of story and drama in a pre-social media world.
2008 was a seminal year in my life in many ways, the year I finished Junior year with aplomb, and started senior year with drastic senioritis that may not have escaped me through to today. It was the year I was left alone for a summer and grew to love driving. It was the year I rented way too much for Blockbuster (talk about the past!). It was the year I grew to love the NFL more than ever, the year I grew to love soccer more than ever through Euro 2008, and the year that Nadal beat Federer., Not lost in all that wass it being the year that my Aunt came to visit.
She had come before, even recently enough that I remembered previous visits. But from the day she arrived, we all had an inkling it would sadly be her last. She was sick, that all we knew. She was so sick it was a mystery how she made it to the US in the first place. My dad tells a story that despite being warned of her condition, he was so taken aback when she arrived to our house, he immediately called his brother and they cried together. I can't imagine the feeling, the shock, the sadness.
But if anything defined my Aunt's life, it was trying to always see the bright side and experience the best in life. Despite being so ill, she came with us to Manhattan and brought my Dad out to the dance floor in a NYC lounge where an Eagles cover band was playing. The Eagles is the band that defines my family for some reason, and it is not lost on me the beauty of that show being one of her last nights with us.
Even the day of the final itself, she wanted to stay watching the match instaed of turning off the TV in the numerous rain delays. She always wanted to experience the great things in life, and in the Summer of 2008, Nadal v. Federe was about as great as it comes.
I don't know if it is a good thing that sports is the reason I have connections to so many events, that I can instantly go back in time to a memory. Be it the last memories of my Aunt, or my last MUN trip the next March, or the joy of driving when Kansas beat Memphis, or late nights in Bangalore huddled up against a TV.
This whole series, sixteen parts and two years in, has been a series in catharsis, but this is the first time I've connected sports to one of the darkest, saddest events in my life. Sadly, I can do that some more, be it my other Aunt's month's mind (one-month death anniversary) happening the same day here local Patriots beat the Seahawks to win Super Bowl XLIX, or a few others, but this one would always stand out. I don't know if I knew at the time that her days were numbered, but all I knew is I enjoyed watching my Aunt Lolita enjoying watching my favorite tennis player win Wimbledon.
