The Genial Champion

Patrick Rafter is gone. Actually, to state it accurately, he’s not comingback. After a year-long sabbatical from the relentless world that is theprofessional tennis tour, the genial 30-year-old Australian has decided toextend it for life, saying that neither his body nor his mind were up to it toface the rigours of competitive tennis. A distinguished career, marred byinjuries, has played out its final point, several years before it should have.

It’s a wretch to see injuries rein in athletes, specially those who areblessed with extra helpings of talent and who show the willingness to makesomething out of this gift. References to their sporting achievements invariablydraw a sigh and slip into that speculative realm -- of what might have been.Like that mercurial cricketer named Chris Cairns. A fully-fit Cairns would haveunarguably been the best all-rounder among the current crop of cricketers,possibly even been rubbing shoulders with the awesome foursome of the previousbatch.

Rafter’s brittle shoulder and wrist often held his career to ransom, thoughnot to the magnitude of a Cairns. In Rafter’s case, his body’s unwillingnessto listen meant he bloomed late and shut shop early. But, in between, during histime, he mostly did justice to his talents, captivated with his workmanlikegame, stood for impeccable sporting values and cut a graceful figure, on and offthe tennis courts.

In his 10 years on tour (the first five, and occasional periods in the laterones as well, spent more on the surgeon’s table and in rehab), Rafter had twoGrand Slams, 11 singles titles and a week-long stay at the top of the worldrankings to show for his efforts. Those are good numbers, but there are matched-- even bettered -- by most players who spent a decent length of time in the topfive. And there are many among the current lot who do: Kuerten, Kafelnikov,Safin.

Yet, Rafter will be remembered more vividly and fondly than any of theseplayers. Among his peer group, Rafter will be spoken of in the same breath asthe likes of Sampras and Agassi, simply because of what he brought to the sport.

Rafter was a throwback to the good old days, when sportsmanship held swayover gamesmanship, when tennis was, well, just a game. Well, his rugged (yetstrikingly handsome) face, unkempt look with the pony tail that became a rat'stail as the sweat dripped, and flashy on-court attire might betray thatsentiment. Not his game and oncourt demeanour, though, which were reminiscent oftennis players in the sixties and seventies.

Rafter was attractive to watch. He was a practitioner of that dying art:serve-and-volley tennis. And a fine one at that. He had patented his ownserve-and-volley brand, one that complemented his looks: rugged with an addedemphasis on blood, sweat and toil. It lacked the fluidity of, say, Sampras,McEnroe or Edberg, but it was just as effective. Think Rahul Dravid. Rafter’sball toss was slow and pronounced, his serve packed with heaviness and deliveredwith a throaty grunt, his approach to the ‘T’ sounded like a scuffle ratherthan a stealth, and his volleys were sometimes desperate than dismissive.

Although Rafter’s game wouldn’t help him score many points in theelegance sweepstakes, it would win him many accolades and eyeballs for the sheerbreathtaking sweep it offered. The beauty and art of his game got accentuated bythe fact that he showcased his art during a time when the articulate serve-and-volleyerwas a rare breed and headed towards extinction. Playing in a day and age againstbaseline bullies created the much-needed contrast of styles on court.

Along with Sampras and Henman, Rafter was one of the faithful purveyors ofthis beautiful art form. At the net, he was like a wall, a Samurai warrior usingsolidity, deftness and angles to answer passing shots rifled back at him. Hisbackhand overhead could draw a collective sigh from a stadium. With hisathleticism, he could make the court shrink in size. It was typical of the manand his roots. He worked hard for his points, resonating a certain everydayhonesty. And there was beauty in that.

There was also beauty -- and a lesson for today’s players, in all sport --in the way he conducted himself on court. A passout from the Stefan Edbergschool of manners, Rafter was a model of decency and fairplay. He rarely everargued line calls, leave aside intimidating or spewing invective on helplesscourt officials.

One doesn’t remember him whining about playing conditions or inadequateprize money or the like. A misdirected ball toss would invariably be followed bya "sorry, mate" in an Australian drawl. Injuries meant he had morethan his share of struggle and misfortune, but when asked about it, he wouldrespond with a shrug of shoulders than launch a litany of remorse. He let hisracket do the talking.

Rafter viewed -- and played -- sport the way it should be: A contest in whichyou give everything, and may the best man win. He played hard. He played fair.He doesn’t deserve a place in the tennis’s Hall of Fame by virtue of howmuch he achieved. He does by virtue of the manner in which he achieved it: Withpoise, grace, dignity and humility.

One thing that did get his goat was the devil-may-care attitude of some ofhis peers towards Davis Cup, and he was rather outspoken about it. For Rafter,playing Davis Cup was non-negotiable, the biggest honour for a male tennisplayer. Pride and respect for the country is something that’s been passed downgenerations of Australian tennis players, which partly accounts for the nation’sexceptional record in the team tennis tournament. Rafter embraced those values.

Ironically, Rafter would never won the Davis Cup, missing it rather cruellyon the home stretch, laid low by injuries in successive finals. His best chancecame in the 2001, when Australia hosted France on grass, Rafter’s lastappearance before going on leave. Although Australia led 2-1 going into reversesingles, they ended up losing the tie. Rafter, unarguably the best grass-courtplayer on either side, had to opt out of his reverse singles match due totendinitis in his right arm; Wayne Arthurs, his replacement, lost in four setsin the decider.

Wimbledon was another heartbreak, another uncompleted chapter. And like DavisCup, not once but twice, as Rafter lost two consecutive emotion-packed finals:in 2000 to Sampras and in 2001 to the ding-dong thriller on People’s Monday toGoran Ivanisevic. The losses hurt, specially the latter, knowing that he hadcome so close. But he didn’t sulk. He smiled, congratulated Ivanisevic, andconsidered himself fortunate to have been part of that momentous occasion.Truly, a people’s champion.

Thanks for the memories, Patrick. Or as they would say Down Under, "G’daymate".