With the recent ouster of Roger Federer from the Wimbledon quarter-finals and the Big Three of Indian cricket clearly in their twilight years, I was left wondering about how bad we are – as sports fans – at saying goodbye.
My earliest memories of tennis and cricket involve all four. Federer defeating Sampras at Wimbledon, that famous changing of guard. Tendulkar brewing up the storm in Sharjah. Laxman and Dravid pulling off that impossible win against Australia at Eden Gardens. They have each been, in their own way, defining moments in the recent history of the two sports. Ones that drew me to the sports, and have held me all these years.
Saying goodbye, therefore, is a little more than a wave of the hand and wishes for happy trails. It’s the end of what the sport had come to represent. To think of the sport without them is empty, almost pointless. It is no wonder then that we demonstrate the classic symptom of a long relationship nearing its end: denial.
We search, constantly, for evidences of their natural decline being a mere blip in a career that will never wane. So a victory against Djokovic in the semis marks the ‘return of Federer’, a fighting century by Dravid against the West Indies shows that ‘his hunger for the game remains unaffected’, and any Tendulkar hundred adds further fuel to his ‘second coming’. We seek out these incredible, and increasingly rare, achievements with a single-minded focus, ignoring the other factors that come into play.
Federer trails 8-17 in his head-to-head against Rafael Nadal, who is now more his nemesis than rival, and hasn’t won a Grand Slam in 18 months. Tendulkar now opts out of more matches than he plays, and when he does bat, has the comfort of batting along-side arguably the strongest line-up in the world today. Dravid averaged less than 26 in six out of the last 16 series he played before his ton at Sabina Park. Statistics may not reveal the whole truth, but they don’t completely lie. The faster we accept the facts and prepare to say farewell, the more we will save ourselves the heartburn.
Their run might have gone on for longer than the average player, and credit should be given to their longevity and mental strength, but to say that they are playing like they used to at their peak is taking away from their dominance in their prime. Federer denied anyone a place at the top for an astounding 237 consecutive weeks, Tendulkar was the anchor that held an Indian innings in place in the 90s – his wicket leading to an inevitable collapse, Dravid was impenetrable when he decided to hold one end up.
There is no shame in admitting that the men are past their prime. That their decline would make for somebody else’s peak is just a testament to their greatness, but a decline it is. In choosing to be blind to that, we are denying them the farewell they deserve. By asking for more, are we suggesting they haven’t given us enough?
It is time to untangle ourselves from the past that binds us. Rather than deluding ourselves to the point where repeated failures will disappoint us, making the goodbye more bitter and murky than it should be, the twilight years should be celebrated for what they are – the dying embers of a career well-served. We owe it to the men who have enthralled us for more than a decade.
Easier said than done, I know.
