Fed Express still a wondrous sight
OPINION: Summer, the sound of leather on willow and old men’s bones cracking in the sunshine. Nourished by beer, we fling ourselves about like kids in games of backyard cricket and wake up the next morning with a grumpy buffalo pressing down on our spines.
Whoever first said age is just a number was an innumerate bumblebee head. Age is a malevolent clown sticking out an oversize shoe and tripping you up for another pratfall. It makes a creaking fool out of us all.
And do we care. Hell, no. If Venus Williams can still prance about at the age of 37, why should it not be forever summer? So Venus and Roger Federer and Phil Taylor, who made it to the World Darts final at the age of of 57, we prostrate ourselves before you. It’s just the getting up that is now hard.
Federer said the other day, ‘‘Shave 10 years off our age and we probably will do better. A lot of the guys are just touching 30-plus, you know. Back in the day, at 30, a lot of guys were retiring – Edberg, Sampras.
‘‘It was like normal at 29, 32, to start looking towards the end of your career. Now you guys expect everybody to play till 36. When somebody is injured at 31, it’s like, ‘Oh my God, how is this possible?’ Actually, it’s a normal thing.’’
Laugh out loud. There’s the old Fed, bouncing about like a springloaded chicken, and he’s still got the veteran verbal moves.
Wrapped up in the centre of his snakeskin of sympathetic Swiss philosophy is the egotistical Fed saying: ‘‘I’m not normal, it’s just that Andy and Rafa and Novak don’t have superhuman powers like me.’’
And yes, you have to hand it to the balloon head of Basel, the Fed express is still a wondrous sight who puts fish oil in all of our joints. Last year he won the Australian Open and Wimbledon at the age of 35. Preposterous.
He’s not the oldest. A 41-yearold called Arthur Gore won Wimbledon in 1909. Gore had an immovable moustache sculpted from horsehair and looked like a man who would bound through French windows. But having gone two sets to love down in the 1909 final, Gore shouted out ‘‘Bertie’’ at every change of end, took a slurp of brandy and won the final three sets 6-2, 6-2, 6-2. He was an Edwardian superman.
Federer is merely the oldest winner of Wimbledon in the Open era. But he is not the oldest winner of a men’s slam in that period.
And even if the Fed wins the Australian Open this month, and he must be close to favourite, he still will not hold the record. That belongs to the phenomenal Ken Rosewall who won the Aussie Open at the age of 37.
What a mover he was. Federer would probably still be chasing Rosewall’s and Rod Laver’s records if they had not lost their prime Slam years to the banning of professionals. Rosewall’s backhand came from the gods.
Tony Roche, who played against Rosewall and coached Federer for a time, said; ‘‘Ken and Roger have a lot in common. Their games weren’t the most physical types of games. It all came pretty easy for both of them. Ken got through without any major injuries, and so has Roger.
‘‘It’s got a lot to do with the way they hit the ball. Ken was so smooth and fluid with everything that he did, so that obviously helped him, I think, with being able to play into his 40s.’’
Rosewall won his final two tennis titles at the age of 43. He got to the semifinals of the Australian at the age of 42 and lost in the final of Wimbledon and the US Open at the age of 39. He is not sufficiently treasured, although I am sure Venus Williams empathises.
She was the only woman to make the final of two Slams in 2017 and was 37 when she lost to Garbine Muguruza in the final of Wimbledon. But Venus was also the only woman who made the fourth round of all four majors and she also reached the semifinals of the US Open.
This is a woman battling Sjogren’s Syndrome, which leaves her feeling dry and with joint pain. And Venus was also blamelessly involved in a fatal car crash last year. Her achievements are enough to get us all doing one more backflip into the swimming pool.
‘‘That wasn’t a backflip, dad, that was a topple.’’
‘‘At my age, that’s a backflip.’’ Sloane Stephens said after beating Williams in the semis in America: ‘‘Venus, we are following in her footsteps.’’
And odd though it may seem, Venus also follows in the footsteps of others.
She follows in the footsteps of Rosewall and, yes, even in the footsteps of a singular Yorkshireman called Brian Close. At the age of 45 Close played for England against the West Indies at Old Trafford.
The pitch was cracked. There was no limit on bouncers. Close had no helmet, no chest or arm guard. The light was bleary at best. And Michael Holding, Andy Roberts and Wayne Daniel galloped in like the three horsemen of the apocalypse.
It was fast, it was furious and Close did not flinch. He took blow after blow on the body. Close’s courage was insane. But somewhere in his bald head he still had curly hair and was forever young. Close made it through that 75 minutes and walked off carrying his bat.
Venus lives to dance, she loves crunching abs and drinks all colours of smoothie. Close liked horse racing and a pint. Whatever floats your boat. We salute you all. You keep us young.