The Warrior
How do you go about writing a book on an athlete whose every move, win, loss, injury and comeback has been played out under the public gaze for nearly two decades and still keep the reader engaged?
The task is daunting, but then, if you have read Christopher Clarey’s earlier work — The Master: The Brilliant Career of Roger Federer — you’d know that it can indeed be pulled off if you remain faithful to the essence of your subject. Clarey, who has had a ringside view of tennis for years, has attempted something equally arduous for the second time. And his performance leaves little to complain about.
The Warrior: Rafael Nadal and His Kingdom of Clay is Clarey’s ode to the Spanish great, and he couldn’t have thought of a better title for the book on a person whose legacy is defined more by his tenacity than his talent; remembered more for persistence than for strokes of genius. That doesn’t mean Nadal’s talent was inferior to any. But when ability and attitude come together in one player, what you get is Rafael Nadal. His game may have fallen short of the aesthetics that Federer oozed. His game may not have carried the almost-robotic efficiency of Novak Djokovic’s. But it was potent enough to yield him 22 Grand Slams — second most behind Djokovic’s tally of 24.
While Nadal’s game was good enough to fetch eight more Slams across three other majors and on two different surfaces, he was immortalised by his domination of the Rolland Garros, illustrated by his astonishing 14 titles on the red surface. And much of Clarey’s latest work on Nadal revolves around the Spaniard’s mastery of the clay, physically the most demanding of tennis surfaces. And somewhere along the way, you feel Nadal gets pigeonholed as more of a clay-court specialist, even if the author doesn’t intend to do so. After all, his eight titles across Wimbledon, US Open and Australian Open are as many as bona fide greats like Andre Agassi and Ivan Lendl managed!
That said, it’s undeniable that on clay, Nadal was far superior to Federer and Djokovic than they were to Nadal on their favoured turfs — grass and synthetic. It was as if Nadal’s speed, stamina and flexibility achieved a perfect harmony when confronted with the red surface.
“Mere speed is not enough,” observes Clarey. “You need to perfect the choreography, and Nadal started and stopped with both precision and pure power,” adds Clarey, nailing the essence of Nadal’s game on clay.
Federer, while speaking to Clarey, captures Nadal’s greatness in Paris the best. “His movement on clay, it’s just better than the rest. Because he has an open stance on both sides, it’s like he’s playing two forehands from the baseline. I can’t do that, so I lose a meter or two here and there. So, he’s got a huge advantage in that aspect. I don’t know how he grew up doing that, but it’s definitely very difficult.”
Ironically enough, Wimbledon was his most favourite Slam — the grass-court major where Nadal struggled the most but still managed to win twice, including the 2008 final where he beat Federer in a near five-hour epic; a match where quality and drama competed with each other for attention and continues to be considered the greatest of all time.
If you have read Clarey’s previous book on Federer (The Master...), you will be familiar with his attention to detail. In his pursuit of the minutest information, he meets a cross-section of people — those who were instrumental in shaping Nadal’s career as well as those whose association with him was fleeting but illuminating. The net result is a 360-degree view of one of sport’s most compelling figures.
If Federer gives insights about his superiority on clay, Mats Wilander is astonished by his feat in Paris, and if Giles Simon raves about his humility, Jim Courier reminds us about his equanimity in both defeats and losses. (Trivia: Nadal has never broken a racquet in his pro career.)
“Rafael Nadal’s tennis had a way of making grown men cry,” Clarey writes, before recounting Courier’s emotional take. ”…It’s hard not to break a racquet. The guy has never broken a racquet. Because it’s hard. It’s emotional.”
That’s indeed astonishing because if you had a career as long as Nadal did with all those expectations and pressures, high and lows, it’s hard not to lose your composure. Even Federer, the poster boy for composure, has had his own on-court meltdowns, even if occasionally.
Clarey credits much of Nadal’s ability to stay calm under the harshest glare to his uncle and coach, Toni. A modest player himself, Toni found his true calling in coaching, and his nephew remains the most shining embodiment of his philosophy.
While narrating Nadal’s tale of grit and greatness, Clarey brings alive the Big 3’s on-court rivalry that defined an era and elevated the game to never-before-seen heights. You learn the history of the French Open, about his rituals and about his barren run, which was marked by career-threatening injuries and frustrating losses while testing his certified resilience.
To sum it up, The Warrior isn’t just about Nadal, the champion. It’s about Nadal the fighter, the man who embraced the grind and who carried himself with humility through dizzying highs and crippling lows.