Temporal taunts

‘Where are you, Pete Sampras?’ cried out Mary Carrillo, as Roger Federer stared down at the fourth likely ‘vanquisher’ on his road to the championships, after steamrolling through the first couple sets and most of the third, Wednesday afternoon. The score: 6-4, 6-4, 5-4, 40-0 triple matchpoint.

If that was the fate of the towering, big-serving Croat, cut from the same block as his countryman Goran, his disposal of the preceding potential ousters in an apparent tough draw was even more convincing.

The Swissman put away the up-and-coming, talented young gun, Richard Gasquet, the grass-bred, serve-volleying veteran, Tim Henman and one of the biggest hitters on the tour, Tomas Berdych, without conceding a set and having been out on court for a shorter period of time than anyone else. What is more, he was broken only for the second time in this championship so far by the unrelenting Croat – unfortunately too little too late for Ancic, who came into the quarter finals with the prestigious label of ‘the last man to beat Roger on grass’ – a feat for which you’d have to go back four years. Today, however, the court unequivocally belonged to Federer. At one point, Mario actually stopped to applaud a beautiful backhand crosscourt from his opponent. I sometimes wonder how players keep their focus when playing Roger. The only apt thing to do is to stand aside and watch the maestro at his art. Nobody else has any business on a tennis court when the Swissman is at his best. Except, perhaps a certain Pete Sampras who knows something about hitting a ball with a tennis racket.

Little wonder that Carrillo’s statement was the third mention of the 14-time grand slam champion through the duration of the match, John McEnroe and Ted Robinson echoing her yearning for the great man’s presence as well. If Roger Federer’s amazingly shot-enriched and smoothly artistic brand of tennis is pleasing to the eye, the one thing that could make it better would be an equally beautiful artist on the other side of the court, countering the Swissman's flair with the one thing Federer doesn’t do enough on a grass court – serve and volley. And who better to take that spot on the other side of the net – a little too close to it, perhaps – than the sportsman who ruled tennis’ biggest stage, when Federer was only dreaming of it?

We often look to sport to celebrate the victories we cannot ourselves achieve, to be one with the kind of infallibility we could not otherwise experience and to savor the taste of the unstoppable adrenalin rush that amateur battles rarely provide. And thank God there are these paranormal beings that fill those lofty shoes and furnish us with that kind of magic time after time, year after year, undaunted, relentless and almost always victorious in their pursuits.

If Sampras and Federer had indeed met in the same era, it could quite possibly have been the most amazing saga in tennis history.

But maybe destiny punctuates each period with such finality so we could write the stories ourselves. So we could decide if Sampras’ mental toughness would overcome Federer’s exotic shot making. So we could wonder if Roger’s excellent returns would surmount the indomitable Pete forearm. Maybe she stopped short after rendering us these sublime personalities, so lesser mortals could feud over their heroes and partake in true tennis divinity.

But at times like this, when the aftertaste of a Federer classic still lingers in my mouth and the many Sampras memories come flooding back between my ears, I can’t help(lessly) but wonder why time would taunt us so....