I can't remember the last time Nadal played a major match that felt quite like this one. Sure, he played a brilliant five set match against Djokovic at Wimbledon last year - but that was against Djokovic. Ever since Nadal and Federer's renaissance in 2017 (and Djokovic's own renaissance the next year), games between two of those three are in their own sphere, with the weight of the GOAT title hanging over every second. This was half that - I mean, Nadal's case grew a lot stronger with a win - but this was against a contender, a regular player. It allowed me to just sit back and watch Nadal play a match where a loss wouldn't directly help his two main rivals, but a win would so god damn much.
Tennis is interesting because while we can marvel at the incredible physicality and artistry and chess playing and everything else purely athletic that goes on within points, what makes it so lasting, so incredible draining, so damn fun, is what happens between them. The roars when a point ends. The emotional stress on the players that permeates through the TV screen like water through a napkin. You can feel it. You can barely believe it. That is what makes this sport great, and it was so good to experience that again.
Sure, had Nadal thrown away the match, to a player every single bit his equal on that day, I wouldn't be writing this. The margins between the emotional pain and strain and gain of a five set classic being a true sports utopia and a bottomless pit of fuzzy-balled despair is slim. But that is the fun, isn't it?
To talk about the actual game for a few minutes, what was so surprising was how from the end of the third set through the early fifth it was clear that for once, Nadal was clearly the more tired player. Medvedev was stronger, faster, more fit at that moment. He was tracking down more balls, making Nadal hit extra shots. Nadal was the one giving up on points, be it drop-shots, ill-advised attempted winners, or just letting balls go by. But then Nadal was called for a time violation (valid) on break point, and it all turned. Suddenly, Rafa had life, Rafa had fight, Rafa had spirit, and we woudl witness the end of a classic.
Rafael Nadal is an experience. For a player so composed and tough, few greats in this sport wear their emotions - specifically nervousness - so openly. That open display of emotions, be it the Vamoses, the obvious signs of pain and anguish at a miss, the worried look he can throw on way too often, all of it, is all so honest, and makes it all the harder but ultimately more rewarding to watch. Nadal showed this so often during the match, no more so than when it was over, him sitting in his chair, visibly breaking down in a way he so rarely has when the stadium played a reel of him winning his nineteen trophies. It mirrored all of us, having the same exact reaction.
Aside from Peyton Manning, there is no athlete I've followed for as long as Rafael Nadal. Given how my passion for sports should at some point start to wane (tough but true), likely I will never follow an athlete with this type of passion for such a long period of time. But that is why thsi means so much. Even the GOAT debates, which I know Nadal himself hates, means so much because I've invested fourteen years. I've invested time watching that capri-wearing, long-haired dynamo turn into a balding but sturdy veteran. And all the while, watching him win, but suffer. But then again, we all got to suffer, and then win, as well.
I have no idea if any of this made sense, but that is kind of the point anyway. Watching Nadal, sitting there in my seat, silent, transfixed starting at a screen, too nervous to move, to speak, to think. Well, if you do all that, you probably won't be too coherent the next day. But in my mind, this all makes sense. Investing a lot of time watching someone you'll never meet do incredible feats you have no earthly ability to comprehend, let alone perform, makes sense. Getting so nervous you would literally snap if the wrong person asks you the slightly wrong question makes sense. It all makes sense, because four hours and fifty-two minutes, when the man finally wins, and drops to the grown in stunned relief, you want to do the same thing so badly, but you can't, because suddenly you feel alive. That is the beauty of tennis, the beauty of Nadal, the beauty of caring too much about tennis, about a player, about a moment.
