How tennis careers end

At Roland Garros this year there was a sense of Götterdämmerung. No tennis career lasts for ever; even the very greatest eventually tire and retire from the race. But this year it felt as if the last of a generation of titans were leaving the stage. The downing of the indomitable warrior Rafael Nadal, undoubtedly the greatest clay court player of all time, in the first round at the hands of Alexander Zverev was the most striking and poignant example. 

The 14-time champion went down fighting, of course, but he lost in straight sets to a ruthless, much younger opponent, who had an answer to everything Nadal threw at him. It was Nadal’s fourth loss in the French Open against 112 wins. 

Not only Nadal appeared to be making his final bow. Andy Murray, one-time finalist and four-time semi-finalist in Paris, gritting it out these days on the tour after hip surgery, lost to Stan Wawrinka, the 2015 champion, who nine years ago produced some of the most spectacular clay court tennis ever seen to beat both Federer and Djokovic, both then in their pomp. 

Though Wawrinka, unfurling his magnificent single-handed backhand, defeated Murray in fine style, he lost in the next round to the relatively unknown Pavel Kotov. Even Novak Djokovic, the man seemingly made of rubber, having extricated himself from defeat in two five-setters, had to retire with an injured knee before his quarter-final.

All this prompts reflection on how tennis careers often end, not with a bang but with a whimper. Players might hope for a resplendent apotheosis – a 15th title on the red dirt for Nadal against the odds, a third Olympic singles title for Murray, the man with the iron hip – but most exit the court with a limping shuffle. Perhaps it was to avoid this fate that Bjorn Borg, almost as invincible on clay as Nadal, retired suddenly and abruptly at 25. But leaving on a high note did not shield him from a protracted midlife crisis.

Injuries of one kind or another are by far the most common precipitators of decline. The latest and perhaps saddest example is Dominic Thiem, the 2020 US Open champion. Having suffered a wrist injury in 2021, Thiem fought his way back into the world’s top 100. But he has never managed to recapture the form which made him a champion. In Paris this year, his last on the tour, the 30-year-old two-time finalist failed to make the main draw.

A similar wrist injury derailed the career of the imposing Argentinian Juan Martín del Potro, who memorably came back from two sets down to beat Federer in the final of the 2009 US Open. Del Potro should surely have won many more majors.

Mental as well as physical frailty can take its toll. Naomi Osaka, unusual among tennis players of either sex in opening up about her mental health struggles, decided to take a break from the game after winning four major titles and, subsequently, giving birth to her first child. She has made an impressive return, however, and came within a point of defeating the eventual champion Iga Swiatek in the second round at this year’s French Open. It was, in fact, the match of the tournament. And Emma Raducanu, the British star who sensationally went through qualifying to win the 2021 US Open, has said she felt “mentally and emotionally exhausted” after losing in the first round at the Madrid Open in April. 

The new Amazon Prime documentary Federer: Twelve Final Days, premiered at the Tribeca Festival on 10 June, might seem to offer a counterexample. But however dramatic Federer’s finale in 2022 might have been – appearing at the Laver Cup, partnering his great rival Nadal in doubles – he did not exactly exit in a blaze of glory, at least of the conventional kind. He and Nadal lost their doubles match against Jack Sock and Frances Tiafoe (9-11 in the match tiebreak). 

The perfect exit for Federer, the most graceful and artistic player ever to strike the ball, would have been victory in the 2019 Wimbledon final against Djokovic. But despite holding two match points on his serve in the epic final set, Federer eventually lost that match. If anything gives him sleepless nights, it must surely be that missed opportunity.

Federer: Twelve Final Days may offer a different kind of apotheosis. In the film Federer says he was hoping to be able to contain his emotions in the last days of his playing career, but he was not able to. At the end of the Laver Cup doubles match, slumped in his chair, he began to weep, and Nadal at his side promptly teared up too.

Those tears prompted a worldwide reaction not just of sympathy but of gratitude and appreciation. They brought to mind Aeneas’s words in Book One of Virgil’s Aeneid, when he sees scenes from the Trojan War depicted on the walls of a temple in Carthage: “sunt lacrimae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt” – “there are tears for things, and mortal matters touch the heart”. What matters in the end is not just a tally of victories but the emotional memories left in the minds and hearts of both players and spectators.

Neither Nadal nor Djokovic will compete at Wimbledon this year, it seems. That leaves Murray, limping on – at least until Wimbledon and the Paris Olympics –in a world of pain and defiance which, by reminding us of own mortality, evokes a kind of transcendent pity.

Harry Eyres’ books include “Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet” (Bloomsbury)