If the world was ending, give me Roger Federer to watch

I went to all four tennis majors in 2012. Took a good look and wrote a book. The highlight of cobbling together The Slams was Roger Federer’s win at Wimbledon.

I didn’t watch him beat Andy Murray in the final, I listened.

Selfishly, I was desperate for Federer to win. It would be better for a tome that was fast running out of room. Barrack for the yarn and all that.

Novak Djokovic had won the Australian Open and Rafael Nadal had won the French Open.

Federer winning The Championships would slot in nicely and then if Murray won the US Open, the Big Four would have won the big four. Those 341 pages would write themselves.

To Centre Court. Murray won the first set 6-4. The British crowd roared like Yeats was winning another Gold Cup at Royal Ascot. Federer snuck through the second set 7-5.

It was all so tense that I packed up my notepad and pen and went for a walk.

There’s no interest like self-interest and tennis has always seemed the most nerve-racking of sports to watch, for some reason.

I walked to a far corner of The All England Club, where no matches were on and no people were around. The outside courts didn’t even have nets.

It was peaceful and quiet and serene and deserted out there. The only interruptions were explosions of applause from Murray’s Mound and the court itself.

I stayed out there for the rest of the match. Closed my eyes and listened to a Wimbledon final. Best final I’ve ever experienced.

The ovations became deafening. Fascinating.

When I thought they could get no louder, they did.

I assumed Murray was winning. Great for the Brits, a bummer for the book.

Only the homegrown player could be saluted so raucously.

After an absolute crescendo was followed by a few minutes of more gentle applause, the final was clearly over.

I walked back towards Centre Court and saw a scoreboard. R. Federer defeated A Murray 4-6, 7-5, 6-3, 6-4.

The visitor’s victory created such a symphony of applause that without watching it, I could have sworn the virtual local had won.

Now Federer is giving it away at the Laver Cup. In truth, he gave it away months ago.

He just didn’t know how or when to announce it.

He won just three majors in the last decade to fall behind Djokovic and Nadal on the all-time list.

That will bug him, just a bit, he wanted that record, but he’s been the greatest of the lot. If the world is ending in three hours and I have time to watch one more match, Federer’s in it.

Djokovic believes he’s born to win slams. Nadal thinks he gets rewarded for trying the hardest.

Federer will forever be mildly shocked that he’s been so successful.

“I never thought I’d do well in my career,” he said after that 2012 Wimbledon win.

“Really, I never thought it at all. I was considered a big talent in Switzerland and then at 16, 17, I was making a few dents internationally and I thought ‘oh, maybe something is possible here.

“Maybe I can make the top 100’. But it was never like, ‘I’m going to be number one.’

“That was more like a fantasy, a dream, an idea like that – I think the way my life has worked out, it all happened at the right time.”

Federer’s first major victory was over Mark Philippoussis at Wimbledon in 2003.

“Something really unlocked when I won my first slam,” he said.

“It absolutely took a lot of pressure off me, especially from the media side. To then be able to maintain such a long spell of wins – that’s what I was famous for not doing. I was famous for being inconsistent.

“I think people forget how I started. I’m very proud that I was able to work on my attitude and my weaknesses to make them almost strengths. I’ve been able to unlock my potential.”

He was a temperamental kid who sat under the umpire’s chair and bawled when he lost his first junior match 6-0, 6-0.

He was a flaky and error-prone teenage player who went on to win 20 majors. He’ll take that.

He played the best shot I’ve ever seen – practising with John Millman at Melbourne Park, he had a phone call. Must have been important. Probably Mirka.

He tucked his mobile under his chin while Millman prepared to serve. It went out wide. Phone still in place, Federer leapt to his right and ripped a down-the-line winner at a million miles an hour.

Didn’t even blink. Got back to his phone call. Sorry, you were saying?

And he played the funniest shots I’ve ever seen.

He was warming up for a match at Roland Garros. Bored stupid and making no attempt to hide it.

Training drills weren’t always his thing. He turned his racquet upside down and hit balls out of the stadium with the handle like Babe Ruth in the Bronx. He declared himself good to go.

After the Wimbledon win over Murray, Federer said: “Tomorrow everyone will be saying ‘when is he going to retire?’

“Maybe down the stretch, like Andre Agassi in some ways, you’ll be happy that I’m still playing a few years from now.

“They don’t come easily, these wins, and who knows how many more I will have?”

Not that many, as it turned out. He was sitting next to the Wimbledon trophy when he was compared to Pele and Muhammad Ali.

He always loved a bit of praise, Fed. Made him giggly and blush.

He grinned and said: “They’re just opinions but it’s nice to say I’ve had a positive effect on the game of tennis. That I was able to live a dream in tennis and then to represent tennis to other sports – if I’ve been able to help the game of tennis with its image and to make it more popular, that’s enough for me, really.

“When I do retire, I want to leave the game better off than when I came into it.”