The most boring interviews in recent times have involved tennis legend and renowned gentleman Roger Federer. He talks about the primacy of shot selection, of how maturing as a player helped him to play percentages on the court, of how certain players such as Rafael Nadal forced him to become his best self, or how Novak Djokovic did not remake him but was more of a mental challenge. Retirement at 41 is exciting and good, he says. An interview with the Financial Times concludes with the excellent Simon Kuper telling him rather strangely that “he sounds a mentally stable person”.
“Thank you,” replies Federer, “I feel like that anyway.”
Boring. And yet deeply calming. No cavils, no sour grapes or subtle knifing. Just a rounded, grateful, supreme athlete selling his new photo-biography (from £100 to £1,600 apiece, all for his foundation). One of the most fiercely consistent, attacking players of the era and winner of 20 Grand Slams now has a framed image on his staircase at home of a last doubles match, sitting hand-in-hand with Nadal, crying.
Federer personifies the serenity of a true champion, letting go without rancour (none apparently), moving on without regrets (they don’t live in the back of his head, he says). “Life cannot only be tennis. I think that’s been one of my big strengths, to think tennis when I have to, then right away, when I leave the court, I’m in another place.”
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The sadness many television viewers are feeling at the end of the Paris Olympics might in part be explained by that Federer-style effect. For two weeks there was the uncomplicated joy of watching athletes at the peak of physical perfection as four years of grinding repetition, discipline and self-denial in relative obscurity culminated in a thrilling, life-changing few seconds on the greatest of platforms.
Just as importantly for viewers, RTÉ’s presenters and pundits (entirely from Cork quite often) bought into that spirit. Their own hard-won personal triumphs and agonies brought empathy to bear on their judgement yet they were too respectful of the young athletes and the viewers to condescend to them or us.
Most of us will never know what it takes for a heartbroken athlete to submit to an interview moments after losing the race of a lifetime but those pundits do, which may explain the absence of the overbearing edginess and cynicism often evident elsewhere. It felt like a two-week holiday for the heart but not for the brain. For RTÉ morale, just a year since the Grant Thornton and Mazars’ reports were dropping into the public domain, it must feel like a miracle rescue remedy.
For many readjusting to civilian life – aka the “postquel” let-down – Federer may be the great role model for letting go. But for elite athletes this is a particularly vulnerable phase. Over a third suffer from some form of mental disorder – from burnout and substance abuse to eating disorders, depression and anxiety – in the weeks and months following major tournaments, according to research commissioned by the International Olympic Committee.
Former elite athlete David Gillick who conducted some of the most empathetic and knowledgable post-race interviews, has spoken about his own harsh competition regime and experience of post-retirement depression and suicidal ideation.
American swimming legend Michael Phelps – 28 Olympic medals – fell into a “major” depression after every Olympics. Several athletes such as swimmer Adam Peaty spoke in post-event Paris press conferences about how the pressure can lead to anxiety and depression.
American 100m gold medal sprinter Noah Lyles battles asthma, allergies, dyslexia, ADD, anxiety and depression. (That he won bronze in the 200m sprint while suffering from Covid and had to be whisked away in an ambulance speaks to that ferocious mindset). Gymnast Simone Biles – three golds and a silver in Paris – gave a shout-out to her therapist and to therapy. South Korea’s ultra-cool pistol-shooter and silver medallist Kim Ye-ji collapsed during a press conference back home, reportedly due to stress and exhaustion.
It’s hardly surprising that the sudden absence of that multiyear focus and habitual dedicated training leaves some athletes feeling exhausted, empty and aimless.
This is where the Federer and Olympics models diverge. Lose at Wimbledon and there’s always next year. Lose the men’s 100m sprint by five-thousandths of a second as Jamaica’s Kishane Thompson did to Lyles in Paris and it’s harder to be philosophical about it. The next shot is four years away, and in many ways it is what makes the Games so special. But in social media terms that’s around 35,000 lifetimes. In an era of goldfish attention spans it’s a rare discipline to focus even on the medium-term.
Poignant interviews with many of our own athletes in Paris and over the years have given glimpses into austere lifestyles, family endurance and extraordinary resilience. Talent is only a part of it. “Talent is nothing without dedication and discipline, and dedication and discipline is a talent in itself,” said British boxer Luke Campbell, a 2012 Olympic gold medallist.
That’s why it’s always hilarious to see couch-bound critics guffawing at Olympians’ efforts (aside from Raygun the Australian breakdancer who is compulsory viewing for low days). An idea first proposed before the Tokyo Olympics still begs for takers. This would involve an extra lane in all Olympic races to be occupied by someone from a nearby pub or sofa who thinks they’re it. Los Angeles, your time has come.