Joe Pike
Banned
END OF THE ROAD
The Sportstar - 28th August, 1999
In the world of tennis, Steffi Graf was a pure one-off. She never played for records or for a place in history. Driven by a force that lesser mortals were not aware of, she played for something else, writes NIRMAL SHEKAR.
"Everyone's life is a road to himself, to self-realisation" - Herman Hesse Somehow, it didn't seem right. Something was wrong somewhere. It just didn't jell. It was like watching a staging of Hamlet without hearing one of English literature's most quoted lines: To be or not to be.
It was a bit like witnessing a five-setter starring John McEnroe and not getting to see a single line-call being questioned, or, watching Gundappa Visvanath make a century without once lovingly caressing the ball square of the wicket with the kindest blade ever put to ball.
There we were, on Sunday, July 4, on the centre court at Wimbledon, watching the women's singles final. And nothing could have been more out of character. It was at once strange and bizarre. It was difficult to believe that this was Steffi Graf in a Grand Slam final.
Not that Graf has not lost before. It is not as if she's never been outhit before in a Grand Slam final. To be sure, we have seen her lose early in the fortnight too. And we have seen her end up with a more unflattering scoreline than what she managed against Lindsay Davenport on that day.
But, somehow, it appeared that it wasn't the Graf we were familiar with - in victory or in defeat. For all the world to see, the great German did try to turn things around.
It seemed like she still had the energy and the skills to fight back but not the desire. Strangely, the hunger was gone.
Was this the woman who, time after time in the face of adversity, withdrew deep into herself, gathered her energies in a tight coil and unleashed them on the court to demolish stunned opponents? Was this the woman whose aggressive movements on the court were sheer poetry in motion as she went about her business with feline grace, her body drunk with the heady brew of its own vitality?
So you wondered on that day which, in hindsight, turned out to be the great lady's last appearance in a major tournament. And it was obvious that Graf had, in terms that are vital to her, come to the end of a road.
Essentially, what it meant was that the seven-time Wimbledon champion's life in tennis was not what it used to be anymore - it wasn't as Hesse wrote, "a road to herself" anymore.
And to a virtuoso conductor of the orchestra who, for a decade and a half at the top, has been used to performing at an exalted level, this just wasn't good enough. Something had snapped - the appetite was suddenly gone.
Most other champions, afraid of venturing into the hazardous terrain that life-after-sport can be, would have simply slogged on and on until critics and fans began to question their motives and wonder why they should choose to punish themselves like lesser mortals after achieving so much.
But not Graf, not the great German champion who has, for a good part of 15 years, been a dazzling dynamo of energy and willpower on tennis courts around the world. To her, even 99 per cent could never be good enough. It was 100 per cent or nothing.
Little wonder, then, the 30-year old winner of 22 Grand Slam titles should have chosen to leave the game after enjoying the sort of summer- winning in Paris and making the final at Wimbledon- that many top players dream of, but only a handful get to realise.
The greatest champions compete not so much with their opponents, but with themselves. And, to Graf, on the second Sunday of Wimbledon, it was perhaps obvious that she wasn't able to compete well enough with herself, she wasn't able to dig deep enough to bring out her best.
In the event, it was a question of time before she reconciled herself to the inevitable, to that fact that she'd be better off quitting the game now than at some time in the unforseeable future.
To understand what tennis meant to Graf - which, of course, is to understand what Graf meant to tennis - one had to see her on a practice court.
But why a practice court? Hasn't the world watched the great lady play and win epic matches on a famous stage such as Wimbledon or the U.S.Open or the Australian Open?
The point is, on a big stage, with so much at stake, and with the whole world watching, it would hardly be a surprise to see a great champion raise his/her game to stratospheric levels. Pushed by a great opponent, by a Martina Navratilova or a Monica Seles, it was only to be expected that Graf would have soared to great heights.
But the key to a great champion's love for the game, the true pointer to her endless striving for perfection, is the attitude that the player displays on a practice court with nobody - except perhaps the coach and a few hangers-on - watching, and with little at stake.
Over 15 years, this writer has watched the great lady practise many, many times. And every single time it was a matter of great pleasure to see Graf perform on her own private stage-away-from-stage.
It is because of this that one believes that her millions of fans never got to see the very best Graf could produce with a tennis racquet. For, believe it or not, there were times when Graf played much, much better in practice than she ever managed to at a famous venue such as Wimbledon or the French Open.
This, of course, is a sure pointer to what tennis meant to her. And to see her dart about like a dervish on a practice court, experiencing the sort of ecstasy that only saints might be aware of, is to realise that the game was a sort of self-realisation for the great lady.
If Graf attained her own nirvana in a tennis court - quite often away from the glare on a practice court - then that is what she lived for, that is what she played for. That is what she risked her back, her knees and her hurting ankles for. That is the only condition of life she ever aspired to - a moment when she could play the kind of tennis that was, essentially, a perfect expression of the language of her soul.
There have been any number of great players who have aspired to a state of perfection. But, almost always, there was a certain something else they aspired to simultaneously. Maybe a record. Maybe a place in history. Perhaps even the joy of victory.
Martina Navratilova, a woman with a keen sense of history, always played for a place in history. For Jimmy Connors, nothing matched the pleasure he derived from seeing the disappointment on the opponent's face after he had beaten the poor bloke.
But there have been very few sportspersons - not just tennis players- who can be compared to Graf in terms of what a perfect performance meant to them, irrespective of whether they were playing in front of a big crowd on a big stage or on an obscure practice court.
In that sense, in the world of tennis, Graf was a pure one-off. She never really competed with her contemporaries or for a place in history. She played for something else, driven by a force that lesser mortals did not even begin to suspect existed.
To watch Graf on a tennis court in her most exalted of moments was to watch a Buddha in meditation. She was one with her work, and together they were one with the world.
The Sportstar - 28th August, 1999
In the world of tennis, Steffi Graf was a pure one-off. She never played for records or for a place in history. Driven by a force that lesser mortals were not aware of, she played for something else, writes NIRMAL SHEKAR.
"Everyone's life is a road to himself, to self-realisation" - Herman Hesse Somehow, it didn't seem right. Something was wrong somewhere. It just didn't jell. It was like watching a staging of Hamlet without hearing one of English literature's most quoted lines: To be or not to be.
It was a bit like witnessing a five-setter starring John McEnroe and not getting to see a single line-call being questioned, or, watching Gundappa Visvanath make a century without once lovingly caressing the ball square of the wicket with the kindest blade ever put to ball.
There we were, on Sunday, July 4, on the centre court at Wimbledon, watching the women's singles final. And nothing could have been more out of character. It was at once strange and bizarre. It was difficult to believe that this was Steffi Graf in a Grand Slam final.
Not that Graf has not lost before. It is not as if she's never been outhit before in a Grand Slam final. To be sure, we have seen her lose early in the fortnight too. And we have seen her end up with a more unflattering scoreline than what she managed against Lindsay Davenport on that day.
But, somehow, it appeared that it wasn't the Graf we were familiar with - in victory or in defeat. For all the world to see, the great German did try to turn things around.
It seemed like she still had the energy and the skills to fight back but not the desire. Strangely, the hunger was gone.
Was this the woman who, time after time in the face of adversity, withdrew deep into herself, gathered her energies in a tight coil and unleashed them on the court to demolish stunned opponents? Was this the woman whose aggressive movements on the court were sheer poetry in motion as she went about her business with feline grace, her body drunk with the heady brew of its own vitality?
So you wondered on that day which, in hindsight, turned out to be the great lady's last appearance in a major tournament. And it was obvious that Graf had, in terms that are vital to her, come to the end of a road.
Essentially, what it meant was that the seven-time Wimbledon champion's life in tennis was not what it used to be anymore - it wasn't as Hesse wrote, "a road to herself" anymore.
And to a virtuoso conductor of the orchestra who, for a decade and a half at the top, has been used to performing at an exalted level, this just wasn't good enough. Something had snapped - the appetite was suddenly gone.
Most other champions, afraid of venturing into the hazardous terrain that life-after-sport can be, would have simply slogged on and on until critics and fans began to question their motives and wonder why they should choose to punish themselves like lesser mortals after achieving so much.
But not Graf, not the great German champion who has, for a good part of 15 years, been a dazzling dynamo of energy and willpower on tennis courts around the world. To her, even 99 per cent could never be good enough. It was 100 per cent or nothing.
Little wonder, then, the 30-year old winner of 22 Grand Slam titles should have chosen to leave the game after enjoying the sort of summer- winning in Paris and making the final at Wimbledon- that many top players dream of, but only a handful get to realise.
The greatest champions compete not so much with their opponents, but with themselves. And, to Graf, on the second Sunday of Wimbledon, it was perhaps obvious that she wasn't able to compete well enough with herself, she wasn't able to dig deep enough to bring out her best.
In the event, it was a question of time before she reconciled herself to the inevitable, to that fact that she'd be better off quitting the game now than at some time in the unforseeable future.
To understand what tennis meant to Graf - which, of course, is to understand what Graf meant to tennis - one had to see her on a practice court.
But why a practice court? Hasn't the world watched the great lady play and win epic matches on a famous stage such as Wimbledon or the U.S.Open or the Australian Open?
The point is, on a big stage, with so much at stake, and with the whole world watching, it would hardly be a surprise to see a great champion raise his/her game to stratospheric levels. Pushed by a great opponent, by a Martina Navratilova or a Monica Seles, it was only to be expected that Graf would have soared to great heights.
But the key to a great champion's love for the game, the true pointer to her endless striving for perfection, is the attitude that the player displays on a practice court with nobody - except perhaps the coach and a few hangers-on - watching, and with little at stake.
Over 15 years, this writer has watched the great lady practise many, many times. And every single time it was a matter of great pleasure to see Graf perform on her own private stage-away-from-stage.
It is because of this that one believes that her millions of fans never got to see the very best Graf could produce with a tennis racquet. For, believe it or not, there were times when Graf played much, much better in practice than she ever managed to at a famous venue such as Wimbledon or the French Open.
This, of course, is a sure pointer to what tennis meant to her. And to see her dart about like a dervish on a practice court, experiencing the sort of ecstasy that only saints might be aware of, is to realise that the game was a sort of self-realisation for the great lady.
If Graf attained her own nirvana in a tennis court - quite often away from the glare on a practice court - then that is what she lived for, that is what she played for. That is what she risked her back, her knees and her hurting ankles for. That is the only condition of life she ever aspired to - a moment when she could play the kind of tennis that was, essentially, a perfect expression of the language of her soul.
There have been any number of great players who have aspired to a state of perfection. But, almost always, there was a certain something else they aspired to simultaneously. Maybe a record. Maybe a place in history. Perhaps even the joy of victory.
Martina Navratilova, a woman with a keen sense of history, always played for a place in history. For Jimmy Connors, nothing matched the pleasure he derived from seeing the disappointment on the opponent's face after he had beaten the poor bloke.
But there have been very few sportspersons - not just tennis players- who can be compared to Graf in terms of what a perfect performance meant to them, irrespective of whether they were playing in front of a big crowd on a big stage or on an obscure practice court.
In that sense, in the world of tennis, Graf was a pure one-off. She never really competed with her contemporaries or for a place in history. She played for something else, driven by a force that lesser mortals did not even begin to suspect existed.
To watch Graf on a tennis court in her most exalted of moments was to watch a Buddha in meditation. She was one with her work, and together they were one with the world.
