The Warrior by Christopher Clarey: The nice guy you wouldn't want to face across the net…

Daily Mail​

a day ago

The Warrior: Rafael Nadal and his kingdom of clay by Christopher Clarey (John Murray £22, 360pp)
What a privilege it's been for tennis fans – no, for sports fans everywhere, for anyone who admires excellence – to have lived through the game's Golden Age, the era of the 'Big Three'.
There's Roger Federer in his stylish branded whites, effortlessly firing off exquisite winners while occasionally flicking away a bead of sweat with his little finger.
There's the Serbian Novak Djokovic, like some supranatural Transylvanian being who wouldn't give up even if you buried him outside the court and put a stake through his heart – he would still find a way to leap out and defend the next point.
And finally here's Rafael Nadal, Rafa the inexhaustible fighter, the force of nature, never ever knowing he was beaten.
Never-say-die Rafa, with his obsessive on-court rituals, lining up his water bottles and touching his nose before each serve. Rafa the great, perhaps the most likeable of them all.
With his muscles bulging out of his sleeveless shirt, his ferocious hitting and his intense focus, he could look scary and remote, but when he pulled off his bandana and shook out his sweat-soaked hair, a sweet boyish smile would spread across his face.
Humble and surprisingly shy, Nadal was born into a prosperous middle-class family, in Majorca, but he had no airs and graces.
I saw him once on a budget airline flight, in the early stages of his career, stuffing his tennis rackets into the overhead compartment. He would always stay behind to talk to tournament staff, everyone from referees to media room typists, thank them personally and sign autographs.
Guy Forget, the former French No 1 and tournament director, put it like this: 'He was always very polite, he showed respect for everybody. Some guys walk in like they own the place. Rafa was always connecting with people, from the guy who does the court to the referees, to anybody he sees. That's why people like him so much, because he hasn't changed for all these years, with all that fame and success.'
This year the French Open, currently under way at Roland Garros in Paris, is for the first time in three decades not playing host to Nadal, its greatest ever champion.
Finally, the body gave out, the pace was too much, and it was time for Rafa to stop. Even that gladiatorial fighter had to retire last year, aged 38, amid much tearfulness from all and sundry.
Fittingly, French tennis laid on a spectacular and hugely emotional tribute to their great champion on the first afternoon of this year's tournament.
With at least 90-odd members of Rafa's family and stars past and present on centre court, as well as the band being brought back together when Federer, Djokovic and Andy Murray came on for a special appearance, this was always going to be a tear-stained afternoon.
Rafa himself was weeping and there wasn't a dry eye in the house, certainly not from me. But this masterful and exhaustive portrait from one of the world's leading tennis writers should be some compensation.
Christopher Clarey, the long-time sports correspondent for the New York Times, has interviewed Nadal and his associates countless times since he made his debut as a pro in 2001, and The Warrior is an affectionate biography of one of the world's greatest athletes. But it is much more, too.
Between them, the Big Three won a scarcely believable 66 Grand Slam titles. Federer won 20, Djokovic, who is still ploughing on at the age of 37, has won 24, and Nadal 22, of which an unsurpassable 14 came on the clay of Roland Garros. I say unsurpassable, and of course it could be bettered, that's what records are for, but it's hard to imagine.
Before Nadal came along, the man who had won most French Open titles was Bjorn Borg. He won six, a triumph that prompted Ilie Nastase to say it would never be beaten. But he hadn't met Nadal.
It was always likely that Nadal would be a sportsman of some kind. One uncle played football for Barcelona and Spain; another, the irrepressible Uncle Toni, was a former tennis player who saw his nephew's talent from an early age. But it wasn't easy.
A natural right-hander, under Uncle Toni, Nadal turned himself into a ferocious left-hander, sustained by the belief that suffering and pain were to be embraced. He grew up playing on the clay courts at Manacor, his hometown and base of his tennis academy which now occupies most of his energies.
He was clearly a teenage prodigy. At 12 he had signed with Nike. At 14 he beat former Wimbledon champion Pat Cash, and at 19 he won his first French Open. He was blessed with unique hand speed and power, and hit with blistering topspin.
Murray has ruefully described how tiring it was, when playing Nadal, to keep hitting the ball from shoulder level, such was the power of his topspin. And to play well on clay, you had to know how to slide to return a shot, and Nadal could slide equally effectively to his left and right.
Richard Gasquet, a hugely talented one-time French No 1, and a teenage rival of Nadal, said after one defeat: 'When I came off court I told my father, 'It's over, that's the new champion of Roland Garros. There's no doubt.' I saw very quickly that he was an extra-terrestrial.'
Among the rich commentary from other star players, Jim Courier talks most illuminatingly about Nadal's extraordinary competitiveness. 'It's the attitude, the way he handles defeat, the way he handles success. He's the Kipling quote [on triumph and disaster, from the poem If] come to life. As famous as that guy is, he's never seemed famous. He's the guy who cleans up the practice court when he's done. He's not entitled in the least . . .'
Then Courier chokes up. 'It's hard not to break a racket. The guy's never broken a racket.'
Nadal's uncle Toni taught him that breaking a racket would be showing a lack of respect to those who either have to buy their rackets, or cannot afford them.
What moved Courier, says Clarey, was Nadal's dualities: the blend of self-control with competitive passion; of modesty with ambition; and relentless destructive force with ingrained common decency.
Clarey, as you would expect, writes about some of Nadal's greatest victories away from Roland Garros, the breathtaking 2008 Wimbledon final when Nadal finally overcame Federer in gathering darkness after hours of thrilling, rain-interrupted battle – the best tennis match I have ever seen.
'This is sports,' Nadal said. 'It's a competition so of course my goal is to finish with the most. But for me it truly never has been an obsession. I was never looking over to see if someone had more than me, if their house was bigger or their phone was better. Whatever happens, Roger, Novak and I have all made our dreams come true.'
You can't argue with that. And if you have ever held a racket or seen a champion play, you will find this splendid book a rich source of pleasure and inspiration.