Anand & I have been obsessively watching tennis for a few weeks now. Obsessively. Federer's game is just beautiful. Nadal's game is power. Tsitsipas is .... distracting. Djokovic on the other hand, there's something about that guy's plays that are so repetitive, predictable. The patterns are always there. It's almost like we know when that drop by the net is coming. He's not the guy I'm rooting for. I'm rooting for the beauty of Roger's forehand. I found myself rooting for the 'holy shit' shots over and over again. But these guys didn't win. Djokovic did. Each time. I found it strange. That 2019 Wimbledon finals broke my heart.
And then inspired by these three we felt the urge to go back to Steffi's game. Nostalgia. I grew up watching Sabatini and Steffi and Becker and Agassi. My brother & I always rooted for the opposite sides. He was all Sabatini all the time. I was all Steffi. Anyway, so Anand & I discovered that historic '99 Steffi-Hingis game on Hotstar. And damn girl! Whoever said women's shots are not as powerful. Lol. Yes also, Serena, of course .... no argument there and she's my daughter's role model but I grew up on Steffi.
But the thing that happened watching that '99 game, something hit Anand and I. There was such a striking pattern to Djokovic's French Open and Steffi's games. Yes, great players and all that. But what exactly was great about their game? Why does Djokovic win so many games against the top 10 seed, when he seems like he's losing at the start so many times? Why was Hingis killing it at the start but falling apart at the end? How did Djokovic come back after 2 sets down, over & over again there? You almost wanted Tsitsipas to win ... rooting for the underdog there, felt just right.
And then it hit us. The pattern staring at us in the face. In both that '99 Steffi-Hingis match and every one of Djokovic's this French Open, there was one theme. "Picking up & Coming back" - That was it. That was just it. The beauty of Djokovic's game had such a huge component of warming up, ramping up, being beaten, picking up and coming back. Calmly. Quietly. That strength on the inside. So visible. That was it. When Hingis, all of 18, was killing it in that Wimbledon finals, she came completely unwound and fell apart at the end. And through all of that, not a change in that expression on Steffi's face. Steady when down. Steady when up.
It was such an eye opening insight. We went back and watched a bunch more games and I found myself rooting for Djokovic, watching the game so differently than I did the first time. It's interesting what happens once something like this hits you, it starts to permeate through every little thing you do, subconsciously.
We were at our 11 yo's badminton game this weekend. And post training, as always, we were analyzing her game with her. She absolutely killed it in the training sessions and routines. Sharp shots, fantastic lines ... inspiring!!! But she came apart in her matches. It all came down to the pressure and the games playing in her head. She needed to win so bad, she played fantastic shots but lost because a ton of them ended up outside the court. Her analysis - the other girl was good. Our analysis - the other girl was bad but won because our little one couldn't stop looking around after losing every shot. Shame. Anger. Hurt. That others were watching. That there was something to prove.
Our conversations drifted to what could be a better approach. What if you played your game like you played at your training session? What if your games were simply the same things as training? No expectations, just repetitive shots that focused on the quality of the shot. What if you had nothing to prove? What if all that mattered was the quality of the shots you take? Everything else was irrelevant. (A side note to self, another aha moment - perhaps make her read Ender's Game this week!!)
These conversations make me better. Watching her play, makes me better. Watching sport, makes me realize how much of my life is about the exact same things. There's no one to prove to. There's no grand performance. There's nothing except picking up, coming back, again and again and again and again .....
Something tells me I'm going to be torn between Djokovic's resilience, persistence, repetition and Roger's game of beauty, this Wimbledon.