Rafael Nadal and the greatness of hard graft

The bottles of water, juice, and energetics are placed with forensic detail, slotted right in between the legs of the seated figure. A few seconds are spent in deep thought before the bench is vacated and a towel is picked up to wipe precise portions of the arms and the face. A truant strand of hair is knocked behind the ear and beads of perspiration are hastily removed from the nose and from beneath the eyes, following an intuitive pinch of the shorts and an inconsequential readjustment of the skin-tight vest. The ball is prodded by the racket in the left hand for at least half a dozen times and allowed to bounce from the right hand thrice. Then, at long last, the scalpel-esque serve is loaded and Rafael Nadal is ready to begin a game of tennis.

For those fascinated by the idiosyncrasies of elite athletes, Nadal’s meticulous routines on the court have become the stuff of legend. But concealed beneath his tics and compulsive repetition of rituals is the essence of the Spaniard’s astounding success – the ability to do the same things in the same ways, and to do them relentlessly. The unteachable instinct to graft his way to greatness.

Hard work as the rarest talent

“I could see, by the sheer intensity with which he trained, that he was super-ambitious and desperate to improve...He hit every shot as if his life depended on it,” recounts Carlos Moya, one of Nadal’s current coaches, in the tennis superstar’s 2011 memoir, Rafa. When Moya first saw him, the “super-ambitious” Nadal was only 12, a prodigy in Mallorca, but no different in his resilience to the phenomenon we know today.

No sensible follower of Nadal can posit that hard work is the solitary factor behind his rise to the pinnacle of tennis. Nadal’s fearsome striking of the ball, his seemingly elastic limbs, his knack for picking the right moments to defend and attack are among a range of gifts that even the most supremely talented player would envy.

But there is something about Nadal’s persistence and perseverance that make him unique. Even at the highest level, where an excellent work ethic is a baseline requirement, Nadal’s industry is barely believable, the hunger to win every point often challenging the pragmatics of match-management.

The gumption of grit has, unfortunately, not been anthologised as frequently as the glory of grace. And nor have Nadal’s peculiar proclivities for chasing lost causes, by putting his body on the line, through what The New York Times memorably described as “poetic self-immolation...pushing himself resolutely towards his own undoing.”

And yet, his apparently myopic masochism, his neglect of the bigger picture, his reckless and endless running have, over close to two decades, overwritten a score of premature sporting obituaries by putting Nadal within touching distance of a score of grand slams.

On the cusp of history

Twenty is a nice, plump number, more definitive than 19, more resounding than 17, and far more reachable than the mark of a quarter of a century that Nadal has recently admitted to chasing. Yes, he wants to end his career with 25 grand slams, a ludicrous feat he might yet achieve. But heading into Roland Garros, which starts on September 27, Nadal stands on 19, one behind his great rival, Federer (who will not be competing), and two ahead of his biggest challenger, Novak Djokovic (who, barring self-destructive disqualifications, will most certainly be competing).

The clay of Paris’ Roland Garros and Nadal share a love story unmatched in modern sport. It is a dynamic that has been forged since 2005 through blood, sweat, and (very few) tears. Nadal’s footprints are edged all over the Parisian surface, his fingerprints all over the “Musketeers” trophy.

They are made of four consecutive titles (2005-08), an injury-ravaged fourth round exit (2009), five successive championships (2010-14), two blank, disappointing years (2015-16), and another hat-trick of wins (2017-19). This is the ridiculous French Open report card of the finest clay court player in history.

But we are, of course, in 2020. So unlike previous editions there is a pall of uncertainty over this year’s outcome. For the first time in his life, Nadal enters Paris without a single tournament victory in the calendar on his dearest turf, thanks in part due to the pandemic and his shock elimination in the last eight of the Italian Open earlier in the month. Add to that the relatively cool weather in the French capital at this time (as compared to the sizzling heat of its traditional playing time during May and June), more humidity, and a potentially quicker surface ‒ all factors that have generally hindered Nadal ‒ and expectations are that Djokovic or Dominic Thiem, the newly crowned US Open champion, will walk away with the laurels come the final on October 11.

A life in graft

How will Nadal change his attitude when he is not the overwhelming favourite? How will he adjust his game when the conditions are not as conducive? The answer: He won’t.

There is no plan B for Nadal. Plan A ‒ turn up, graft, win, repeat ‒ is not just everything, it is the only thing. The Nadal playbook of greatness may be slim, but it sure is solid.

Once the bottles are put in their place and the pre-serve customs are met, the Nadal the world will see in Paris will be the Nadal it has always known. More of the interminable rallies contested to the soundtrack of Rafa’s grunts, more of the scampering, scurrying, and sprinting, more of the irritable pauses as he takes his sweet time hustling between points.

While some may exude greatness and some may exhaust it, Nadal extracts it from every pore of his being, every ounce of his will.

Even if there is no customary coronation by the end of it all, Nadal’s greatness will not melt into the dust that emanates from Parisian clay this autumn. Instead, it will only be further entrenched at the site where Nadal’s very presence is the guarantee of greatness, the guarantee of grafting.

(Priyam Marik is a freelance journalist writing on politics, culture and sport)

Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.