How much can we learn from the pros? Or, more to the point, how much can we take from their games and profitably apply to our own? After seeing 4 hours and 48 minutes of Rafael Nadal vs. Roger Federer (yes, I’m switching the customary order of their names for the time being) a week earlier, the question was on my mind as I walked onto the court this past Saturday and Sunday.
I had low expectations, even though I’ve always been a big copier of what the top guys do. I began my junior career using Bjorn Borg’s board-like, orange-and-black Donnay racquet, and I still use the Western-grip forehand I took from him. The deep knee bend in my serve comes courtesy of Boris Becker. My lefty service toss and shoulder turn were inspired by Goran Ivanisevic. The racquet I use today? Federer’s Wilson KFactor 90.
I internalized those playing styles when I was a kid and still able to alter my technique. (Sometimes I think athletic talent manifests itself first as a child’s ability to mimic what he sees a pro doing. Witness Novak Djokovic and his very life-like impersonations.) These days, I can use Federer’s racquet, but it’s a little late—a lot late, actually—for me to change my forehand grip to Federer’s or try his wrap-around follow-through. I’m not even going to ponder Nadal’s open-stance backhand crosscourt passing shots.
But that hasn’t stopped me from continuing to imagine how the pros move, swing, and think about various situations during a match. During some rallies in recent years I’ve consciously tried to imitate—in my own, slower, less elegant way—Federer’s flowing style of movement around the court. It’s helped for short periods of time, and only if I’m already very relaxed during points. Picturing his cat-like strides as he moves toward a ball usually leaves me well-balanced for the next shot. The trouble comes when I have a sitter near the net. That’s when Federer combines his elegant movement with the explosiveness needed to get around the ball and into position for a forehand as quickly as possible, which will give him more than one option on the next shot. Turning on the explosiveness, without sacrificing any of the balance, is the part that’s tough to imitate or even imagine. I end up approaching a sitter too casually—or lazily—to give myself more than one option once I'm there. I’m better off forgetting Federer, scrambling up there any way I can, and trading some balance for speed.
Otherwise, Federer is impossible for me to copy in any way. From a technical standpoint, you often see photos of him watching the ball onto the strings and holding his head there even after he’s made contact. This may be helpful advice for kids, but when I try to do this it quickly begins to seem unnatural, and incredibly tiring. I realize that isn’t just a talent of Federer's, but a habit gained from many hours of painstaking repetition—that’s why the extra effort he makes to do this doesn’t tire him; it's second nature. From a tactical standpoint, I also have a hard time imagining how Federer would play any given point. He uses his slice crosscourt backhand to move guys into an uncomfortable position at the side of the court, but this is a dangerous play for someone who doesn’t defend like Federer. When he attacks, he typically turns the tables in a point with one defensive backhand or forehand and ends it with the next one. This, I hardly need to tell you, is not a realistic strategy for most of us.
So I guess it’s not surprising that this weekend it was Nadal I attempted to channel. As great as he is, I can at least recognize the way he sets up points well enough to imitate it. And his energy and enthusiasm seemed more useful than Federer’s gracefulness. Plus, I’m a lefty, which, if nothing else, means I’m hitting from the same side of my body as he is. That’s something, right?
On Saturday, I played for the first time in two weeks and felt stiff. When I had played for the very first time earlier this summer, I’d felt surprisingly good. That’s not uncommon—low expectations can lead to good things—and it isn’t uncommon to feel a little off the next few times you play. On Saturday I had just finished watching a tape of the the first point of the Wimbledon final. I was shocked by how freely Nadal was moving and hitting right from the start. Before playing that point, Nadal had come off his chair on the sidelines, kicked his legs up, and done a hard jog to the baseline with a towel in his hand before bouncing around like a boxer. I tried the same high-kicking hard jog back to the baseline, but I wasn’t ready for the sudden movement. My jog fizzled out at the service line and I had to walk the rest of the way. I was too stiff. I was too old. I wasn’t Nadal. But I still had the towel in my hands, so I tossed it toward the back fence. There was no ball kid to catch it.
On my return stance, I tried a couple times to imitate a little of Nadal’s intensity—again, in my own, less intense way—as he waits for the serve. I found the stress on my muscles too much, so I went back to my normal, more relaxed return routine, where I lean down, flip my racquet back and forth, and pick my feet up briefly, one at a time. (This also came from Borg, which I didn’t realize until watching old YouTube clips of him in his prime.) On my own serve, I considered taking more time beforehand, à la Nadal: gazing across the net, pulling my hair back for no reason—it’s not long enough to get in my eyes—and bouncing the ball many, many times. For all I know, this may have helped. But did I really want, on a sunny Saturday morning, to slow the match down and potentially irritate my friend John, who plays, as they say, as if he’s double-parked? My normal rhythm is pretty swift as well. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but I doubt I’ll ever have the patience to find out.
Did anything from Rafa’s repertoire help? I already play the way he plays most of the time. I hit topspin crosscourt forehands into my right-handed opponents' backhands, though I can't take the ball on the rise and go inside-out with it at the same time, the way Nadal does. Saturday I was useless in general, but on Sunday, with a day of practice behind me and a new, younger opponent to motivate me, I was much better. This time I was able to channel Nadal exactly two times. The first came when I backed my opponent up and got a floating reply to my backhand. It was the right moment for a drop shot, and I had Nadal’s style in mind as the ball came toward me. He gets close to the ball and cuts under it with a severe chopping motion, rather than caressing it the way most people are taught. I tried it his way. It worked, clearing the net easily and bouncing sharply back toward me and away from my opponent, who couldn't track it down. Is racquet-head speed the key to the drop shot, as it is to so many other shots?
The second, and last, time I successfully imitated either Federer or Nadal was on a break point in the first set. I hit a crosscourt forehand approach to my opponent’s backhand and got a sitter reply in the middle of the court. An easy shot at first glance, it’s also easy to flub. Even sitter volleys can be tough to control depending on the spin the other player has put on his shot. Often I take too big a swing in this situation. Nadal avoids this by positioning his racquet straight up and down, almost perpendicular to the court surface, and simply tapping the ball away from his opponent. He doesn’t hit it hard, but he makes sure he angles it away. The other guy rarely has a chance of chasing it down. It looks almost like a beginner’s play, but it works for him, and it worked for me on Sunday. The ball was easy to control and easy to direct into the open court for a winner.
I had the early break and continued to play well. I wondered, as I got close to the end of the second set, if I should fall flat on my back and stretch my hands out Christ-style—Rafa-style—if I won. When the time came, I thought better of it. I was worried that I might never get up.
