Firstpost

Image management is obviously a major driving factor when an athlete comes out with a mid-career memoir. After all, Rafa’s journey towards becoming a globally popular sportsman wasn’t a smooth one. Initially regarded as just a clay-court specialist, it took more than three years of persistently snapping at Federer’s ankles for him to finally win his first non-clay Grand Slam – the 2008 Wimbledon – and take over the number one ranking.

His rise to stardom was complicated by the language barrier: Nadal’s struggle to express himself in English unfairly contributed to a media portrait of him as a bumpkin, a child of nature who played intuitively but who wasn’t good at articulating things like strategy. Those who understand Spanish have repeatedly pointed out that his interviews in his native tongue are much more nuanced, but in an Anglo-centric world it was easy to cast him in the role of the noble savage – all rippling biceps and raw physicality.

Those who have only heard his spoken English might be bemused by the polished prose in Rafa — the phrase “the cathedral hush of Wimbledon’s Centre Court” appears on the very first page. But as you read on, it becomes possible to think of the writing (which in any case was done by Carlin) as translation.

The memoir finally gives us a glimpse of a different Nadal, a man who contrary to his public profile, has a mind of his own. Its most intriguing sections also offer a clue as to why Nadal, in my friend’s words, “sandbags” on occasion.

It’s widely known that he still lives with his large joint family in a big house, that he travels everywhere with a very close-knit team, and that his uncle Toni has been his coach since childhood. In fact, Toni has often been given credit for “manufacturing” Rafael Nadal, encouraging him to play with his dominant left hand, putting him through a harsh regimen from an early age. All this has created the dual picture of a boy who grew up in the cocoon of family security, and a laboratory-created tennis player.

So when Nadal expresses his ambivalence about his relationship with Toni, you take notice. His uncle’s insistence on humility made him a better player, he says, by teaching him not to take any opponent for granted. This is why Nadal says “When I watch the top players on video, I have the feeling that they’re better than me” or “I’m amazed at how good Federer is; surprised that I have ever been able to beat him”.

But it also might have instilled a tendency for under-confidence and self-deprecation. “Toni conditioned me to believe from childhood that every match is going to be an uphill battle,” he writes, “I am not sure this is always the healthiest frame of mind to enter a match.”

This makes it easier to understand his unsmiling intensity on the court, and the impression he sometimes gives of not really enjoying the sport. Being carefree doesn’t come easily to someone who lives with the anticipation of losing. (I used to brood and worry for days before an exam, and I’m not convinced that seeing a good result compensated for all the tense days that had preceded it.)

In Rafa, you can see the two sides of Nadal at odds with one another: “Exaggerated and irrational as I tried to convince myself that my status as favourite was (this was the part of my brain talking that Toni had conditioned), another part of me (a madly driven and ambitious one) did retain the conviction that I could win this.”

One gets the impression that Rafael Nadal might be trying to create a new image for himself. He may never take the extreme step of sacking Toni and hiring a new coach, but we may well see a new attitude. Perhaps it’s time to puncture that sandbag.

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