Federer and that thing called hope...

Dear fellow Roger Federer Fans, How did we end up here? The semi-finals of the Australian Open. A few weeks ago we lost to Lleyton Hewitt and on Friday we play Rafael Nadal for a place in a grand slam final? Somebody pinch me. It feels like a dream doesn’t it? The draw was daunting enough for us to wake up every day to search for the “Roger Crashes Out” headline, but it never came. Our man has looked good. Graceful as ever, “vintage” in his match against Jo-Wilfried Tsonga and “reborn” in his match against Andy Murray. And it’s the performances like what we’ve seen and words like the ones we have used that land us in to trouble. Yup, we’ve all got a problem now. Not sure what I’m talking about? Think about it. Deep inside there is this feeling from the past that is making its way up in to your heart. It is called hope. Hope that Roger beats Rafa and wins the final on Sunday. Hope that the headline on Monday reads “Return of the King” or “Number 18”. Hope that once again your favorite sportsman will be at the top. [caption id=“attachment_1355633” align=“alignleft” width=“380”]  Roger Federer plays Rafael Nadal in the semis. Getty Images[/caption] A piece of advice — take that feeling and run as far away from it as possible. It is your mind playing games with your heart. You are fooling yourself by trying to beat logic in to a heart that was damaged in 2013. This feeling of hope is a mirage luring you with images of past glories and moments of greatness. Beyond this mirage lies a pool of despair and misery. As Friday’s match progresses the mirage will get brighter and closer. 2013 will be a forgotten year and the lunacy in you will start thinking toward the final on Sunday. Roger will be up a break and may be even a set. Then it will happen. Tell me if this sounds familiar. The scenario of the match will be such that the game being played is critical to the outcome. Roger will have the upper hand in that game serving at 40-15 or may be even up 15-40 ready to break. At this moment you are sitting on the edge of your sofa anticipating a turning point in the match that could clear the path for your man. The next point involves a long rally with Roger in a dominating position through and through. He plays a shot that looks so good and well placed that not even a full speed Usain Bolt will be able to get to it. You stand up with arms raised half way up above your head ready to shout “come on” and high five your friends when Rafael Nadal gets to the unreachable ball and plays a shot that even God would not want to miss watching. The world freezes for a moment, like in a movie. Despair and misery. Then the next few seconds unfold. Rafa and coach uncle Tony shout a loud “vamos” as if in chorus and Rafa couples that with a fist pump of epic proportions. The crowd goes crazy in amazement and the commentator cant believe such a shot has been hit. On the other side of the court you see that look in Roger’s eye that is so familiar. His face has become smaller than a tennis ball and the confidence that you want to see has been washed away. At home you can’t believe what just happened. You take your seat again and that sinking feeling is back in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that you have felt in the past when these two familiar foes have met. You wonder what might have been. The rest of what happens is painful to type. So run away from this feeling. Look the other way and hope no more. There, I have said it. But those who preach often can’t practice — as is the case with yours truly. There is a small chance Roger wins tomorrow. I know I am lying to myself when I say this but I don’t care. I’ll take tomorrow’s sorrow when it comes. Till then, like you, I’m a sucker for that hope.